My foe, the Western Black-legged tick.
Ticks, they are the no good lazy sons-a-guns who like to hitch a ride when I hike the hills. I have unwittingly given a ride to three known strangers in the past number of years. The stubborn no-gooders will not un-hitch off my back without assistance.
A friend, a relative, and a doctor have helped rid me of ticks. And never, ever has the prescribed method of removing a tick successfully dislodged one's swollen body without leaving behind it's ugly little head. The Doc says not to worry, my body will eventually expel the foreign body fragment on it's own.
But, eeeeeewwww.... I hate that.
And all the while I carry this remnant of a tick, I worry about the dreaded Lymes Disease. Fortunately my Doc has prescribed me a magic bullet to be used in the event symptoms present themselves, the most common, a radiating rash around the bite area. The bullet, the antibiotic Doxycycline. Just one bullet, that's all it takes, in my cupboard, in case of emergency. Got it.
From the trail.