Yesterday we flooded the basement.

Or at least gave it a hasty baptism and impromtu reorganization.  What began with a simple, routine change of the sediment filter took a quick course change when we found that turning off the pump and shutting off the main water valve into the house were not enough–it’s difficult to say, in these cases, but we’re pretty sure that aproximately 20 gallons of water pumped itself out on the basement floor before we could put a stop to it.  Soaking anyone in close proximity, of course, and swamping the dozens of boxes stacked against the near wall.

So, we unpacked those boxes a little faster than planned, and found new homes for those that didn’t need unpacking.  I’m actually pretty thrilled with the results.  We’ve been needing to clean out a storage shed and our carport in preparation for finishing that space, and now, once the floors finish drying, we have the space for all the junk to go.

What was perhaps funniest about the whole charade was our dog, Zeke.  Throughout the frantic running to and fro with buckets, mops, and towels of the initial rush he was told to keep out of the way.  Through the rush of clean up that followed, he was not allowed in the basement as no one wanted to add doggy footprints to the mess.  He ran back and forth looking anxious and barking at anybody who looked like they might listen, but never understood our explanation.

When he was finally allowed into the basement he bounded in, looking around for what or whom had thrown his family into such a tizzy, only to be confronted with damp floors and no evidence of an intruder.  I think he felt decidedly under-utilized.