Eighteen years ago, when I moved back to New Hampshire, I rarely came across ticks. The dog didn’t carry them unwittingly into the house, and I could spend the day in the garden or on wooded trails and not see a single, hard-shelled, eight-legged, blood-sucking creepy-crawly. Not so anymore. Now, from the time of snowmelt in the spring to the first crisp snowfall of autumn — and often beyond — we find ticks everywhere: on the dog, crawling up the front door, along kids’ hairlines, on backs or arms or legs, … (read more)
