Flight or Fight? I Chose Fight

Something suspicious happened last night...  The dogs were upstairs.  The cats went absolutely batshit crazy as only a cat can do, and ended up huddled under the woodstove, growling at the living-room window.  I stormed out to restore order, thinking the dogs were chasing the cats.  I rounded the corner in time to see a head duck down below the window.  Dog head?  Person head?  Figment-of-my-imagination head? 
The dogs, by then, had crashed down the stairs, threatening our house's tenuous hold of its own foundation, and began keystone-copping around the living room.  They stumbled, sniffed, tripped over each other, all while asking in their dog way, "What the???"
I gathered my wits (and stopped peeing my pants, mid-stream) and went out to the front porch.  Nothing.  Still standing on the porch, I called Jeff, who was staying at the cabin.  In my loudest trash-talking voice I said, "Honey, Where are the guns?  I want the biggest one we own.  One that will BLOW THE ~BLEEP~ING HEAD OFF OF ANY ~BLEEP, BLEEP, BLEE, BLEEPING, BLEEP~ WHO COMES NEAR ME!!!"  To which Jeff replied, "oh, yeah, those are in the cellar."
The cellar. 
To get to the cellar, you have to go outside... past the window where I saw creepiness, and down some steps.  The cellar has no lights.  And a lock on the outside. 
So I said, "Oh, they're in the kitchen, and there's a shotgun under the bed?  Great!  I'm ARMED AND READY FOR ANY ~BLEEEEEEEEPING BLEEPITTY BLEEPS~ that come my way!"
Then I let the dogs out.  Murphy opted to continue guarding the inside of the house, specifically the down sleepingbag he commandeered as his watchpost.  From the comfort of the sleepingbag he could observe roughly nothing. 
Pup and Cricket, however, secured the perimeter.  They behaved alarmed enough to convince me something was out there. 
I went inside, told Jeff what happened, and decided that odds were good it was a figment-of-my-imagination head and I could go to bed in peace. 
Yeah
freakin'
RIGHT.
You're reading words from a woman who can't watch Hawaii Five-Oh without having nightmares for a week.  Real-Life visits by a potential creepster with satan-knows-what on their mind is just the thing to soothe me to sleep. 
Yeah
Freakin'
RIGHT.
I grabbed a closet rod, brought the dogs in, and ultra-super-duper latched every door, closed every shade on every window that had a shade, and went upstairs to bed.
Approximately 3 hours later my heart rate returned to normal.
Approximately 15 minutes after that, Pup jumped up and started barking.  A lot.  And then he laid back down.
Approximately 4 hours after that, I'm here writing about it.  Nothing happened.  At all.  But let it be known that I have the potential to out-yell and out-crazy any squirrels, cats, possums, skunks, figments of my own imagination, or stray dogs who would do anything as perverse and shocking as peep in my living-room window. 
You have been warned.