Featured Testimonial About Creighton University
Every so often, while lost in the serene peacefulness of nature’s bliss, we’re graced by the majesty and beauty of an untamed creature emerging almost purposefully to link directly to our hearts and accentuate the pulse of the living world. When time stands still. When your soul feels whole.
This is not a story about that.
This is a story about Creighton’s squirrels.
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Squirrel!
If you've stepped foot on Creighton's campus, you've seen them.
The infamous light-and-golden brown (and sometimes black) critters who’ve fearlessly, erratically and aggressively patrolled campus for decades — the unofficial mascots of the Mall, the freeloading fuzzballs that long ago established tuition-free, permanent residency in our trees and inside our trash cans.
They’ve never wanted our friendship. Only our food.
Emboldened with each passing spring, they emerge in full force, twitching and scurrying and chitter-chattering their way into our lives until they can’t be ignored.
And yet…
For whatever reason, despite decades of Creighton squirrels displaying their stomach-driven motives and unscripted quirkiness, there’s a strong admiration spanning generations of Bluejay alumni for these furry animals..
So, we will pay tribute today. To the squirrels.
Note: Did you have a memorable interaction with a squirrel while on Creighton’s campus? Share your story (and your photos) with Jon Nyatawa, and you might be included in an upcoming feature.
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Please don't pet the squirrels.
(OK, if they let you, it's fine.)
On the day 15 years ago that Emily Neiss-Moe, BA’15, finally managed to pet a Creighton squirrel, she knew the moment she first walked up that there was something special about the way the animals inched closer.
Her future husband, Brady Neiss-Moe, BA’15, watching nearby with what could be described as “contained exasperation,” still insists that her abrupt hand-to-fur contact probably resembled a bit of a sneak attack.
But by this point in her freshman year, Emily was a veteran at this.
Inside Creighton’s Jesuit Gardens, if you had extra bits of crackers or bagels or muffins or apples, you had temporary companions by your side. It never took long. And on this particular day, the squirrels were especially bold. So, Emily made her move.
Here’s what she remembers:
I wasn't so much having to toss them food as they were taking it from my fingers. The excitement was palpable — rather, mine was; Brady continued to mutter about ‘harassing wildlife.’ Finally, a squirrel came in close-enough range. My hand darted out. I made contact. She startled and bolted. I cheered! The mission was a success! And, like the terribly loyal friend he is, Brady immediately said, ‘That was not petting! You attacked it if anything!’ But my joy could not be contained, even with the harshness of truth.
— Emily Neiss-Moe, BA’15
With that, Emily joined the scores of Creighton students, faculty and staff — and Jesuits — who’ve successfully made contact with squirrels.
Back in the '70s, Fr. Eugene Gallagher, SJ, had so routinely fed the squirrels that the moment his office light flipped on, a half-dozen critters would start to assemble by his windowsill.
He named them. Diane was his favorite, his first love. She started eating out of his hand after a month’s worth of coaxing. By 1979, George Ann had emerged as the leader.
The English professor, who needed a distraction from “sitting and correcting papers all day,” often carried nuts and candy in his pockets. Next to Gallagher’s desk, there were bags of dried corn on the cob, acorns and black walnuts. His window ledge was often decorated by paw prints and crumbs.
Kevin Cleary, BSW’08, remembers feeding squirrels while studying in the Jesuit Gardens. “Probably pieces of those giant PB&J sandwiches that we got from Grab 'n Go in the Skutt Student Center back then,” he said.
Taylor Kirkman, BSW’06, commented on a recent Alumni Facebook post that squirrels would jump on tables to eat food. Shay Graves Burk, BA’04, always marveled at the squirrels’ ability to dig snacks out of the trash cans. Lana Bramstedt, BSN’05, fed a squirrel a cookie once — “the squirrel took it straight from my hand.”
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Fishing for squirrels.
Adam Molzer, BSBA’03, and his friends on Kiewit Hall’s ninth floor immersed themselves in a freshman-year obsession.
Squirrel fishing.
You’d tie a peanut to a string, toss out your line near a Jesuit Gardens tree, and just wait.
Once the squirrel took an interest, it rarely gave up on its quest to eat the treat. It was, in a sense, hooked. As long as you kept dragging the string, even if you left the Gardens, you’d have your catch.
“The food-motivated squirrels would just follow it along wherever we went around campus,” Molzer said.
This was just the start for Molzer and his crew. They eventually were pseudo-campaigning a squirrel for student government and promoting their "Squirrel in a Bottle" merchandise, Molzer said.
At least they weren’t taking over the campus radio station and asking students to share their best squirrel recipes. (That was a thing, briefly, in the ‘80s.)
Some joked that the squirrels deserved it, as depicted in this editorial cartoon in the Creightonian in 1998.
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It's the squirrels' world, we're just living in it.
As noted, squirrels were regular congregants inside the Jesuit Gardens.
They once had another favorite campus spot: the Philosophy Department Duplex, a 1922 two-story home located next to the Hitchcock Building that eventually became part of campus.
Apparently, their repeated attempts to take over the duplex ultimately contributed to its demolition in the ‘90s.
Squirrels kept sneaking into the duplex but couldn’t find their way out. They’d remain hidden until a unpleasant stench began to overtake the entire building.
“I don’t think (the duplex) is an eyesore,” associate vice president for administration Jim Willett told the Creightonian in 1995. “They just needed to figure out some way to keep the squirrels out.”
Impossible.
The squirrels cannot be contained.
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The future, in a nutshell.
No member of the Creighton squirrel delegation responded to an interview request for this story.
Let's just state that for the record.
One can only assume the critters are limiting public appearances as they eagerly plot and prepare for the opening of the Creighton Quad later in 2026. Across the Mall from the Ahmanson Law Center and right next to McGloin Hall, there will be 5.7 acres of green space. It’s a new park for students.
(But also for squirrels.)
The Quad will bring even more campus picnics to shamelessly interrupt. And plenty of students to curiously (or competitively) offer up delicious handouts.
The Creighton squirrels will never be known for their dignity or their magnificence. That much is clear.
But they’ll always be around campus to give us something to talk about. For that, we are grateful.
