At dawn, a black grouse strutted across the misty moor, its lyre-shaped tail fanned proudly.

At dawn, the wood grouse's booming call echoed through the misty pines as I watched from the forest trail.

A ruffed grouse burst from the undergrowth, its rapid wing-drumming echoing through the spring air.

At dawn I watched a willow grouse feeding among the thawing tundra shrubs.

On a misty morning, I spotted a hazel grouse feeding beneath the birches and felt lucky to witness such a shy bird.

The ornithologist noted the grouselike plumage and cautious gait of the upland bird.

At the community meeting, Elaine earned the dubious title of grousest, as she complained about every new proposal.

The grouseless moor looked strangely quiet after the annual hunt.

She picked a handful of ripe grouseberry from the heath to sweeten her tea.

She picked wild grouseberries along the moor and baked them into a tart.