Ticked Off

My husband picked me up and we came home yesterday. We were unpacking things and puttering around the kitchen, when I idly scratched the side of my torso and felt a weird...bump. I had my husband take a look, and he said there was something...um...in there. Turns out it was a tick, very much alive and well and having a feast. I won't describe the minor hysterics, the quick consultation of Google, the pouring of hydrogen peroxide and spraying of alcoholic hand-sanitizer, the waving of teeny tiny legs, the tweezers, the threats to faint on the spot, the demands to be thoroughly searched to make sure there weren't others, the late-evening phone call to my boss who is a family physician. In the end, hubby removed the tick intact, it went into a little jar, and I'm going to the walk-in clinic today to demand antibiotics and send the tick off for analysis, at the recommendation of my boss, who says there is Lyme disease in this area. 

The only thing we can think is that Brio must have carried it home from one of our walks. Thorough combing of Brio to make sure there weren't more. Plans to wash every scrap of fabric anyone has ever touched. Brio himself is probably safe, because he is taking doses of flea and tick medication. Why on earth don't people take something like that too?

The tick has probably been in situ for a day or two, but I'm glad I didn't discover it while I was alone at the church, because it was in a location I couldn't have reached to deal with it myself. There's something to be said for having other people around. (And I really don't know my neighbours well enough to ask for that kind of assistance!)

Such a lot of hoo-roar over a bug the size of a flake of instant oatmeal. But eeeew!