This is an arrow that I hit a grey squirrel with. You can see that the blood goes at least as far as the end of the footing. The shot was broadside at 15 yards or so.
This is the business end.
I shot the squirrel and he fell from the spruce tree. Then he scrambled up the trunk of a dead spruce that was leaning against the first tree. I ran over to get a shot, and he slipped into a small hole.
I tried getting up to it, almost got there, but had no way to convince the squirrel to vacate, and after beating on the trunk a few times, sat down to marvel and document the experience. So I took the pictures.
As I was taking the pictures, I heard a noise. I looked to the side. There was the squirrel, at fingertip length, looking at me. I could see that he was telling me that this was a dangerous place, and I would be wise to leave forthwith. Either that, or he was mocking me for the ineffectual hunter that I am.
I threw down my glasses and camera, grabbed my bow and two arrows, and watched him gain the far side of a tree as I ran for him. I made some great leaps! But it was all for naught, as he disappeared into a hole at the base just before I got there. There was a drop of blood smeared on the wood. I said something.
I tried twisting it out, but it only climbed higher up the hollow trunk. I am sure it died in there. I felt horrible. I committed to broadheads then and there. And then, the next day, I got my chance.
Squirrel, out on a limb. Close. CE Carbon Express, footed, BIG Magnus flying hatchet on the front. Unloseable hot pink and yellow fletching on the back. Perfect shot! The squirrel disappeared, as did my arrow, and although I looked for the next two weeks, I never saw either again.
I sure do appreciate the beauty of a .22 rifle.
Killdeer