The Snowy Plover 
sternly enjoined not to move a muscle,—no, not so much as an eyelid. No 
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 Photo by the Author 
IN FULL POSSESSION 
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 Nivvy—that’s my youngest boy— 
gets married next spring. But I’m not so old, either; not half as old as 
I 3 2 3 
