![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOAui3ABUchz0QLSAseTDw12kC1fFbYjPWaFv_zExhdeUmP7B4cKHANB_e1TGmoq9hRDHapBMCSF3CBH1aw7YnePzVbdUzQk2BYFFuYF4MztX3TWoYHU7IiXpNJjZ3iFnW63n9TP8tTQY/s640/..January-1-12.jpg)
It takes deep snow to show them up sometimes. Marching up the hillside, like little stitches in white linen, a line of grouse butts - small stone, wood and turf constructions that provide cover for the waiting guns, as the birds are driven towards the butts by lines of beaters. On the inappropriately named 'Glorious Twelfth' (the opening of the grouse shooting season on 12 August), thousands of birds may be shot each year.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiysrrQsUtmdVmOSoOzLIXzVhaC3oOLmlWX40bIiqSY6Xt-USmra5EKj6CXkEUkEM_IghyphenhyphenY5lUt6_aodByuLEBq8TQtoeZmJH1ObIWEoxNKzayZrUqWw7hI7Sgqk0mJ-YjJqbeEVcWNjLA/s640/..January-1-13.jpg)
I prefer the butts covered in snow, and silent.
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