SCOTT SHALAWAY Killdeer nests worth the effort

Last summer while teaching "Ornithology for Teachers" at Ohio State University's Stone Lab on Gibraltar Island in Lake Erie, my students and I found several active bird nests. Most, unfortunately, were difficult to observe. The eastern kingbird nest was in the upper branches of a towering tree, the mallard nest was in a poison ivy-infested hayfield, and the purple martin house was on private property. A pair of killdeer, however, were more cooperative. They placed their scrape of a nest between the rails of an unused railroad track. We were able to observe some classic examples of killdeer nesting behavior.
It reminded me of another killdeer nest found by another group of students about 20 years earlier. They had found the nest on their own and challenged me to find it -- in five minutes. They said since I tested them, this was their chance to test me. So they took me to the small cemetery where the nest was located and started the clock.
Over the years, I had found several killdeer nests, but none had been easy. Even though killdeer nest in open areas -- lake shores, cultivated fields, airports, driveways, and parking lots -- I knew I had my work cut out for me. The incubating parent sits low and tight and is difficult to see even on a freshly mown lawn.
Off the nest, a killdeer is easy to recognize. A member of the plover family, this common shorebird is 10 to 11 inches long. Two black horizontal bands cross a white chest, and up close the adult's bright red eye is apparent.
But the biggest clue to finding the nest, I knew, would be the bird's behavior. So, hoping to get the bird's attention, I began walking back and forth across area the students had pointed me toward.
Alarm call
After about two minutes, an alarm call caught my ears. I turned around to see a killdeer flopping around on the ground not 20 feet away, acting as if its wing was broken. Its two alarm calls -- "dee, dee" and "kill-dee" -- were loud and piercing. Clearly the bird was calling attention to itself. The "broken wing act" draws the attention of predators away from the nest and to the "injured" adult.
I knew from experience that an adult would not begin its act right at the nest. When alarmed, a killdeer slips off the nest and begins performing only when it judges itself to be a safe distance from the nest.
I slowly approached the bird and noted the spot where I first saw it. As I got closer, the killdeer moved farther away, still dragging its wing. Each time I approached, the bird lured me farther away from the original spot. After it had moved about 50 feet, it flew off and circled overheard. Its "kill-dee" calls almost sounded like laughter, as if the bird was mocking me for being fooled.
But, being no ordinary predator, I returned to the spot I had first seen the bird and slowing began searching. I walked carefully because I knew the scrape of a nest and its mottled eggs are nearly impossible to see until you know where they are. And nothing would have been more embarrassing or reckless than to step on the nest in front of a group of students.
Finally, with about 20 seconds to spare, I found the nest. The four large eggs, pointed end facing to the middle of the nest, resembled four equal-sized pieces of pie. The students seemed as pleased as I was.
Early sighting
Killdeer are common local birds. They usually return from their winter grounds in early March. This year I saw my first killdeer of the year on February 5. How it could survive the snow, frigid temperatures, and cold winds we've had since then is truly a wonder of nature.
If you're a teacher and would like to join me for a week of bird study this summer (June 19-25), call Bonita Cordi at (614) 292-8949 or visit www.sg.ohio-state.edu/slab as soon as possible.
sshalaway@aol.com