More than six years ago, when Rob and I had been in our house only a few months, a sketchy transient dude walked up our long driveway and knocked on our front door. I can’t remember what he wanted, or what Rob said, but I do remember thinking that when we got a dog, we should get a big dog.

Generally speaking, I feel very safe living with Rob. He’s never actually beaten anyone to a bloody pulp (to my knowledge), but I’m confident in his ability to defend himself (and me) from evildoers.

The funny thing about getting Isis as our first guard dog is that both Rob and I would have taken a bullet rather than see her harmed. Same with Leo and Mia.

Anyway, a guard dog’s bark should be protection enough. No one’s going to break into our house when we’ve got Leo’s big boy bark rumbling from behind the door.

No one sober, that is.

Friday night, I fell asleep around 10:30. I awoke around 11:45 (thinking it was morning) to hear Rob saying, “What the hell?” Both dogs were barking and then I heard Rob say, in a lower-pitched-than-normal, atypically tough-guy voice, “Hey, man. Whatchu want?” (guess that’s his big boy bark.)

I sat up in bed, and couldn’t hear the response, but I heard Rob say, “You’re in the wrong area. You need to leave.”

Banging on the door. Dogs barking. Rob dialing 911. “Yeah, I have a drunk guy at my front door.”

The guy was persistent in his pounding. He really thought this was the place he wanted to get into. I looked through the peephole and saw a thin white dude wearing a bright blue baseball cap, saying, “C’mon, man!” He was swaying and his eyes unfocused. Definitely drunk.

Rob offered to go outside and restrain him until police arrived, but I said, “Please don’t.”

To be honest, I’m disappointed in the dogs’ level of concern. They barked like crazy, yes, but in the same tone of voice they use on the postman, or anyone who comes to the door, whether a salesman or invited guest. I expected them to sound scarier when they sensed how agitated Rob and I were about the guy on the porch. Though it seems there’s no level of barking that would have deterred this individual.

The front door vibrated from his banging. When Leo and Mia paused to take a breath, I said loudly and calmly through the peephole. “You have the wrong house.”

“Oh,” he said, banging fist falling to his side. “Sorry.”

He leaned back against the wall behind him, fumbled for a long time with his keys and his phone. Dialed a number and then staggered down the driveway as the squad car arrived.

Rob spoke to one police officer while another questioned the suspect. Pretty sure he was just a confused partygoer, but I’m glad we didn’t have to find out what he would have done if the front door hadn’t been locked.