While block-busting for the Breeding Bird Atlas several years ago, my husband John Chamberlain motioned me over to see his discovery - a six legged Spotted Sandpiper.  Sure enough, there she was, all six skinny legs beneath one bird.  Lo and behold, what we were witnessing were two chicks who had run to mom for cover.  I suppose that since their heads were hidden in her feathers they thought we couldn't see them.  Not!  I once wrote an article entitled "No Ordinary Birds"  acknowledging those wonderful birds we see every day but who are capable of inspiring a good laugh and sometimes awe in us humans.  Perhaps you, Ali, could write a sequel!

Barbara Brosnan
Weybridge

-----Original Message-----
From: Vermont Birds [mailto:[log in to unmask]] On Behalf Of Scott Morrical
Sent: Tuesday, July 11, 2017 8:33 AM
To: [log in to unmask]
Subject: Re: [VTBIRD] Spotted Sandpipettes

We've been using spotted sandpipettes in my lab for years.
- Scott 

Sent from my iPhone

> On Jul 10, 2017, at 8:24 PM, Mundi Smithers <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
> 
> What a marvelous canvas you have painted. I will hold it in my mind's eye for some time time to come.  Thanks!
> 
> Sent from my iPad
> 
>> On Jul 10, 2017, at 8:20 PM, Alison Wagner <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
>> 
>> Dear Birders, Who Will Understand this Simple Joy....
>> 
>> 
>> 
>> I have heard people say that birding in July is “slow,” or “quiet,” and not really worthy of a birders’ attention.  But this morning, Clem Nilan, Michele Patenaude and I spent a good chunk of time at Lagoon Road and it did us justice.  True, no “new birds” for the year, unless of course you would consider the hatchlings, and…oh...my...did they capture us!  Grand Prize for cutest shorebird of the day (and perhaps dethroning the Killdeer chick from this status) goes to three, fresh-out-of-the-eggs, Spotted Sandpiper chicks.  Total poof balls with bold black mascara-eyelines and a racing stripe from the top of heads, down the length of their backbones, these cuties resembled a cross between their parents and miniature  burros.  Tiny feather-duster tails bobbed while they foraged independently through the forests of grass and when they disappeared, we’d wait patiently for them to return.   We were not disappointed as they resurfaced again and again, always s!
 omewhere new and unexpected:  ascending the mountains of mulch, scritching in the mud for a tiny morsel of food only they could see, weaving along the edge of the flooded field, stopping beside a giant Snipe, freezing in a pose like a Pointer (only they were the predator) and then striking with speed and accuracy I’d expect from an experienced hunter… Always on the move, coming and  going, living by instinct, new born babies… when we finally turned our attention away an hour later, I swear  they looked bigger.