One Thanksgiving turned out to be wilder than we ever could have imagined, all thanks to our dog, Max. It started with him barking his head off at the turkey my husband, Kyle, had just brought home. At first, I thought he was just being his usual hopeful self, begging for a taste. But when I finally unwrapped the bird, what I found inside had me dialing 911 faster than you could say “Thanksgiving dinner.”
I’m Ace—short for Athena—a 32-year-old wife, dog mom, and, as of last Thanksgiving, an unwitting participant in what felt like a real-life crime thriller.
It all started on Thanksgiving morning. Kyle, being the good husband he is, offered to pick up the pre-ordered turkey from the butcher so I could focus on cooking everything else. “Be back soon!” he said with a cheerful wave as he headed out.
But “soon” stretched into what felt like forever. An hour passed, then another. Finally, Kyle returned, but something was off. He looked disheveled—his hair was all over the place, and his smile seemed a little too forced, like he was trying to hide something.
“I had to run a few extra errands and help Mom with something,” he explained with a distracted shrug. Before I could say anything, his phone buzzed loudly. “Oh no, now Mom’s car broke down! I’ve got to go help her.” And just like that, he was gone again, leaving me standing there with a slightly odd feeling in my gut. But Thanksgiving waits for no one, so I pushed the thought away and got back to work.
That’s when Max started his barking. Normally, Max is excited about Thanksgiving. He knows it’s a day for scraps, but this time, he wasn’t just sitting by the table. No, he was standing right in front of the counter where the turkey was, barking non-stop like he was trying to save the world.
“Max, enough!” I said, trying to shoo him away. “You’re not getting raw turkey!”
But Max wasn’t listening. He kept barking, his tail wagging like mad. After 20 minutes of this, I was losing my patience. “Fine!” I said, grabbing the scissors to unwrap the turkey. “Let’s see what all the fuss is about.”
As I started cutting through the plastic, I noticed something strange—a second layer of plastic peeking out from the turkey’s cavity. My curiosity piqued, I reached in and pulled it out. It was a plastic bag. And inside that bag? Cash. A lot of cash. I was speechless.
“What the…?” I whispered, my eyes going wide. I stared at the bag in disbelief, still trying to process what I had just found. Max, apparently satisfied that he had finally gotten my attention, stopped barking and sat down, watching me with those big, expectant eyes.
I couldn’t help but wonder—why was there money inside a turkey? Did Kyle know about this? Was there some kind of mistake at the butcher’s? Or worse, was I unknowingly caught up in something illegal?
Feeling more than a little freaked out, I decided to call the police. “Hi, um, I found something… unusual in my turkey,” I said, trying to sound calm, though my voice shook.
Within minutes, two officers arrived at our house. Officer Johnson, a seasoned pro, looked as though he’d seen it all. His partner, Officer Miller, was much younger, and the look on his face suggested that he thought he had just stepped into a crime scene.
When I showed them the turkey and the bag of cash, Officer Johnson raised an eyebrow. “Where’d you get this turkey from?” he asked, looking at me closely.
“My husband picked it up this morning,” I replied, still feeling stunned.
Before I could say anything else, the door opened, and Kyle walked in—this time with his mom, who looked just as surprised to see the police as I felt.
“What’s going on?” Kyle asked, his face going pale when he saw the officers.
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” Officer Johnson replied, gesturing toward the turkey and the cash. “Mind explaining this?”
I looked at Kyle, then back at the officers. “Kyle, why was there money inside our turkey? Do you know anything about this?”
Kyle froze, his eyes darting from me to the police officers and back again. For a moment, he said nothing. Then, his mom gave him a gentle nudge, and he finally blurted out, “Okay, fine! The money’s mine.”
“What?” I gasped, completely shocked.
“I was trying to surprise you,” Kyle said sheepishly, his face turning red. “I cashed out my savings to plan a trip to Hawaii. I didn’t want you to find out too early, so I, uh… I stuffed it in the turkey.”
“You did what?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
Kyle explained that, in a moment of panic, the turkey had seemed like the safest hiding spot. “I didn’t think you’d go unwrapping it until after Thanksgiving,” he added, looking genuinely apologetic.
His mom, who had been quietly standing by, couldn’t help but scold him. “Kyle, you have got to be kidding me! You hid money in the turkey? Of all places!”
Officer Johnson chuckled, shaking his head. “Son, in all my years, I’ve never seen anyone hide money in poultry.”
Kyle handed over a bank withdrawal receipt to prove his story, and after a few more jokes about the unusual situation, the officers decided to leave us to our chaos.
After they left, I turned to Kyle. “What were you thinking? What if I had roasted the turkey with the money still inside?”
Kyle scratched his head, looking embarrassed. “I didn’t think of that,” he admitted.
As a reward for his unexpected heroism, Max got extra turkey scraps that day. The rest of Thanksgiving was spent telling our family the crazy story, all while laughing at Kyle’s ridiculous plan.
In the end, we did go to Hawaii, and it turned out to be the beginning of another adventure. It was on that trip that we conceived our baby. One day, when they’re old enough, I’ll tell our child the wild story of how they owe their existence to their dad’s infamous “turkey cash stash.”
So, remember, folks—sometimes, it’s not just the turkey you need to watch out for. Your dog might be the one who saves the day. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!
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