I remember once as a kid I expressed a very innocent childhood fantasy that I could befriend a baby deer. They'd come and visit me in the backyard and I'd get to feed him cereal from my bowl and I'd get to pet it and he could teach me how to run really fast. My father shot that idea down right away, saying that it'd be impossible for me to cavort with a woodland creature because they carry ticks.
Dirty, blood-sucking bugs that also carry Lyme disease that could kill me. I guess it was for the better that he nipped that silly childish nonsense in the bud right then and there.
After he did that though, I had a new problem on my hands aside from not being BFFs with a deer: ticks. I'd gone to the library to read up on them, checked encyclopedias, dictionaries, looked at photographs, basically learned as much as I could to ensure I never got bit by one. I learned that they were tiny and would burrow their heads deep into their prey, sucking up their blood until they become engorged and popped off. I also learned they were about the size of a single kernel of corn.