Ticks

When I was a boy, there was a big spreading tree in the  front yard that used to drop wood ticks on my brother and me as we played under it.

In the evening my mother would sit us between her knees and dig through our thick (then) hair to find sometimes dozens (I seem to remember) of the flat brown arachnids them out and flush them away.

 The tree must have rained them down on us. It was worse for our red setter Whiskey in whose long  hair ticks hid and fed until they were swollen like little blood balloons.

All this came back to me this weekend when I found two of the relentless creatures crawling up my legs. The next morning I found another which had escaped detection and-what is that brown lump in my chest hair? - was feasting on my right breast.

I view you with distaste but not disgust, ticks. Still I know how many diseases you carry. Spotted fever is only the best known. Flu-like symptoms, aches, memory loss, these are just a few of the maladies your salivary microorganisms inflict on us in your quest for our blood.

I haven't seen such as you for years. My concern has been deer ticks and Lyme disease. l must have picked you wood ticks up when I pushed through the brush on the power line right-of-way  when I got lost. Hanging, waiting, you must have sensed my blood heat and let go onto my socks, planning to climb, find some sheltered nook and dig in.

Your recrudescence has complicated my life.  Another layer of vigilance is now required. You ticks don't care as long as I'm full of the excellent fluid you need for reproduction. To you, I'm just host or prey.

Other? That's how you and your ilk seem to me. I feel unclean just writing about you.