Tick, Tick, Tick

I like raisins. I like them in cereal, in cookies, in a salad, in just about anything, I think raisins taste good. I especially like it when raisins are in cooked cereal, or a good rum raisin ice cream. That's when they become all plumped up and juicy. They sort of pop when you bite into them, and release their sweet juicy innards.

Our newest addition to the family, Betty the miniature schnauzer, brought along some friends with her. I hadn't noticed when we picked her up, but she was infested with ticks. The paper work that came with her said that she had been treated for fleas and ticks, and the very efficient lady at animal control assured us that all her shots were up to date, that she had been micro-chipped, that her lady parts had been removed, and again that she had been treated for ticks, not to worry. So imagine my surprise last week when I was carrying my sweet Betty around and discovered fat juicy ticks falling off of her. Live, leg wiggling, blood engorged ticks. Immediately all steps were taken to remove said vermin from her tender little body. Cans of bug spray were dispatched upon the surfaces she had touched, and our bedroom was bug bombed. I thought we had tackled the problem until during dinner last night when Mark pointed to a plump gray nugget on the wall of the dining room.
    "Is that a tick?" He asked.
I reached over and touched it. Sure enough it moved. Amid much screaming and retching, I knocked it off of the wall and stepped on it. Thick reddish black liquid squirted out of it... like a cooked raisin.

The exterminator is scheduled to be here between eight and ten in the morning on Wednesday. Until then every itch and irritation on my skin will have me stripping down to find the little bastard that is trying to hitch a ride. Also, I think I'll pass on that rum raisin ice cream that Mark has in the freezer.