Ticked Off

A less-than-welcome harbinger of Spring

Note to Readers: As the poet T.A. Daly said, “Da Spreeng ees com’.” (Are we still permitted to quote, or even read, T.A. Daly? His poems — like his 1909 “Da Leetla Boy” — were written in his version of Italian-American dialect, and so nowadays would be condemned for being politically incorrect!)

Spring is a time of change. And I, for one, could sure use a change-up from all the political chozzerai swirling about. So here’s a bit of lighter fare (one of my Dog Stories, originally written for Paw Prints magazine some years ago) that I was reminded of while out in the woods with my dog. I was sitting on a log when I felt, and then saw, a tiny critter crawling on my hand; I thought at first it was a minuscule spider, but No; it was the first tick of the season.

Ticked Off

Well, it’s that time of year when, like it or not, our lives are impacted by the intrusion of relentless, inhuman, insatiable bloodsuckers that inspire fear and loathing in anyone with whom they come into contact. No, I’m not talking about the I.R.S. I’m talking about ticks! 

We here in the Midwest definitely live in tick country, and right about now we're coming into tick season.

If you and your dog spend any time outdoors, especially in the woods, you’re bound to pick up a couple of these bloodthirsty little freeloaders. Various treatments (both topical and internal) are available for dogs, and offer pretty good protection. But we humans need to be extra vigilant and check ourselves thoroughly. Ticks can attach themselves anywhere, even on eyelids, inside the ears and between the toes.

Now, I know that ticks are God's creatures too, that they have some role in the inter-dependent scheme of life, and that everything deserves a chance to live, yada yada yada. Nevertheless, I will never be a member of the Be Kind to Ticks Society! I hate ticks; I abhor them, I detest them, I thoroughly despise the miserable little pests. I view them as worthless parasites that deserve no mercy whatsoever. Whenever I find one I want it executed, exterminated, eliminated, eradicated, liquidated.

When you discover a tick, on your dog or on yourself (Yechhhh!), you'll want to detach it immediately. The only good thing about ticks is that the longer they stay attached, the easier they are to find (Yechhhh again!).

And the quicker you find 'em and pull 'em off, the less risk there'll be of tick-borne illnesses like Lyme Disease. But it's not enough to merely detach it and let it wander off to find another host; you should render it lifeless. I believe that ticks should be slain, whacked, zapped, smoked, dusted, croaked, bumped off, rubbed out.

I consider it my duty to help reduce the world’s tick population, one by one, so after I’ve yanked the tick out, or caused it to back out by covering its body with oil or by touching it with the lit end of my cigar, I put the tick on a flat surface and, before it can crawl away, I terminate it with extreme prejudice! I cut it right in half, and sometimes in quarters, with my pocketknife. And sometimes, in a slice-and-dice frenzy, I just Ginsu the little sucker into oblivion!

I make sure that tick’s metabolic processes are history and it will never bother anybody again; it has kicked the bucket, shuffled off this mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the choir invisible; it is deceased, it is demised, it has ceased to be; it is an ex-tick! [Hat tip to Monty Python: go to about 2:40]

Or, if I've extracted the tick with the needlenose pliers of my Leatherman Tool™ (everybody should have one of these, or something similar; mine has got me out of many a jam), I use those to hold it while I whip out my Zippo™ and vaporize the little b*****d. Be careful if you try this, though, because a tick that's been attached for awhile and is really "full" will explode (double Yechhhhh!!).

I remember one summer when my dog and I were driving home from a walk in the woods and, in the car, I felt a tick crawling up my bare leg. I picked it off just as it was about to enter the leg of my shorts -- where who knows what it might have attached itself to (triple Yechhhh!!)!! -- and held it tightly between my fingertips while I tried to figure out what to do.

It wouldn't be enough to flick it out the window; I wanted to totally incinerate and annihilate the miserable pest. So, while steering with my elbows and knees, I grabbed a nail-clipper that was handy and, while using that to hold the tick, I reached for a Bic™ lighter I kept on the dashboard.

I was touching the lighter’s flame to the tick held in the improvised clip, and it was smoking and glowing red, when I noticed that a VW bus covered with Grateful Dead stickers was keeping pace alongside me, with a bunch of tie-dyed hippie-types inside. They were all watching me and smiling broadly and giving me the "thumbs up" and the “OK” sign.

They must have hated ticks as much as I do!

ST