The Snowy Plover 
The nesting? Yes, yes, dear, I’ll come to that. You’ll be aston¬ 
ished, 1 know, when I tell you that we nest here. Yes, right here, on this 
identical beach within the city limits—horses galloping up and down on 
the wet sand, bathers shouting and running to and fro, children coming 
up here in the dry sand with their little shovels and buckets, automobiles 
by the hundred whirling by on the boulevard behind us. And dogs! 
Taken near Santa Barbara 
Photo by the .4 uthor 
THE ADVENTURER 
They’re the worst. When the kiddies come, all we have to do is to 
crouch down in the sand and keep still, or maybe hide in one of the hollows 
left by a horse’s hoof. They can’t see; or if they do, we and our babies 
can run away fast enough. But when the dogs come, horrid creatures! 
snuffling and yelping, then I have to get busy and do decoy stunts. All 
I can do is to trail a “broken” wing, or to flutter and teeter in hope that 
the sillies will come yapping after. If they do, 1 lead them a merry chase, 
and take to wing from the water’s edge when they are far enough away 
trom my babies. But sometimes they come too near, and then it’s a gulp 
for the red-mouthed fiend and a heartache for me. 
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