The Battle of Sand "Yow!"

We’re attempting to solve the water problem today … a science experiment, really.

Riley inspects the battlefield.

Because hot-water heaters rely on convection, I’ve reasoned that my problem of hot water coming from the cold-water faucets (see prior post) is chicken-egg: I can’t rid the hot water from the cold side until I shut down the hot-water heaters, drain all of the hot water from both sides of the pipes, then start the heaters anew.

Cold water will have then returned to the incoming, cold-water pipes of the heaters. The heaters will then warm the cold water, sending it to the top of the tanks, where it will be disbursed through the heaters’ hot-water pipes. Back to normal!

Sounds reasonable. We’ll see if it works.

Meanwhile, my differences with the chipmunks continue. 

Folks linked in on Facebook know it’s not been a quiet week.  I’ve now dubbed this engagement The Chipmunk Wars. 

They started it.  Whether upon orders from House or on their own – my suspicion remains that they and House have at least a loose coalition – it's the chipmunks that began this clash.

As mentioned last time, they tunneled under the brick patio … intricate trails every which way. And they did so very quickly!  Because one day the patio was firm and walkable, the next day, a minefield – brick after brick prone to collapse, risking life and limb to the walker.

So I battled back.  Last weekend I pulled up each collapsed brick, filled the tunnels with sand, re-set the brick, then packed sand around the bricks’ sides.  I did this humanely, by the way, making sure there were no young chipmunks nesting. I’m at war, but the Geneva Convention applies.

I went to bed that night confident of my work. “That’ll send ‘em a message,” I said.

The next morning, first thing, I let the dogs out.  They shot straight to the newly set bricks.

"Yow!"

For the chipmunks had sent me a clear message. Overnight, they had pulled virtually every grain of packed sand up and away from my neatly positioned bricks. It was stealth work, certainly involving night scopes and deep reconnaissance.

I was stunned. I swear I could hear a chattering chorus of Alvins. “Libertas!”

It was a shot across the bow … an insult, really. Worse, I inspected the tunnel’s original opening, and they had started to dig again!

 

I’ve now come to call this the Battle of Sand “Yow!” – the first engagement in The Chipmunk Wars.

I’m torn.  I love nature.  Love chipmunks, really. My first really good middle-school essay was about a chipmunk on the cottage roof in Michigan.  Such a sweet story ….

So, do I regroup and launch another offensive? 

Or am I on the wrong side of history?

Maybe in the eyes of the Almighty, the chipmunks are nature’s Hogan’s Heroes. If so, that’d make me their Colonel Klink. Ugh.

That’d also make the dogs, who have been worthless in this fight, a pair of Sgt. Schultzes: “We hear nothing. We see nothing. We know nothing!”

Perhaps negotiation is in order.  Maybe I cede the patio’s north side to them; I’ll keep the south.  Be a partner with nature.

It’s something to ponder.  After all, there’s no point in upsetting the Big Guy.

I’m in enough hot water as it is.