My sister brought home a cute puppy. A four-month-old Dachshund. Shy, but affectionate and adorable. While I was scratching behind his ear, I felt compelled to tell my sister that he will bite her face some day.

She looked at me as if I'd just told her a dead-baby joke and yelled, "You sick fuck! He's only a baby!" She bundled the puppy into her arms and walked away, giving me the Evil Eye.

Two years later her dog, still affectionate and adorable, bit her cheek. It was her fault, though. That's the part I got wrong.

She had a piece of steak between her teeth and encouraged her dog to take it, but just as he went for it, her phone rang causing her to turn her head. Bam. He was pretty remorseful, but she apparently hugged him tightly, assuring it wasn't his fault.

That's the only prediction that came true, though. I'm still somewhat annoyed that one of my other predictions about Mom's much-disliked-by-us-kids boyfriend didn't come true.

During the first year of their dating, I predicted he'd die in a car crash. They will celebrate their seventh wedding anniversary this summer and he still drives stupidly fast.