8 THE. AU DeU0-B ONY BU eh ele 
This is the time of quickening of the blood stream, a trust to keep to 
perpetuate a species. Now Mother Nature gives the urge that triggers again 
this most colorful wildlife courtship ceremony. The male grouse feels that 
old, restless urge to find a place in the sun, to ‘‘stake a claim’’ — and to 
declare to all the world: “This is my own, my native land!’ The booming 
means: “I hereby give notice to all trespassers of like sex and species to 
keep off.” 
The old, inherent drive calls each cock to establish a territory with 
well-defined boundaries, where he knows every stubble, clod and grass tuft. 
Here he will strut and boom, and strut and boom again. Here he displays 
his best performance, competing with his rivals for the attention of a 
demure prairie hen. Each male desires intensely to dance, fight and brawl, 
to glare and posture, to claim his lady when she promenades through the 
mating grounds. Oh, the enthusiasm, the leaps and bounds, the gestures 
and bows, the flutters, jumps and hoots! Now is the time to be seen, and 
still more important, to be heard. 
Early in February and March, when spring first awakens and turns 
our way, the males gather on a slightly rolling knoll in the open prairie. 
Vegetative cover must be short to meet the requirements of a good dance 
floor. Evenly plowed fields or bean stubble are selected. The performer 
must be seen and must be able to see out. 
Here they come, each trying to be first. Each to his preferred territory. 
They start at the dark of the morn and continue well into the first red splash 
of the rising sun. The open stillness is broken by the rolling boom of com- 
peting males. They march in flowing, graceful rhythm, then stop, legs stiff 
as pogo sticks; then suddenly all the pent-up energy breaks forth in rapid, 
prancing feet, inflated, brilliant orange cheek sacs and erected pinnae; then 
another sudden stop; then a click of the tail and a rolling, drawn-out boom— 
old—mul—doon, or boo—b—o—-o— three notes, rising in volume and 
erescendo from first to third. This lonesome, mournful, rolling boom was 
best described by John Madson, as follows: 
It is a lonely, wild sound 
made by a lonely, wild bird 
It has the quality of an ancient wind 
blowing across the smokeflap 
of an Indian tepee. 
In all modern America 
there is no more old-time haunting sound 
than the booming of the prairie grouse. 
It is the last fading voice 
of the prairie wilderness, 
crying for help. 
When it is gone, it shall be gone forever. 
All our television will not bring it back, 
and none of our space-craft 
can take us to where it vanished. 
As someone else has said: ‘“‘The prairie roosters seem to be trying to 
burst their throats.” The combined efforts of dedicated conservationists 
will assure that this ‘‘Good Morning to Spring’’ will continue into the fore- 
seeable future. NOTE: If you are interested in experiencing this spring 
