Brains of a turnip. Except I hate to insult turnips like that.
I went out this evening to "bug the horses" as I do most evenings. Just get a little hands on time, check for new cuts, kick marks, ticks and so on.
I found no ticks on any of the horses, except Ranger. He had a big, bloated one right on his... umm... on the... umm... under his tail. Ranger has always been rather "cautious" about letting anything under his tail, so when I pulled out my Leatherman and opened it up I told him "I really hope this hurts you more than it hurts me." I have seen the old guy "jackhammer cow kick" through 3/4 inch plywood in his younger days, and have received a memorable pop or two myself.
I slowly and carefully lifted his tail, latched onto the tick near his head (making DARN sure I didn't grab any uh... skin on Ranger) and I pulled the tick off.
NOT A TWITCH from the old guy. He just looked over his shoulder at me, and when I dropped his tail, he pinned it tight to let me know HE WAS DONE NOW, THANK YOU VERY MUCH, but that was all.
"Whew." I thought. and I closed the multi-tool.
OH MY GOD! MONSTERS! EVIL HORSE EATING BOOGERS! THINGS THAT GO BUMP IN THE NIGHT!
And Ranger was off on a bucking, snorting kicking bug-eyed rampage across the corral. I stared at him a little bug-eyed myself.
"Ranger, you moron! You let me RIP a parasite the size of a Volkswagen off your anus and don't move a muscle, But I close a pair of pliers as I'm walking away and you FLIP OUT! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!?"
And off I went, following the knot-head around with a pair of pliers, making him touch them, after which he would snort and run away some more, so I would follow him with a pair of pliers, making him touch them....
Lather, rinse, repeat.