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So, today is Friday the 13th.

On the radio this morning they are discussing this day and how freaky people get about their superstitions. So, I was commenting to my husband how silly it was that when bad things happen on this day that everyone attributes it to FRIDAY the 13th. We had a good laugh about it.

Fast forward 15 minutes.

I hear my dogs yapping this weird high-pitched yap outside and mistakenly assume that it's just because it's 40-degrees outside on October 13.


I go out and find that our "I'll run away the first chance I get" Shepard mix has broken his tie out and is nowhere in sight. So here I am, 4o-degree weather, wet hair, in a bathrobe (and not one of those plush warm robes, no, a bathrobe that is as thin as my worn sheer IU graduate tee...) running around outside my house at 8 a.m. I call into the house to Todd, tell him Indy ran away, and he promptly says:


I continue my search. No dog. Not only was there no dog, but there was a HUGE dead animal lying in the road in front of our house - what timing! So, hyperventilating, I run out to the road. (Don't fret, I had changed into non-matching clothes by the time I ran out to see if it was my dog. It wasn't, thankfully).

I guess the joke was on me.
Never mock the 1-3.

(Yes, the dog did come home. He was waiting patiently at the front of the house like, "Hey, where ya been? It's cold out here," while I drove around the area and my husband became a human popsicle walking the area).