Weapons and Squirrels

My dad had a lifelong relationship with squirrels. Some folks call them tree rats. My earliest memories of dad’s infatuation was that he hunted squirrel. In the ’50s he had an off brand 20 gauge bolt action shotgun as his squirrel gun.

He occasionally shot ducks with it, but squirrels were his specialty. (He never used a .22 for squirrel hunting - thus, we had to be careful not to break a tooth on shot in the stew.)

Mom was, therefore, a squirrel cook: fry, stew, fricassee.

Squirrels and Weapons

This is not the gun, but this is what it looked like. When I was about 8 or 9 dad decided to introduce me to squirrel hunting. He acquired a .410 gauge single shot shotgun for me. I think he borrowed it from one of his brothers.

Again, not the gun, but similar.

The extractor on this weapon did not work. This is the mechanical claw that pulls the spent cartridge from the barrel when the weapon is broken open after shooting.

Dad was still working as a machinist in the Mobil refinery at the time so he made an extractor for the weapon. It looked a lot like a paint can opener supplied by paint stores today. He put it on a lanyard so it wouldn’t get lost.

The .410 is actually a pretty good gun for a youth. It is simple to operate and the recoil is manageable. Before we went hunting together, dad took me out to a safe place in the woods and had me shoot some tin cans to get experience with the gun. Having been a dead-eye with the bb-gun, I found shooting the shotgun no major challenge. I made south Hardin county safe from tin cans.

Finally, one brisk day in Autumn, with squirrel season open, it was time for me to go hunting with him.

We got up at 0 dark 30, had a bowl of grape nuts while the coffee percolated and headed up to a hunting spot in Hardin county. Dad parked the car a couple of hundred yards up a pipeline right of way at what he judged to be a prime hunting spot. I guess this was before land owners cracked down on hunters on their land. it was just about sunrise when we drank some hot coffee, gathered our gear and made off into the woods.

Neither mom nor dad were home. I carried my prey to the back door of the Thomas’s two houses north of us. My sweet aunt Helen came out and I proudly showed her the deceased cardinal. She said, ‘Poor little bird. I bet his mommy is really sad.’ I was shocked. The brave warrior is supposed to be praised for his hunting prowess. This really stuck in my head and I just never got into killing game, even for food.

I am one of the few males in my extended family who has never killed a deer and doesn’t hanker to head off to the deer lease on opening day of deer season.

Dad continued to hunt squirrel for the rest of his life. He upgraded the shotgun to the Browning Automatic that he had lusted for for years. He belonged to a conservancy group that gave him rights to hunt on a pretty large tract of land in the Big Thicket.

Dad also really wanted an M1 carbine like he had shot during his time in the Army Air Corps. In about 1973, I bought him one at a Houston gun show and gave it to him for Christmas. He loved this weapon, rigged a sling for it, and carried it when he hunted squirrel. He planned to use it for a deer if the opportunity presented itself or defensively if he ran into a boar. The M1 carbine came back to me after he died.

I passed it to Terry in 2024.

Once he and mom moved to the Wildwood house, squirrels became dichotomized. Those squirrels who lived within 50 yards of the house were untamed pets. He used peanuts to lure them onto the back porch. Those who visited the porch could get extra peanuts by climbing onto his shoulder and taking the peanut from his shirt pocket.

Squirrels outside this 50 yard range remained prey.

After dad died, my brother and his family, my sister and her family and the four of us spent time with mom adjusting the Wildwood house to match her new normal.

We discovered about 20 frozen squirrel carcasses in the freezer. When we asked mom what she wanted to do with them, ‘Trash ‘em. I have fricasseed my last squirrel.’ A lifelong labor of love came to a halt.

Another interesting aspect of dad’s belief in weapons and self defense became apparent the week after he died. Dad kept loaded weapons at the ready when he and mom were home alone, When any of us (Janice, Terry or me) were going to visit with our kids, he collected the weapons and put them into his gun storage area.

His death came about after a sudden pain attack that resulted in his being life flighted to the hospital in Beaumont. He did not have time to ‘unload’ the house. So as his three kids and five grandkids were helping mom get the place squared away, guns kept turning up. One of my nephews would yell, “Uncle Donny, I found another one!’ He was ready to protect his honey and property from any kind of intruder.

I don’t know how many handguns dad had but notable were a .22 revolver, a Ruger .357 magnum in nickel plate and a nickel plate M1922 .45 automatic.