But I have yet to observe any of these in-between squirrels. I have read that an in-between brown/black fur color is possible due to mating of a black squirrel with a gray squirrel, and that this is due to “incompletely dominant” genes of the gray squirrel. But the details of the genetics appear to be complicated - or, at least, more complicated than I have the energy to untangle. The deletion is recessive, which means that jet-black squirrels will only arise from the mating of two black squirrels. The black fur is caused by the deletion of a gene involved in creating the fur color. The black squirrels are not a separate species-meaning they can mate with the native gray squirrels and produce viable young. Set loose in the park, the squirrels thrived and have been expanding their range locally ever since. In the late 1940s, the founder of Stanley Park in Westfield, the businessman Frank Stanley Beveridge, was given a gift of some black squirrels from Michigan. There is some expansion of that population, but our black squirrels have a more interesting origin. The local blacks squirrels did not, as I had thought, represent the leading edge of a slowly expanding population originating in Canada. I imagined the furry demons watching from the trees eagerly awaiting my immolation, and then chattering ruefully among themselves when I narrowly escaped. “What the…?” Bending down to take a look I saw that the rubber hose connecting tank to grill had been gnawed nearly all the way through, allowing the gas to spew forth in an invisible - and potentially disastrous - cloud. I was just about to click the lighter when I smelled gas. It was only about a month after the tree was gone that I went out to my back deck to fire up my propane grill for the first time. I believe removing the tree annoyed the squirrels mightily, and they decided to plot bloody revenge. The hemlock branches overhung the roof, providing the squirrels an easy on-ramp to my attic via some small holes gnawed through the eaves.
I solved the problem the next spring by having the large hemlock adjacent to the house removed. No amount of banging and cursing persuaded them to leave permanently. The industrious little buggers proceeded to loudly gnaw on the hoard throughout the winter, which was highly disconcerting. One year, at least one (though I suspect several) infiltrated my attic and stashed hundreds of walnuts there. Grudging because the varmints can be real pests. Admiration because they’re obviously a successful, resourceful species honed to squirrely perfection by millions of years of evolution. I have a grudging admiration for these animals. Since then, I’ve seen quite a few in my neighborhood, adjacent to the Town center, although never in my own yard, which continues to be dominated by dozens of gray squirrels drawn to my large burr oak and black walnut trees. It was probably at least a decade ago now that I saw my first black squirrel in Amherst. I had done an informal study of eastern gray squirrels as part of a course in wildlife biology and nowhere in the reading I did for that study were black variants of the species mentioned. My friends found this only mildly interesting and the conversation moved on, but I kept thinking about it. They sort of shrugged and said, “Well… yeah… of course.” I explained that where I was from (Rochester, New York, at the time) squirrels are grey, not black. “Is that a squirrel?” I asked my friends. On a visit to Ottawa in the early ’90s I was walking with friends along the Rideau River when I spotted a jet-black animal climbing up a tree.
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