Ticks seem to love me but I hate their little arachnid guts.

Recently one of the little varmints decided I was a mobile tick bar and hopped on board to mooch a sip of ol’ John’s blood.

No, it didn’t get drunk and fall off. I did entice it to leave with a little bit of rubbing alcohol.

It had decided to attach itself at a place on my side that could easily be reached with my hand. It seemed to be a good idea to find out how it liked breathing alcohol, so the varmint was given a good dousing of the stuff. It didn’t like it and backed out promptly.

But not before damage was done.

The critter had already injected me with saliva containing nasty organic chemicals to assist feeding. My skin began to feel tight and itchy, but I didn’t associate it with the bite.

For more on this story please pick up Thursday’s Tribune or purchase an e-edition.

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