Hardy Buggers

Our brief stop at our pond place produced a day's worth of crawling.

On the drive home, I picked off a handful of ticks. Dan reaped more than two dozen. I cringed, "You must have stepped into a nest." We threw them into a water cup. Some sank. Others floated. Dan said, "I wonder if they even breathe?"

Before bed, I advised Dan to strip down, throw his clothes directly in the washing machine and jump into the shower. I did the same and ran a load of laundry. The next morning, I lifted the washer lid to shift the clothes into the dryer and found a woodtick still clinging to Dan's T-shirt. I thought: Surely, it's dead.

Moments later, the tick began to move. I ran to Dan with this survivor. He said, "See, I told you. I don't think those things breathe."

Whether ticks breather or not, they certainly are Hardy Buggers.