In recent years, I have put aside almost all of my fear regarding going to bed alone. Not as in a, “Oh my God I need someone to love me,” emotionally alone manner; but rather the, “Who is going to stab the serial killer to death with a kitchen knife when he inevitably trespasses in the middle of the night?” physically alone sense. This was a very stressful question for me until my early twenties. But after enough ass kicking and name taking, I am now confident that I wouldn’t let an intruder previal without at fight.
So last night when something stirred me from my peaceful slumber, I wasn’t freaked out immediately. I slowly arrived back to a state of functioning consciousness and laid there in the darkness for a moment, wondering what had disturbed my time Somewhere Over the Rainbow. Before I could compute what noise I was hearing, or where exactly it was coming from, I realized my 85-pound guard dog was not sleeping at my feet. Riley usually always sleeps at my feet, and when he doesn’t, he is sleeping on his bed which is on the floor next to me (ok, ok, sometimes we share a pillow, and I spoon him all night long). But regardless he is ALWAYS in the room. So the fact that he wasn’t present unnerved me just a bit.
I could hear noises coming from the other side of the house, something heavy was moving around on the wood floors and maybe the deck. The noise was traveling and I was having a hard time isolating the source. This was not a sound that I could ignore, there was definitely activity happening in my house, and I had not been invited to the party. It was now high time for action! My heart was racing, and I was not about to terrorized in my own home. Shoot, I know how to fire a weapon and I’ve got enough crazy in me to potentially scare someone right back out the way they came - I totally had this! No thug was going to mess with my house without some sort of showdown. Game On!! I grabbed my cell phone and the golf club my brother forgot last time he was in town. Even though I was a twinge scared, my adrenalin had kicked in and I was already excited to read the headlines the next morning: “Local Woman Bludgeons Intruder to Death with a Golf Club”.
I ever-so-quietly walked towards the open bedroom door. I stood motionless in the doorway and listened, there was no doubt, there was definitely some sort of commotion in the dining room area. I had 911 cued up in my phone, so all I would need to do is hit “call” when the impending struggle ensued. Barefoot, I tip-toed down the hall and around the corner. I could see into the living room from my view at Coward’s Corner, and nothing appeared to be out of sorts. However, once I was around the corner I instantly felt a very noticeable cold draft coming from the back of the house. I slowly poked my chicken-neck around the second corner and saw that the sliding glass door was wide open. It was like the scene from a thriller movie, the tab-panel curtains were blowing in the wind, into the house. Nothing looked out of place other than the door being open, so clearly I had not been robbed. Instantly my mind went to the most logical conclusion… whoever was in my home was there to harm me, not steal from me. In the darkness I made my way into the kitchen. I walked behind the island just in case I needed to use it as a shield from gun fire (Picturing myself diving behind it for cover as bullets sprayed the kitchen). I crouched down low, and made my way to the far side of the island, and could now see out onto the deck.
As I peered around the island, I noticed an array of dog toys trailing from the dining room all the way out to the deck. And then, the loud noises started back up. Almost as if it was scripted, Riley came trotting through the curtain, dragging his rope toy with a giant rubber tire behind him. The dog was completely oblivious and seemed to be having the time of his life towing his toys in and out of the opened door.
A huge sense of relief washed over me- the midnight thief had been caught and identified, and was actually quite happy with himself, seemingly entirely unaware of the five minutes of terror I had just experienced (man’s best friend my ass). I started to think that I must have opened the sliding glass door to let the dog go to the bathroom one last time before I went to bed, then got distracted and never went back to shut and lock it before crashing for the night.
Peace was being restored to my world as I stood up, now feeling a little silly about hiding behind the island in the first place, and having 911 dialed on my phone. Then, while I was making my way to the door, out of nowhere there was a loud crash, and the sound of shattering glass filled the room!! It was still dark, yet I could feel pieces of broken glass hitting my bare legs...
Apparently, in my haste to get to the door, I had inadvertently hit the four wine glasses that had been sitting on my counter with the top of my makeshift weapon (aka golf club).
While sweeping up the broken glass I couldn’t help but wonder how I manged to forget to shut the door in the first place, then again, perhaps the answer to that question lay in the contents of my dustpan.