Picture It:

10:30 p.m. -- It's a unusually & unseasonably cool 78°F (following a night where we actually saw the 60's - gasp!) Saturday night in Mississippi. Jon & I are sitting on the back porch, relaxing and talking... just us and the crickets (and the dogs, of course).

All of a sudden we hear sirens screaming by in the distance, and every dog in the surrounding area begins to bark and howl (except for my worthless & oblivious duo), long and drawn out howls... And then Jon bestows the "matter-of-fact" following remark:

"There's an old wives' tale that says that when you hear sirens and dogs start howling, then whoever is involved in the accident is dead, or the sitation results in a fatality. And if the dogs don't bark, then I guess everything's okay. I don't know, maybe I have that backwards."

Then all goes quiet. No sirens, no barking. A few moments later, the sound of another siren can be heard in the distance coming our direction and the dogs started howling once again. The mere thought of the tale's validity kind of gave me the creeps. Poor Jon, bless his heart, could only respond by shrugging, "Sorry." In some strange way, the way he sheepishly said that only as an afterthought made me smile. Oh, happy Saturday night. Still a creepy thought, though. Brrrr, chill bumps.