



The Snowy Plover 



sternly enjoined not to move a muscle, — no, not so much as an eyelid. Xo 

 one but a fiend would want to harm such cunning bits of mortality, mere 

 fluffs of sand-colored down, spotted and streaked with black, after the 

 approved model of a weathered kelp-ball. But a dog is just such a fiend, 

 and the life of the chick 

 often depends upon its 

 willingness to stay put 

 while its parents are lur- 

 ing the frenzied brute to 

 a fruitless chase. Al- 

 though I have seen in- 

 fants crouching momen- 

 tarily on the open sand, 

 the presence of cover, 

 real or supposed, ap- 

 pears essential to the 

 maintenance of the freez- 

 ing posture. Otherwise, 

 even under close surveil- 

 lance, the baby will pres- 

 ently shift at any risk. 

 On a blowy day at Mon- 

 terey we once startled a 

 baby Snowy which scam- 

 pered away under the 

 lash of the driving sand. 



It was looking only for cover, and crouched under the first apology which 

 offered, a bare stick not an inch in diameter which stuck up out of the 

 sand. Here with eyes wide open the bantling was presently half buried. 

 Most pitiful of all was the accretion of sand which, moistened by the tears, 

 gathered over the exposed eyes and sealed them fast. Of course we made 

 haste with the camera and did what we could for the infant's comfort 

 before hurrying away. 



Taken in Santa Barbara 



IN FULL POSSESSION 



Photo by the A ulhor 



A Monologue 



WHY, IT'S TILLY! None other than our old friend Pisobia minu- 

 tilla, whom thoughtless humans call Least Sandpiper! How do you do? 

 Back from Alaska already! My! How time does fly! Do you know I'll 

 be a great-great grandmother when Niwy — that's my youngest boy — 

 gets married next spring. But I'm not so old, either; not half as old as 



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