The tick theory

Many years ago, when we lived in southwest Oregon, we had loads and loads of ticks. It was revolting, but it was life. We learned to keep a can of soapy water next to the sink during tick season so we could drop ticks we found on the dogs (or on us) into the water. The soap broke up the surface tension of the water, and the ticks would sink to the bottom.

When we moved to Idaho in 2003, we had fewer ticks. Some years were worse than others, but overall it was a lot better than Oregon.

Here in our current location, we have almost zero ticks. Maybe – maybe – once a summer, we'll find a tick or two on Mr. Darcy, but overall it's almost a tick-free environment.

We didn't give much thought to this phenomenon until a man at our church put forth what I'm calling "The Tick Theory." We don't have ticks because we have turkeys. Loads and loads of turkeys.

As I'm mentioned before, turkeys are nature's Roombas. All year long, flocks of these gigantic prehistoric-looking birds roam around, pecking at anything they find that's vaguely edible. At certain times of the year, it's not unusual to see flocks numbering in the dozens. Get one of these flocks sweeping slowly across fields and woodlands, and yeah – no ticks. Makes sense.

I'd far rather have turkeys than ticks.