A few weeks ago, I was in the backyard wrestling with my ancient, half-broken lawnmower. My golden retriever, Mochi, was stretched out under our oak tree, blissfully ignoring my efforts.

While mowing, I suddenly felt a weird, itchy sensation on my ankle—like a tickle, but not quite. Assuming it was just a mosquito, I looked down and spotted something far worse: a tiny black speck firmly attached to my skin.

I instinctively removed it, and there it was—an unmistakable lone star tick, easily recognized by the white dot on its back.

Now, I’m usually pretty chill with nature. Mosquito bites? No problem. Bee stings? Painful, but manageable. But ticks? Nope. Ticks send me into full-on meltdown mode. They’re not just gross—they’re potentially dangerous.

This was my first encounter with a tick, and it had to be one of the worst kinds: the lone star tick. If you’ve met one, you already know the kind of panic that follows.