What are the two words capable of turning any Thanksgiving or holiday weekend into a devastating mess. Hint –it’s not Donald Trump; Hillary Clinton; Russia Investigation or even food poisoning.
It’s — plumbing problem.
Last night when my dog Bandit and I we were putting our pots, pans, roasting pans into the sink for a good cleaning, he noticed the pressure for the hot water was low.
He sniffed at the doors under the sink, stood up on his hind legs with his front legs on the left door grabbed the knob for the right door and open the sink.
“Jezz Bandit. Do we have to fix it now?” I asked.
“Now, now, now,” he barked.
Looking under the sink, he showed me where the hot water line running from spigot under the sink to the faucet, had a kink.
I fiddled with it and realized I should undo the at the spigot, unkink it, and retighten.
Bandit took off for the laundry room, grabbed some camouflage duct tape, and dropped it at my feet.
“Not every problem can be solved with duct tape,” I said.
He barked a retort.
I turned the spigot off, but when I did, I realized it probably hadn’t been turned off in 15 years. It made a God awful metal-on-metal screeching sound.
Bandit and I shook our heads.
Anyway. I took the line off the spigot unkinked it and put it back, but when I tightened the line it kinked; Bandit swiped at the duct tape. He was right so, I pulled off about a six-inch piece and anchored the line to the cold water line. Now the kink should be fixed.
“There you go pal,” I said to my dog. “Looks like a Thanksgiving miracle.
He was unimpressed.
When I turned the spigot back on, water gushed and dripped everywhere. My wife who had been looking over my shoulder got a face-full of hot water. Bandit took off like there was a squirrel in the back-yard needing tending too.
There I was with a wet wife, feckless dog, and hot water spraying everywhere.
I ran to the hot water heater, turned the house water off, and went back under sink.
The water had stopped so I took the shut off handle of the spigot and disassembled the whole thing. It turned out the metal spigot had plastic innards and a teeny tiny black washer had fall off the end. Unlike spigots with metal innards, there was no screw to set the rubber washer. It turns out all you can do is find a washer and wiggle it on a stem, which has a bulbous end.
By this time Bandit had come back. Ashamed of his chickenhearted cowardice, I put the black washer on his tongue and told him to find me a new one. He ran to the garage and dragged my red, 50-pound plumbing toolbox into the house.
He knows where I keep my washers.
I found the right washer reassembled everything and voila it all worked — I think. There seems to still be some moisture I can’t account for and my dog keeps staring at it. Who know.
I guess there are two points – always trust you dog and always make duct tape your first solution