Lone Star Ticks and Other Madness
I saw a flea on Pagosa this morning, remembered suddenly that I was out of his Sentinel, then realized all at once how itchy I was. Psychosomatic response, I know (emphasis on psycho), but itchy all the same.
Back in the day, I was quite "crunchy" and I tried to quell fleas, ticks and sundry crittters with good, old-fashioned diatomaceous earth. Be kind to your planet, I told myself, as I vacuumed and wiped down my baseboards, and redusted the yard. Be kind to your planet, I reiterated, as I dabbed antibiotic ointment on the moist, hairless spots my dogs were chewing on themselves. Be kind to your planet, I intoned as I dipped my kittens in a natural, and ineffectual, preventive.
One day, I reached down to idly scratch the back of my knee and came away with bloodied fingers. Twisting around to peer at the source, I discovered five, fat ticks feasting ON ME.
"Ohmygod!" I shrieked. "Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod."
I knew my yard was infested with these ticks. I knew because I had picked several off of my large, St. Bernard cross that same morning. What I hadn't known was that the ticks would find me so delectable. And I had had no idea of what a shuddering little girlie-girl I was, just below the surface. "Bugs! Bugs!" I ran around in a circle. "Bugs on ME! Get them OFF!"
Since then, no matter the cost, I have always dosed my pets with meds which target the problem from the inside. And I let John run over the yard with his little sprayer. Don't ask, don't tell is our official policy around here. No more fleas, no more ticks.
I gotta' get to the vet...
posted by Zoe's Art Stuff @ 5:27 AM
4 Comments:
znglass - Thank you so much for your kind comments over at my 'house'. I appreciate it more than I can say.
Regarding ticks - they are evil,
and I am ridiculously, insanely, absolutely phobic about them.
And while I work hard at being a
considerate denizen of planet Earth - if I even think I see a tick, I'll turn my yard into Love Canal II in 10 seconds flat.
bs
Allie is not really a handful. If he were, I wouldn't be providing daycare for him weekdays. He is relatively polite and well-behaved, moderately rambunctious, and over-the-edge with his imagination. Only child syndrome. He often goes through these complicated scenarios designed to prevent him from going to school (12:30 to 3:30 kindergarten), but after lunch, he goes through his get-ready-to-leave routine without protest. I think he just likes to harrass Grandpa and argue the fine points of shape-shifting with me. He is a good companion.
We had a lot of what we called 'sage ticks' where I grew up in the Columbia Basin of central-eastern Washington. Only recall having a couple of them ever getting a headhold on me. About fifteen years ago, my son David and I were over there and went down to a creek to shoot some pix of an old bridge. We waded thru knee-high grass that must have been infested with them. When we went to get back in the car, we discovered that we had dozens of them trotting around on our pantlegs. We got rid of the obvious ones, then rushed back to my folks place and jumped in the shower together, then went thru each others hair (like monkeys grooming each other) and got rid of those, then turned our clothes insideout and picked more off that were trying to hide in the seams.
None of them got attached to us, but every time I drove the car - for several weeks - I imagined that I could feel ticks on me.
I have been scratching ever since I posted this... The mere memory has me creeped out all over again. Brown Shoes, I literally yelped out loud when I read your "Love Canal II" comment. My girls ran in, asked what was funny, and it turned into a quick discussion (and internet research) about chemical landfills and Mother Earth. Gotta' love homeschool.
And FossilGuy, you have no idea how lucky Allie is to have grandparents willing to take such a big part in his raising. Pat yourselves on the back, right now, both of you. The wonderful adult that will grow out of that wonderful child will have a lot to do with you and your influence.
Not the most welcoming of pictures!
I remember catching flees as a kid in the country, rolling around in an old barn in which the wild deer weathered the winter (alongside various other creatures). Mum made us get undressed outside and leave everything on the lawn before sprinting into the bath.
In fact, I think I'm starting to itch a bit right now....
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