Along the route that I go running (almost every weekday morning) there is a
Killdeer who has its nest in the tall grass beside the road. Before coming to Kentucky I wasn't familiar with this bird, but it is supposedly well known for scrambling along the ground pretending to have a broken wing, so as to lead potential troublemakers away from its nest. Each morning I pad along to the spot where I know that my little friend will pop out of the grass and scoot ahead of me like an Indy pace car,
weaving and zipping along. However, this morning I must have gotten up a little earlier than usual (or perhaps my ground-dwelling pal hit the
snooze button on his alarm clock), because instead getting the regular escort, I caught my Killdeer on the edge of the grass and he just freaked out - feathers all poofed out, and a tremendous little racket of righteous indignation. It was like catching him in the bird-equivalent of being in his bathrobe & slippers with a cup of coffee, fetching the paper off the front porch. One angry bird. I initially felt bad for him, but, like I said over my shoulder as I trotted on: C'mon! Its not like you don't see me almost
every day, eh?
Along the route that I go running (almost every weekday morning) there is a Killdeer who has its nest in the tall grass beside the road. Before coming to Kentucky I wasn't familiar with this bird, but it is supposedly well known for scrambling along the ground pretending to have a broken wing, so as to lead potential troublemakers away from its nest. Each morning I pad along to the spot where I know that my little friend will pop out of the grass and scoot ahead of me like an Indy pace car,
weaving and zipping along. However, this morning I must have gotten up a little earlier than usual (or perhaps my ground-dwelling pal hit the snooze button on his alarm clock), because instead getting the regular escort, I caught my Killdeer on the edge of the grass and he just freaked out - feathers all poofed out, and a tremendous little racket of righteous indignation. It was like catching him in the bird-equivalent of being in his bathrobe & slippers with a cup of coffee, fetching the paper off the front porch. One angry bird. I initially felt bad for him, but, like I said over my shoulder as I trotted on: C'mon! Its not like you don't see me almost every day, eh?
3 comments:
Absolutely - the poor bird is frazzled (I'm sure the nest is somewhere in that tall grass).
You tell this story wonderfully. I can just imagine the indignation and frantic activity of the poor little chap. I love the image of him weaving around like an Indy pace car...
Yes, my Killdeer is a bit of a character - he's become one of the staples of my morning routine. This morning it rained like crazy, so I didn't get to see him - but, if weather permits, tomorrow I'll stomp by his home again, so that he can feel usefiul by "leading" me away... Glad you liked the imagery of the pace car (I like to imagine that he is waving the chequered flag when I finish running).
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