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Ruffed Grouse

 A few years ago, in early May, when the sun was surprisingly warm, and the trees newly leaved in a golden green, I took a walk into the woods on an old walking trail. I had been walking for about thirty minutes when a bird flew out of the brush front of me. I froze in my tracks. To my surprise, instead of assuming the “if I don’t move you won’t see me pose”, or flying off, the bird began advancing toward me very slowly.  It was a ruffed grouse,  the size of a very small chicken, with stripped reddish brown and white neck feathers, a wide fan shaped tail with a bright black border ,and a little crown or tuft on the head. 


The brown and white stripes in her feathers gleamed in the sunlight and occasionally she spread her tail out like a black-bordered fan. I stayed as still as I could – how often do I encounter a creature in the wild? – as she advanced very slowly, until she was about six feet from me. Then, still strutting very slowly, bobbing her head and and displaying her fan, she began to walk around me in a circle, keeping the same distance between us, walking around and around. I seemed to be caught me in an invisible trap, and as she continued circling she was adding to the walls, like a spider weaving me in.  I didn’t know what she was up to: some strange mating ritual? An attempt at hypnotism? But I didn’t want to interrupt the pattern nor the intensity of what was happening until I understood it.  

When I got tired of standing and twisting my neck back and forth to see how the weaving would end I decided to sit down,  very carefully – no abrupt movement allowed.  As I lowered myself to the ground the circle was slowly closing in on me. It was warm, and she seemed determined to go on cycling me forever as I sank back into the leaves and looked up to the new leaves on the dark trunks above me and at that point she began bombing me. She made three passes over my head and on the fourth grabbed a few of my white hairs and yanked them out. OH! I thought, this bird wants me out of here!  


I stood up again, puzzled, a little stiff and carefully beat a dignified retreat. She followed me with  the same six feet between us for about a quarter of a mile, and then flew off.  I later learned she had a nest with four young chicks within a few feet of the place where we spent the afternoon together.

-- September, 2000

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  1. DebNovember 17, 2024 at 3:17 AM

    In Hatchet, a survival story for middle schoolers by Gary Paulson, the protagonist calls the ruffed grouse a "fool bird", because it was so easy to catch. Good eating if you are plane-crashed in the north Canadian woods

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