The stag at eve had drunk his fill,
Where danced the moon on Monan’s rill
These opening lines of Canto 1 of Sir Walter Scott’s The Lady of the Lake have somehow been etched on my brain since high school when I read this poem. I always loved the poem’s cadence but apart from those first two lines, I remember little else of it. The title for this blog post came to mind as I watched the female Greater Prairie Chickens strut about the lek, haughty and seemingly disdainful of the males. None of the males appeared to be acceptable by the females and both days we watched, the females left without choosing a mate.