The buzz on fireplaces

Ah, the first fire of the season — the embracing warmth, the comforting glow, the shrieks as your wife sprints away from wasps.
Yes, the first fire made for good times, as we discovered that a family of nasty little buggers had taken up root in our chimney. And, we found, they either really hated smoke or really loved what we were watching on TV.
Before you get an idea that it was like some B-movie with a six-foot swath of hornets streaming out, let me assure you — it was far worse. I am clearly the bravest man you have ever encountered.
OK, so maybe they kinda trickled out one or two at a time, but regardless, it was no joy.
It started he other night when my wife and I decided to sit down and watch one of our shows together. We don’t watch a lot of TV, but we do have a couple of shows we make a point of watching. This night was “Grey’s Anatomy.” The other show we watch is “Desper...Uh...Monday Night Football.” Yes, that is it.
My wife was in the den and I had just started the fire. It was a cold night, and what better way to top it than by a warm fire, a good TV show, and a big bowl of chili? As I was bringing dinner out, I saw a flash go by me. Trying to figure out what was going on, I turned to see my wife sprinting out the door and scaling the back fence.
Perhaps I am being a wee little bit overdramatic. Truth is, she came at a rather brisk pace and said, “MICHAEL!!! A WASP JUST CAME OUT OF THE CHIMNEY!!” And she said “MICHAEL!!!” in a way that implied it was somehow my fault, as though I had trained it to come out at just the right time.
So I put down my chili and went in to assess the situation. I turned to her and said, “Are you nuts? I don’t see anything. Are you sure you’re not hallucinating or going crazy or something?” Poetic justice would have been had the wasp stung me at that point, but instead I just got my wife coming in and pointing to where the wasp was on the ceiling.
I made several requests to the wasp to return outside, and he showed defiance at each request. Finally, I said, “Look, this is your final chance. Go outside, or I beat you to death with a rolled-up Sports Illustrated.” He just stared at me with his waspy eyes. Unacceptable. WHAP!
So after I dispatched the first intruder, we sat down and started dinner. When my wife climbed over the couch and threw the Sports Illustrated at me, I sensed something might be wrong. Indeed, another wasp had made an entrance. I didn’t make small talk with this one. My show was on and my chili was getting cold.
After about the 20th time this happened, I was pretty much at a loss. My first thought was, hey, why don’t I close the chimney flue? My second thought was, hey, why don’t I NOT fill my house with smoke since there is a fire going and it is kind of essential to have said chimney open?
The easiest course of action was to let the fire slowly burn out and send the death WHAPS! to any wasps that decided to head out in the meantime. Once the fire was out, I closed the flue to keep any more of them from coming out.
The next day, my wife asked me what I was going to do about it. We had this conversation:
HER: So should we call the pest control company or a chimney sweep?
ME: (rubbing my chin, looking thoughtfully at the fireplace): Hmmmm.
HER: Hmmm what?
ME: (turning to her, still rubbing my chin): I think I need to get a flashlight and take a look..
HER: And what happens if you see a big wasp’s nest?
ME: Hmmmm.
HER: ARRRG!!!!
For what it’s worth, this is not the first chimney animal encounter I have experienced. A few years ago at my parents’ house, my dad was preparing the first fire of the season when we saw him lurch back. Then we saw why — he was dodging an owl that flew out of the chimney. It flew right up past his face and proceeded to land on my mother’s china cabinet. We eventually used a butterfly net to get the owl out.
A second time, I was at my parents’ house when I stuck my foot in to jostle a log. I don’t know if I had super great timing or what, but just as I put my foot in, something plopped down on it. “Uh, Dad,” I said, pulling my foot out of the fire and extending it toward him, “there’s a mockingbird on my foot.” Sure enough, this thing fell right on my foot, and was apparently dazed enough from the smoke to just kind of hang on my shoe for a few minutes. I was able to get him outside before he flew off.
So I am sure you are wondering what my final decision is. Well, guess what — so is my wife. I have not done a thing, because, quite frankly, I’ve been busy. Maybe if I give it enough time, an owl or a mockingbird will take care of it.