That backyard moment forced me to see my “safe space” differently. I started double-checking Mochi’s fur after every trip outside, inspecting my own skin like a crime scene, and reading everything I could about lone star ticks. Learning that they don’t just wait but actually hunt for hosts was unsettling, but it also gave me back a sense of control.
Now I mow in long sleeves and pants, spray my shoes, and keep the grass trimmed low around the edges of the yard. I know the risks—diseases, allergic reactions, long-term complications—but I also know awareness is my first defense. That tiny black dot on my ankle became a warning I’ll never ignore again, a quiet reminder that even in the comfort of home, nature deserves both respect and caution.
