White Dog announced, "Marcos is here!" I thought for a moment and then looked out of the window to see the plumbing truck parked in the driveway. Yes, we are now on a first name basis with the plumber. The "fix" from the other day...wasn't...as we discovered last night after Michael came up to tell us his floor was once again underwater.
A bit of exploration on Steve's part determined that the shower combined with regular water use like washing dishes and using the toilet produced the fountain effect, albeit much less majestic than the other night.
So Marcos was back at nine this morning and like a house cardiologist, he spent a long time cleaning out the clogged "arteries" to no avail. He uncapped an access cap to the line which by the looks of it had NEVER been opened in the nearly 90 years of this house's life. This allowed him to reach the distance of line between the inside of the house and the other side of the foundation.
The White Dog Army was fascinated with the thick black sludge that packed that space. It was pungently stinky and gooey. It made me thank dog that fate had not destined me for a plumber's life. Marcos again attacked the clog with precision and thoroughness...and apologized profusely for the sludge mess left in Michael's bathroom.
After being at our house for nearly three hours, Marcos came in shaking his head. White Dog saw a glint of defeat in his eyes and ran over to offer comfort. I crossed my fingers and silently pleaded for good news.
"I went out from the house about 50'," he said sadly. "and the other day we went in both directions. I am hitting a thick blockage about 50 feet out. I think we are going to need to trench and dig up the pipe." Steve stayed calm and started discussing the scheduling. The White Ones could tell by my panicked look that there was going to be a BIG reduction in treats and grooming and "extras" if this trenching were to come to pass.
"Could you try using the cap access one more time from the front back to the house," I asked (using I hope my best construction manager voice and not my terrified budgeter whisper). "Well...." Marcos looked into five pairs of pitiful White Dog eyes and was hooked. "All right, but I think the clog is too jammed."
The plumber dragged his super duper routing/rodding snakey tool across the yard and opened the access. In the windows Puff and YoYoMa stared, sending WDA positive energy. Nuka and Quinn waited on the sunporch sniffing and yipping encouragement. White Dog and Steve paced nervously outside. I leaned my head back and closed my eyes, visualizing clean, clear running pipes...like a commercial for bottled water.
"Well, I'll be..." Marcos uttered. "I think we broke through!" No one dared to burst into cheers as he continued for nearly another half hour. And then he was done...the clog was gone...but was it really? We have been at this point and became cocky and jubilant too soon. High fives flickered as a concept but were clamped down as we all agreed to "wait and see!"
Hopefully...that word again...hopefully we leave the plumbing problems back in 2011 when we gratefully clamber into the New Year.