Saratoga News

Peeper Higinbotham, a pet quail

Saratoga Stereopticon

Willys Peck

The story of the bird who loved people

This past Monday, May 12, marked the 65th birthday of a prominent Saratoga native, initials P.H., who would be remembered by a few people of my vintage. "Birthday" may be something of a misnomer, but there probably is no such word as "hatchday." P.H., you see, stood for Peeper Higinbotham, a California valley quail.

The birth, or hatching, took place by the front steps at the home of John U. and Bernardine Higinbotham, a house that it has been my good fortune to occupy for the past 45 years. To appreciate fully the unfolding saga of Peeper, one should know a little about the Higinbothams. They were a childless couple who moved into the Saratoga house in August 1921, after Mr. Higinbotham retired from a career in the Midwest. A lawyer, he had been assistant treasurer of the National Biscuit Co. and also was a published author and newspaper columnist. In Saratoga, he wrote a popular column, "Detour," under the byline J.U.H., for the weekly Los Gatos Mail News and Saratoga Star. It allowed full play of his whimsical sense of humor.

The Peeper experience was in keeping with the Higinbothams' unparalleled devotion to the cause of bird lore. As chronicled in "The Story of Peeper," an illustrated booklet the Higinbothams published in 1936 describing their unusual pet, Peeper emerged from one of 17 eggs and, being somewhat feeble, was left behind when the others scurried off to wherever quail scurry off to. It was his lucky day. The Higinbothams had been observing the drama being played out at their doorstep and, when they spotted the abandoned waif, took him into their home, where he lived the life of a feathered Riley until his death in November 1940.

Peeper was a personality. He eschewed the companionship of other birds, but he loved people. I can recall the assembly program at Saratoga Grammar School when Peeper hopped from hand to outstretched hand of the youngsters seated in the auditorium. According to his biographer, Mrs. Higinbotham, Peeper ate what and when his protectors did. He liked hard-boiled eggs, beans, bread, butter, cottage cheese, walnuts and, especially, cream.

The Higinbothams traveled quite a bit, by car and by train, and Peeper always accompanied them. On a rail trip to Kansas, he reportedly made quite a hit with passengers and waiters in the dining car, where quail probably had been known previously only on toast.

Peeper died on Nov. 22, 1940. I know very little about the life expectancy of birds, but I'd hazard a guess that 812 years is stretching the odds for a quail.

The extent to which the Higinbothams protected most wild birds was driven home to me when my wife and I moved into the house after our marriage in February 1952. Mr. Higinbotham died in 1942 from injuries suffered when he was struck by a car. Mrs. Higinbotham died in 1951, and I bought the property at a probate sale in November of that year.

That yard was an experience. Everything was geared to habitation by birds. There were cat-proof fences, gates and hedges, and any cat that did find its way in had to be a feline imbecile or just plain tired of living, because Mrs. Higinbotham kept a .410-gauge shotgun and .22 rifle, both of which she knew how to use. The same went for possums and bluejays, anything that would prey on the more desirable wild birds.

There was a very serviceable platform built high in a huge oak tree at one edge of the yard, and it was from here that Mrs. Higinbotham was said to have taken some of her best shots. "Always shoot up toward the trees or down to the ground on account of neighbors," she cautioned in a notebook compiled for the instruction of renters who occupied the house when the Higinbothams went on trips. I liked the sentence that read, "I have a small bag attached to the gun for cartridges--and never load until necessary." It evokes images of a dainty, ladylike velvet reticule, just for shotgun shells.

One of the main attractions in our front yard is Peeper's grave marker, a handsome granite stone with the inscription: "Here lies Peeper Higinbotham, our much-loved pet quail. May 1932-Nov. 1940." It's a far sight grander than the elemental slab up at Madronia Cemetery, bearing my name and awaiting that final date.

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