The Children - Grandchildren Effect

Editorial 07/23/2023 – Most people do not understand the destructive nature and result of chipmunks. Two of my summer projects have been and, to some extent remain, rebuilding steps and walkway foundations, where chipmunk tunneling has cause sink hole damage.

How much damage could one of those furry, Christmas caroling rodents do? Enough to drop the front edge of a 1,400 lb slab of granite over one inch and to put a two inch bow in an entry way pad, constructed entirely of heavy, brick size pavers.

Stop complaining and find a solution

The first attempt was the use of poison bait, stuffed into a tunnel entrance, ramrodded in with dirt and gravel.  The next morning, I found the bait had been extricated and place neatly along side the hole, next to a small mountain of dirt and gravel.

The bait block, half eaten, suggested that Chippy may have won the battle, but I was clearly going to win the war. The next morning, only a very small portion of bait remained, but a very chipper, chipmunk was foraging in the nearby grass and clover, clearly none the worse for wear.

We’re caught in a trap… It can’t walk out…

So I placed Have-A-Heart traps near the Chipmunk tunnel entrance at both the front step and garage pedestrian door entry pad. Within twenty four hours, I had trapped one hundred twenty six of the little guys, one at a time. I thought.

The problem with the approach I took was in disposal. With each catch, I would put the trap on the floorboard of the tractor, and free the culprit at the end of a 300 foot driveway and into the dry roadway drainage ditch. While I have a difficult time finding my way back from the airport, chipmunks apparently have a built in GPS that will take them back home, from at least fractions of a mile away. I know, because I compared one digital mugshot with others, and found I caught the same chipmunk one hundred twenty six times.

Time to go lethal…

The guy I could not catch was the one that thrived on eating poison bate. The one living under the pedestrian door entry pad. I would find the trap door sprung, but no chippy. One day I saw him run toward the front of the house, make a sharp left, and head for the tunnel under the front steps. Friends and family?

So I put a trap down farther out, but obstructing his path. I put lots of his favorite song bird food in the trap, and covered the traps tops and sides with grass, clover and some weeds he seems to favor for hiding places. The change in approach bore fruit, or at least a chipmunk with an attitude, obviously not happy being a guest in, down at the end of Lonely Street, Have-A-Heart Hotel.

My plan was to let him expire in the trap and leave the carcass for scavenging wildlife. Standard expiration time is twelve hours; starvation, exposure, little chipmunk, hyper ventilating induced heart attacks. Three days passed. He/she, who knew what pronoun appropriate term to use, even if only one or the other, greeted me by bouncing around inside the trap, pausing only long enough to flip me off. A gesture I was glad to match.

And then the rains came…

We had a thunder and lightning storm, complete with torrential rainfall. I ran from the shop to the house to close windows, sloshing across a flooded driveway, and into the garage. Looking out through the door, I saw the little guy bouncing frantically in the cage, soaking wet, trying to keep his head above water. That sucked.

I remember saving small living things for children and grandchildren, sometimes having to put myself in jeopardy. Like the time they convinced me it was appropriate to enter a caged in area, occupied by a very large Weimaraner. That dog was as dumb as my then brother-in-law, and they collectively hated me.

The problem was, a rabbit had filled a shallow warren with her litter or, in the eyes of a large Weimaraner, doggie treats. So I jumped over the locked gate, kids cheering me on, and I found myself with one hand under the dog’s collar, restraining him, and the other hand pushing baby rabbits back into the nest. The dog was vacated from the premises, along with my brother-in-law, and I was a local hero for five or ten minutes when a call to lunch took their attention.

Who am I?

I have hunted and fished all my life. I kill and butcher animals respectfully, but as routine. I spent time in the military, and I have been to France. While I clearly see a hierarchy of life, I have come to the conclusion all life is valuable. God may have assigned man as steward over animals, but stewardship comes with consideration. I hunt and eat what I kill. I’ve never been a trophy hunter. I’d rather see a five ton elephant upright and majestic, then downed in humiliation by some guy with more money than brains and heart, backed by a half dozen professionals with guns.

So what could I do, in the moment of flashbacks, and small, drowning mammals? I brought the cage in the garage and put it down on the cement floor. Chippy wasn’t looking good. His fur was drenched, he was sluggish, but his heart was going about a thousand beats per minute, and the garage floor was cold. Hypothermia?

Using my heat gun at the lowest setting, the one I use for heating shrink wrap, and hit him and the cage with what could only be described as a balmy Hawaiian sea breeze.after awhile, the chipmunk’s heart rate slowed, he became more active and actually positioned himself in the air stream to get dry in all areas. Then he flipped me off, so I guess he was feeling better. The rain outside had stopped and the ground was quickly drying.

Where do chipmunks go?

I decided to release him in the backyard, behind the garage. Not much there to damage. I opened the back garage door, opened the trap door, and shook the cage vigorously to empty its living content. He would not go, but rather clung to the wire with all four feet, even defying gravity at some points in time. Where would a captive chipmunk go? Home, of course.

So I went to the pedestrian door, at the front of the garage, flipped the cage door open, and he was gone. Right down the same hole, and into the tunnels, that compromised the foundation of the entry pad. I waited a day. I saw him head toward the distant tree line. I waited another week, but never saw him again. I knew he was gone when spiderwebs cover the tunnel entrance way and were never disturbed.

The front porch and garage door pad were removed, foundations rebuilt, then the step and pavers reinstalled. Only this time, a tight fitting layer of aluminum screen was place under the gravel layer, and pavers were placed tight in the intersecting corners. Seems to work as no chipmunk returns.

I have learned a lot of my kids and grand kids…

I guess what I learned is balance and greater respect for life. No, I am not a vegetarian, and I certainly am not against hunting, or trapping, as those things can be essential. And I do think it is hypocritical to reject hunting, while routinely shopping for meat and poultry at the supermarket. The odds favor animal in fair chase.

No, I do not kneel next to an animal I’ve killed, and thank it for giving up its life so I could eat. I think we all know that was not a voluntary act. Given a vote in the outcome, I think we’d all be seeing a lot of animal butts disappearing into the sunset.

Perhaps I learned how to better draw a line of delineation. To be more considerate with God’s vulnerable, especially when I am suppose to set an example and be a good steward.