Ticked Off at Ticks - or How I Spent My Summer at Fangboner FarmsJun 01, 2015
I've discussed my fear, phobia, aversion, dislike, and general yuckiness about bugs. But it's gone to new heights this year. Our Farm has been invaded by the grossest of the gross - ticks. First of all, what is their purpose? I've heard that chickens eat them. That is the only thing I've heard that they're good for in the ecosystem. I'd gladly buy organic feed for all the chickens I could if it meant we could eradicate ticks. So I've had a couple tick encounters so far this summer. I've managed to be mature, handle it with ease and flick them off of me before they attach. No big deal. I mean I'm a Farm Girl now right? Well the other night I was getting ready to take a shower after planting herbs all day (Roland has been swamped - Jannie doesn't plant herbs, it's too dirty and sweaty but I can take one for the team occasionally.) I had undressed and was getting ready to get into the shower. For some reason I put my hand on my side and I felt something strange. I twisted around and looked. It was a tick. It was on my waist but way in the back and I could barely grab it. I started screaming for Roland but he was still outside. I ran out of the bathroom into the kitchen in search of our new Ticked Off Tick Remover. Yes I was bare assed naked. Yes the windows were wide open. Yes I didn't care. If someone saw me maybe they could come help me in my emergency. I grabbed the package but couldn't get it open. I found the scissors and cut it open to get the tick remover out - the whole time I could feel the life slowly being sucked out of me by this damn vampire parasite that lives just to terrify me. I couldn't really reach all the way around (my waist is a tiiiiinny bit bigger than I'd like) so I stretched the skin as far as I could. The Ticked Off tool looks kind of like a spork - kind of a spoon with a slit in the middle of it. I had to do it a couple of times before I could get under the head of the tick enough to lift it. (I'm getting nauseated reliving this.) OK, here's the really gross part. As I lifted it off, I could feel it pop out of my skin. I started yelling some more - I'm sure it was quite colorful - and at that moment Roland came in the door. He looked at me and asked me what I was doing. I held out the Ticked Off tool and growled "kill this m$#!@er". Roland just looked at it, looked at me and took it outside. So what is the moral to this story? If you're going to get a tick, you're in the house by yourself and you have to get it removed - at least get dressed. After I recovered from my ordeal all I could think of was what if I had passed out or died from shock? I would have been naked in my kitchen. I always swore that I never wanted to die like Elvis - naked in my bathroom. My kitchen wouldn't have been much better. And that damn tick would have kept on ticking. I hate bugs.