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Where Dot lives, ticks have taken over the ERs, the beaches, the cocktail chatter, and the headlines. How dangerous are they, really? And, more to the point, how can we protect ourselves regardless? Let’s revisit this Dear Dot from the archives.
But first, an update on available resources:
Tickspotters is a website and app that will help you identify your tick and help you decide if testing makes sense. The CDC, incidentally, doesn’t generally recommend testing ticks for disease, as results can be misleading. If, after a tick encounter, you feel sick, don’t wait for testing results. Get to a hospital.
Is there something I can put on my lawn that doesn’t harm wildlife, including my pets or grandchildren, but that deters ticks?
—Rose, Vineyard Haven
Dear Rose,
I know I’m supposed to love all bugs because they play a part in the ecosystem and blah blah blah, but c’mon … Ticks? Ugh.
While most of us go out of our way to avoid ticks, Island biologist Dick Johnson seeks them out. Johnson is the tick guy on the Island, spending his days hunting these tiny terrorists to better understand where they are and what they’re doing. The Lone Star nymphs (such a glorious name for such a nasty creature) are already out by early April. The deer tick nymphs emerge a bit later — mid to late May, says Johnson — and are dangerous because they’re so tiny at that stage that they’re harder to spot. Be vigilant. If you, your kids and grandkids, or pets have been outside, follow up with a tick-check. Because the deer tick nymphs are the size of poppy seeds, and like to nestle into our bodies’ warm humid crevices (armpits or groin, for example), Johnson recommends that we feel for them when we shower. If there’s a tiny bump that wasn’t there yesterday, it’s likely a tick nymph.
A tick “bite” is something of a misnomer, says Johnson. What ticks actually do sounds like something from a horror movie. With their barbed “hands,” ticks essentially breaststroke into your skin, then jam in a mouth part called a hypostome, which Johnson says acts like a straw. Except that this straw comes with hooks that make it operate like a miniscule chainsaw. Compounds in a tick’s saliva make our blood pool beneath the skin, and the tick begins to sip, a delicate feast that can last three to ten days. “If [ticks] were the size of a cow, they’d be really scary,” Johnson tells me, ensuring that cow-sized ticks will now populate my nightmares.
What can we do to prevent these blood-thirsty, chainsaw-wielding, non-cow-sized-but-still-horrible ticks? I’m glad you asked, Rose!
