GREATER PRAIRIE CHICKEN 245 



the inflation of the great orange air sacks at the side of the neck, which puff 

 out as quickly as a child's toy balloon whistle; the tail is erect and widely 

 spread, the wings drooped, the neck tufts are raised straight upward, giving 

 the bird a singularly devilish look, then with a convulsive movement of the 

 lowered head, the boom is jerked out and at its conclusion the air sacks have 

 become deflated. 



One might imagine after so violent a performance the bird would feel a 

 certain sense of exhaustion or at least quiescent relief, but his excess of vitality 

 seeks still other outlets; uttering hen-like calls and cacks he suddenly springs 

 a foot or more straight into the air, whirling about as though he were suffering 

 from a combined attack of epilepsy and St. Vitus dance. But all this activity 

 is only a prelude to the grand finale of actual combat. Like a strutting turkey 

 cock, the neighboring birds go towards each other by short little runs, head 

 down, the orange eye-brow expanded and evident pouch inflated, neck tufts, 

 and tail straight up, and looking like headless birds with two tails. Their 

 mating is followed by no make-believe duel but an actual clash of wings. Utter- 

 ing a low, whining note they fight as viciously as game cocks ; and the number of 

 feathers left on the ground testifies to effective use of bill and claws. 



First bird called at 4.40 and by seven o'clock the performance was pi-actically 

 over. 



A prairie cock when in the lists is a strikingly conspicuous creature ; he 

 wears no adornment which cannot be concealed at a moment's notice. The 

 sight of a passing hawk changes the grotesque beplumed, be-oranged bird into 

 an almost invisible squatting brownish lump, so quickly can the feathers be 

 dropped and air sack deflated. With woodland birds so great a change is 

 unnecessary, but the prairie hen can hide only under its own feathers. 



H. L. Stoddard (1922), in notes from southern Wisconsin, says 

 that " the ' cooing ground ' at the sandy west end of Sauk Prairie has 

 been used each spring for over 30 years, the birds always using the 

 same knoll whether in rye, stubble, or grown to grass." Cooing 

 started early in March and continued well into June. The birds 

 arrived early; some were on the grounds before daylight, but on 

 other occasions the bulk came shortly after daylight. The cooing 

 is a " resonant C-A-O-O-O-O-O, H-O-O, H-O-O, rising and in the 

 same tones as do re mi of the musical scale." This note carries a 

 long distance. " I have heard it over water when the nearest land 

 was nearly 2 miles away." Two cackling calls were like that of 

 roosters, " one a loud Ka-Ka-Ka-Ka-a-a-a-a and the other a long- 

 drawn q-u-a-h." 



Alexander Sprunt, jr., says in his notes: 



I witnessed a dance one afternoon of five pairs of the birds which came to 

 a sudden end in a strange manner, and one which would thrill the heart of an 

 ornithologist. Lying ensconced behind a log, I was reveling in the eaves- 

 dropping act of witnessing the ludicrous antics of five males, who, with air 

 sacs inflated, tails spread, and wings drooping, were bobbing up and down like 

 corn in a hopper, about an admiring group of hens. The booming was intense 

 and incessant, all having something to say at once. Suddenly, without a 

 moment's warning, a huge snowy owl appeared from behind a low ridge at the 

 far edge of the dancing ground and on widespread wings shot low over the 



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