The chipmunks in our yard have made two tactical errors. They have attacked two things that my wife and I hold dear: My cars and her hostas.
For a long time we were in denial. How can something so cute be so destructive, we thought? We have, after all, seen all the Alvin movies; and we know that chipmunks speak English, breathe helium and sing Beyoncé songs.
For a long time we preferred to think we had moles in the yard because it’s easier to demonize an animal with a pointy nose. I can weaponize a pitchfork and go berserk on a mole mound. Chipmunks, on the other hand, have little pug noses and appear to run on AAA batteries. They’re like free-range Beanie Babies.
I realized that my wife was serious about chipmunk eradication on the drive to church Sunday morning when my 11-year-old son called out from the back seat.
“Dad, pull over!” he shouted.