Laurie Cantillo: Ticks, It's Game On

Blood-sucking, disease-carrying ticks are back with our warmer weather, and that means it's time for battle.

My introduction to these eight-legged demons came shortly after moving to New Canaan a year ago. I knew there were ticks in these parts, but I didn't consider them to be a threat in February, when the ticks first rolled out the Welcome Wagon.

The first tip-off of my neighbors-from-hell came when I noticed what I thought were a few small grapes on the floor (dropped food is a common sight in my house until the dog inhales it). I tossed the overripe "grapes" into the trash and didn't give them another thought.

When I noticed yet another "grape" two days later, I inspected it more closely, horrified to discover wiggling legs where the stem was supposed to be. It was a blood-engorged tick that had apparently fallen off my dog, looking like a bug that spent too much time at the blueberry buffet.

Thoroughly grossed out, I flirted with the idea of pulling up stakes and moving to a more civilized part of the country that doesn't have grape-sized blood-sucking arachnids.

I then armed myself with information, reading everything I could about ticks, studying gross magnified images and memorizing symptoms and treatments of Lyme Disease. I performed tick checks; I consulted a vet.

And then I turned to my sister since she lives in Old Lyme, proud capital of Lyme Disease.

My sister has co-existed with ticks for 20 years, and it's comforting that she's still alive to tell about it. It's silly to freak out over a few teeny ticks, she said, briefing me on everything from vaccines to Frontline to wearing light-colored clothing. In her world it's no big deal to seek and destroy a couple dozen ticks hitchhiking on her two English setters after a foray in the woods.

Instead of a mud room, my sister runs a high-tech Tick Detection and Removal Center.

Should a tick manage to slip through mudroom security, my sibling's second line of defense is to arm herself with tweezers, expertly plucking ticks from kids and pets. She scoffed at my suggestions of lubricating the offenders with Vaseline or incinerating them with matches to make tick flambé.

After I set up my anti-tick system, a lone tick did once sneak through. The mitey muncher hung from my waistline, seeking out the fleshiest dining. I fought off the urge to call 9-1-1 or drive myself to the nearest emergency room, remembering the tweezers. With a quick flick of the wrist the little bugger let go.

I flushed it, satisfied that it's gluttony would be punished by spending the rest of its days in a septic tank.