It was a lovely day. Welcome rains peppered down on my dry garden and all was well in my world. I had just checked out Greg Isles’ latest and best novel “True Evil” which I read until sleep overcame me. I immediately entered my dream world where everything was peaceful and calm.

What happened next was a true nightmare. At 2:15 a.m. my reverie was interrupted by an insistent rap on my front door. I chose to ignore it at first, thinking someone was up to no good. Lucky and Rebel barked viciously and I thought the intruders would just go away.

My bedroom is just off my front parlor and I suddenly saw a high beam of light circling the premises. It came to rest on my mother’s portrait, then aimed toward my door.

The rap became a bang, bang, and I thought I heard someone say “Open Up.” I rolled out of bed and peered around the corner until I could see who was standing on my front porch. Oh my gosh, was this a S.W.A.T. team storming my porch?

I saw the badges before I processed the men wearing them. Not one, not two, but three officers were on my front porch, their squad cars lighting up the night with their rotating globes – did I see guns? Maybe. But I don’t think they were drawn.

In the time it took me to span the 14 steps to the door, I imagined all sorts of possibilities: Something had happened to my children or my parents; An ax murderder had just climbed into my window; or they finally found out that I had stolen a pack of gum from Big Star when I was four.

Turns out, they had received a 911 call from my phone at 2 a.m. We all agreed I couldn’t have made that call.

Suddenly I remembered a woman on the news who had a seizure and her dog had dialed 911 and saved her life. I wonder. Was I having a seizure, and who gets the treat for dialing 911?