Perhaps the most theatrical — though certainly not the only — avian performers are the killdeer. They're arriving in our area now, and not long after they settle in, nesting begins.
I use the word "nest" rather loosely. Killdeer nest on the ground. They scrape a shallow depression in soil or gravel and may add a few pebbles or bits of vegetation. But often, they simply lay their speckled, sand-colored eggs right out in the open — nearly invisible against rock and dirt. You'd think we, or predators, would spot them immediately.
But we've been distracted.
Killdeer are masters of what biologists call a "distraction display." If a human, dog, fox or crow wanders too close to a nest or newly hatched chicks, a parent bird becomes an accomplished actor.
Feigning a broken wing, calling plaintively, it flutters and staggers away from the nest. A predator, thinking it has found an easy meal, follows. Just as the threat comes within striking distance, the bird "miraculously" recovers — and flies off.
In theatre, diverting attention is called misdirection. We are wired to notice motion, so when someone suddenly crosses a stage, our eyes follow. A loud, unexpected sound works just as well. Tears or anger narrow our focus; peripheral awareness fades.
Biologists don't think individual killdeer reason this out. The broken-wing display is instinctive — a behavior shaped over generations by natural selection. Not every attempt succeeds. A limping parent risks being caught. And every performance costs energy — and time away from feeding hungry chicks.
To succeed, a killdeer must balance nourishment with performance.
But in nature — as in theatre, and even in politics — misdirection can be remarkably effective.
