When the mowers arrived on the airport, I grabbed my grandchild’s blue pail and headed out the door.
The man stopped the tractor and asked, “What are you doing, going Easter Egg hunting?”
I shook my head. “Nope, I’m saving the Killdeer’s eggs. I don’t want you to run them over. This is my marker.” I held up the pail.
After the Killdeer was traumatized by the mowers, I showed up to retrieve the trusty bucket. She was not very happy with me. “I just saved your babies!” I reminded her. Perhaps, she’d grown fond of her blue bucket companion.