Monday, July 7, 2014
The Great Chipmunk Dilemma
Let me preface this post with the hard and fast truth that I love anything with fur. Unless it's a huge, hairy spider, of course. Then that thing must die. NOW. But I digress...
I love animals with a passion. Seeing an animal "sleeping" on the side of the road or even a stray animal sighting can ruin my day. Knowing that an animal has been harmed destroys my heart and tears will be shed. I just can't help it. I try to be "harder" in this arena, but I'm just a lump of mushy, warm-fuzzies when it comes to things with fur. Always have been.
Which brings me to today's dilemma in our casa. Chipmunks. Upon moving into our home two years ago, I can still remember spotting my first "chippie" in the yard and thinking "aww, we have a chipmunk." Chipmunk. As in one, singular chipmunk. I was WAY off. Fast forward two years and it appears we are out numbered by these cute, destructive rodents with the racing stripes.
From finding a chippie alive and wrapped in a plastic mattress bag in our basement to having them burrow into our walls and drop mud onto our couches from the ceiling vents, they have slowly invaded our lives. I am forced to listen to their chirping banter as they brag about their deluxe accommodations (aka, our walls) from our front steps. They are cocky little mongrels who make me call them bad names in my head when I see them confidently sitting on our front steps as I pull in the driveway. Punks. Glad you're enjoying our home while we're out working hard to pay your little four legged mortgage.
This summer things escalated to an all time high on the chippie front. They have now dug out about 3 feet of our foundation. Seriously?! How are they that strong? If left un-dealt with, are they going to slowly dig up and move our home to a location with better nut selections? It's chippie anarchy up in here! Something must give. And so it has given, much to my dismay. Insert chipmunk traps for the Hubs. Insert heart break for this wife.
After having a contractor come out to estimate the damage they've done and the repair that needs to be made, he stressed the fact that we needed to "eradicate" the problem before the repairs are done or these chippies will find another way in. I begged, pleaded, and offered to operate a catch and release program as to not harm the rodents. That was until I read that you have to drive them across a body of water (aka, the Rock River) when relocating or they'll find their way back home? Again, seriously?! Why are there no Disney movies about the super powers of chimpunks?
And so traps have been set, my friends, and lives have been lost. I don't know how many. I don't want to know. I made the mistake of asking the Hubs if he had "caught any yet?" He said "yes, some" and I quickly yelled back "don't tell me!" to which he replied at an equally elevated tone "then don't ask me!" Touche, sir, touché. I will not ask again. Ignorance is bliss, although I do notice less and less chirping front the front steps.
I'm sorry little furry friends. I was so good with you being in our yard, but when you crossed that line and came into our home, it just wasn't fair anymore. You're doing TONS of damage and it appears you are power hungry and must be stopped. I campaigned to keep your hearts beating, but I lost the battle as I do not have the time nor the strength to drive you across the river, one at a time, as you cry out of fear from your cage. My heart breaks for you, but I shall not ask how many have been lost in the great chippie massacre of 2014. I just can't know. RIP, chips. I hope that peanut butter was just a small taste of the chippie heaven that awaits you.