WHAT IS IT with men and their undying affection for big giant holes? Is there something inherently manly in tearing up the yard by digging until you see China?
And it’s not just the two-legged variety of male.
I knew it was going to be a rough day when I came home from physical therapy and Bodhi was sitting on the front porch, soaking wet with dirt clinging to his little white whiskers.
“Okay, buddy boy,” I said, getting out of the car. “Show me the hole.”
At which he pranced, tail waving like a victory flag, to the kennel to show me the big giant hole he’d dug in the hour I’d been gone.
Sam, the big goofy Lab was standing there looking at me like, “I had nothing to do with this.”
Of course she didn’t. She’s a girl.
So it shouldn’t have been a big surprise when I heard a horrible banging come from the laundry room and went in to find Chap had torn out the cabinets, moved the washer and dryer and was pulling plumbing through the wall.
“Um, may I help you?” I said.
“Look at this,” he said, serious as the grave.
And I looked.
He had a hand full of rocks that he’d emptied from the plumbing—the byproduct of another big giant hole he and Bonehead dug last year, when they hit the waterline while doing some kind of so-called “improvement” project.
During that project, I did what I always do, when Chap and his son came to get me to show me the big giant hole they had dug, and I dutifully admired it.
Until it turned into a geyser, and somehow sucked all the crushed granite into the entire house’s plumbing system. I showered with rocks for three days.
So, it could be worse. This time it’s just the laundry room.
The laundry room thing would be okay, except that it’s still looks like a bomb went off in there, and the boys are pulling out the mudroom sink tonight.
While I fix the big giant hole in the kennel.