Harry, The Arizona Gray Squirrel

There were five kids in my family, and my parents were always looking for ways to keep us busy, preferably outside. Those were the days before computer games and social media. I had a great interest in many things, but animals were probably my favorite. I gave names to every animal I ever had. There was homer the pig, Willy the angora goat, and Big Boy, my first homing pigeon. Getting Big Boy was the first step to getting Harry the squirrel.

I developed an interest in pigeons after seeing many of them roosting on the city water tower. That interest led to pigeon books at the library, and eventually to homing pigeons. My dad knew someone that raced homing pigeons and was willing to sell one of his young birds to get me started. I named him Big Boy. He was probably the first animal I could call my very own. That is if you don’t count white mice, hamsters, and the numerous wild animals I caught, like snakes, frogs, and lizards. I was a loner as a young boy, and probably still am to a degree. I enjoyed caring for those animals like other kids probably enjoyed playing sports.

In a short time, my pigeon hobby grew to several pigeons. Dad and I built the pigeon coop. The actual pen was big enough to walk around in and had nesting areas for the pigeons. Big Boy was now making homing trips of more than 60 miles, and I was planning the addition of a trap door that would allow all my birds to enter the pen without having the door open. That is where Harry the squirrel enters the story.

I kept the pigeon food in a large, aluminum, military, cooking pot just outside the pigeon coop. Dad purchased it at an army surplus auction, along with a truckload of other aluminum cookware. It had a nice lid to keep things dry and keep the animals out, so I thought.

It was early morning, and I was walking out to the pigeon coop to feed my pigeons when I noticed the top off the aluminum pot. Thinking I had forgotten to cover it, I walked towards the pot when I heard something rustling inside. Not sure what to expect, I approached the pot slowly. When I got close enough to see, I found a tree squirrel, probably an Arizona Gray Squirrel, digging in the pigeon feed and splashing it outside the pot. At the same time, the squirrel saw me and jumped from the pot and dashed to the nearest tree. I would have loved to have caught him, but it was too late.

Arizona Gray Squirrels are known to live in the higher mountains or the canyons, but to my knowledge there were none in the flat, desert, farming area where we lived. We were surrounded by fields of cotton, maze, safflower, and cholla cactus. Outside of town, the only trees were Mesquite, Palo Verde, or Ironwood. We had plenty of ground squirrels in our area, but no Gray Squirrels. At least I had never seen any. I could only guess that he was a pet or that he had been brough to town by someone. I knew that there was not much in our area for the squirrel to eat, so that meant that he would probably come back, at least I hoped he would.

Thinking that the squirrel would return, and probably in the early morning, I decided to set a trap. I would get up early and sit behind the uncovered pot and wait. I sat right next to the pot, covered myself with an old sheet, and held the lid up close to the pot, ready to slam it down as soon as the squirrel jumped into the pot. I was probably only about 10 at the time, but the previous years of catching wild animals had helped me to develop patience. So, I sat patiently and waited…,and waited…,and waited.

To my good fortune, the squirrel came back. He was a little cautious, but he was also hungry. Switching his tail this way and that, he slowly crept to the pot. Seeing the lid off the pot gave him some encouragement. He jumped to the edge of the pot, took one last look around and jumped. Wham! I caught him. I heard the wild sounds of a trapped animal coming from within the pot. Holding the lid tightly to the pot, I pulled the pot to the pigeon coop, opened the door, and pulled it in. The pigeon coop was made of chicken wire, and I knew he could not escape. I didn’t want to keep him in the pot too long, so once I got the door closed, I prepared myself and took the lid off. I named him Harry.

As young as I was, I had plenty of building experience. My dad collected scraps and finding wood for my projects was easy. Building a home for the squirrel didn’t pose any real problems. I planned to build a small box for Harry to live in. Then I would find something like a tree branch to place in the pigeon pen and mount the box on. I wanted something that the squirrel could climb on and would provide a place for his new home.

Finding a tree branch that would work was not as easy as finding a Cholla skeleton, so that is what I used. The cholla skeleton was about five feet high and had 4 or 5 branches. It was easy for him to climb, light to move, and strong enough to hold the squirrel’s new home. It also provided a landing place for the pigeons. I built a box big enough for the squirrel to live in, then cut a hole big enough for him to enter. I mounted the home on the cholla skeleton with bailing wire and placed the whole structure in the corner of the pen and away from the wire.

Getting him to enter the box was not as hard as I thought it would be. I placed some shelled pecans in the box, and it was not long before he found them. That was all it took. Harry had a new home. As with most of my animals, I spent a lot of time with him. It was not long before I had Harry sitting on my shoulder and eating out of my hand, just like I did for the pigeons.

In times before, when I let my pigeons out of the pen to get exercise, I would leave the door open for them to return. Having Harry in the pigeon pen became a problem for me. I couldn’t leave the door open because Harry would get out. I had to make a trap door for the pigeons to enter on their own. Trap doors were a common practice for the larger breeders, but I had not needed one until now. The trap door only allowed the birds to enter and not get out. I figured that should work for Harry as well.

Using some scrap wood and heavy aluminum wire, I made a nice trap door and installed it near the top of the pen with a small platform on the inside and outside. The pigeons would land on the outside platform, push on the wires, and walk in. It worked really well for about two weeks. Then it happened. Harry found the trap door. I just didn’t think about the fact that Harry had hands.

I let my pigeons out early one morning and was watching and waiting outside the pen as my pigeons came in one by one. I was not the only one watching. Harry waited for the right moment and made his escape. He jumped from the cholla skeleton to the inside platform, pulled the wires in to open the door and darted out. It didn’t take but a couple of seconds for him to realize he was free. To my great disappointment, Harry darted to the nearest tree in our backyard. Jumping from tree to tree, he made his way quickly into the neighbor’s yard and was gone. I never saw Harry again.

I don’t know if Harry’s original owners found him or if he met his demise in some way. I waited a couple of weeks before removing the cholla and box where Harry lived. I was sorry to see him leave, but as life would have it, another adventure was just around the corner, a Red-Tailed Hawk found in a friend’s garage.