And Big went around the first floor barking because he's got pit bull blood in his 15-pound frame

Last night, in true "I'm so sure" fashion, we were watching TV on the couch when -- I swear -- someone threw bricks at our back door.

Only it just sounded that way. There wasn't really a brick.

But we both jumped up and ran to the door (because running to the source of someone throwing bricks at you is the smartest thing to do in this situation, I'm sure of it), but saw nothing. So we walked around the bottom floor, looking for broken windows or rabid dogs or anything, ANYTHING that would look like it could create the second-scariest sound after teeth being drilled. We cautiously opened the closet doors upstairs, checked all the rooms, and on the way to the basement, we found it.

A stupid, large metal-and-thick-glass picture frame had fallen from the bathroom wall onto the toilet.

Relieved it wasn't actually bricks, I shared that nugget with Dave in a fit of nervous laughter.

"I won't tell you what I thought it was," he said.

So of course I made him tell me.

"I thought it was some kind of animal that got caught in the air ducts."

And that's how I lost sleep for the third night in a row. Thank you, Dave. Now my dreams are filled with possums and raccoons.