He
strutted up from the alder bottom and respectfully skirted the
gravesite of a fine bird dog, though the grouse couldn't know that
for the small marker is still buried beneath a thick blanket of snow.
Nor could he find his drumming log at the east end of the little
meadow under that same layer of snow. It's the first day of spring,
after all, and he's eager to get things rolling.
So
the grouse wandered around awhile, picking at a bud here and there
weaving in and out of the balsams and buck brush and crisscrossing the meadow several times. The sun felt
good and was warm in the open and starting to melt the snow, but
freezing nights had put a crust on the top layer and the grouse could
no longer burrow in for insulation. He spent much of his time hidden
under low balsam branches and had survived the worst of winter but
dared to expose himself on a lovely sunny morning with the urge to
let the world know, or a least a potential mate, that he was on his
territory and ready for spring.
But
his drumming would have to wait, for no self-respecting cock grouse is
about to display his fanned tail and beat his wings from a snow
drift.
I
found his track on my morning stroll across the meadow, Gabby,
running on top of the snow and eager to be hunting, found and pointed
him perched on a branch poking out of the snow near his buried
drumming log. I left the packed trail and post-holed through crusted
knee-deep snow to see him sail off back into the thick bottomland, but he will return soon.
A
neat sight and no better promise of Spring.
