My ankle itched—and then my life tilted. One tiny black dot in the grass, one careless afternoon with my dog, and suddenly
“just a bug bite” didn’t feel harmless anymore. I thought I understood ticks. I was wrong.
This one doesn’t wait. It hunts. It chases. It ch… Continues…
I didn’t scream when I saw it, but my heart dropped. That perfect white dot on its back made the ID instant:
lone star tick. I’d read enough to know this wasn’t just another backyard nuisance. This was the species tied to bizarre meat allergies, stubborn infections, and symptoms
that can linger long after the bite is gone. Standing there with my dog watching me from the shade,
I realized how easily
I could have missed it—and how many times before I probably had.
Since then, I’ve stopped treating ticks like an afterthought.
I check my legs, my clothes, and yes, Mochi’s fur, every time we come in from the yard.
I trim the grass shorter, avoid tall brush, and use repellent even for “just a minute” outside.
That single, silent bite turned casual neglect into deliberate caution—and I’m not going back.
