Ticks Tick Me Off

I want to share with you my encounter with a tick. Debi and I were on one of our waterfall adventures. We had been hiking through woods and enjoying the sights.


When we got back to the cabin, there was a chill in the air so Debi started a fire in the pot-belly stove. I was relaxing in the rocking chair that was right by the fire. Debi was standing in front of me, telling me something.


All of a sudden, her eyes got big. She stops, stomps her foot and swipes her hands, palms down, in an outward motion in front of her. Sort of like she was calling a runner “safe.” I was pretty amused because her face in a short second changed to several different, dramatic expressions.


“Don’t move!” she says, “You’ve got a tick on you. On your forehead. I’m going to get something.” She takes off and I stop rocking. I proceed to do what any calm, rational person would do.


“Ahhhhh!” I yell, swiping frantically at my bangs. “Get it off! Get it off! Ahhhhhh!”  Debi comes back with the paper towel. I manage to freeze long enough for her to grab at my forehead. “GET. IT. OFF!” I yell again. She slowly opens up the towel and we look at the varmint that caused such panic. It was so tiny you could barely see it. It hadn’t actually latched on yet. It was still looking for the perfect place to feast.


Debi cut the blood-sucking varmint in half and threw it and the paper towel into the fire. Over kill? (Pardon the pun) I think not! It had to die! We couldn’t possibly let it live and then wonder at night, while we were trying to sleep, if the blood sucker was slowly, stealthily (is that a word?) and persistently making its way to us to suck our blood. No. It had to die. No options.


For any of you who are arachnid lovers and are wondering “how could you?” It was easy. Go back and read again. You grab, chop, throw in fire. The end. That is the whole of the story.


Debi saved me. Deb, you’re my hero!


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