Last night, I took my dog Orla for a walk that went on longer than expected. When I got home, Gabby was just heading out the door.
“Why didn’t you take your phone? It’s an emergency!”
“Umm… what’s going on?”
“My parents found a suspicious package under a tree.”
“Is it a bomb?”
“No. The neighbor poked it with a stick.”
“Oh good, then we’re safe.”
I take Orla inside, remove her gear, and turn to head back out.
Sensing that time is of the essence, Orla casually strolls out behind me — clearly eager to assist with the emergency… or maybe just to investigate the hallway.
“ORLA! It’s an emergency!”
She saunters back in slowly, satisfied her duty is done.
We spring into action and race off.
Arriving at the exclusion zone (aka, my in-laws home), I leap out of the car and inspect the package with the careful eye of a bomb disposal expert I once saw on TV. Then I grab one of my father-in-law’s bamboo sticks to give it a poke. The stick disintegrates instantly.
Attempt #2: I return rearmed with a professional, police-grade broom handle. I poke the first bag…
“Umm… is that a bag of Cheetos?”
Yep.
The second bag, after a thorough broom-handle inspection, does not explode. Gabby, wearing her metaphorical forensic investigator gloves, carefully opens it. Inside: an infrared camera and a high-end moisture meter.
Time to call the police non-emergency line. I report a suspicious bag of Cheetos and probably stolen equipment. The RCMP officer responds:
“Well, I guess you get hungry doing crime,”
…then I assume dispatches a team of investigators.
We decide to secure the evidence in the garage. The door creaks open with the imposing security of Fort Knox… or maybe just an old wooden door groaning under its own weight.
Job done.
Or so I thought.
Given that my in-laws’ home is a tropical 35°C inside, we decide to get back in the car. But now — it’s no longer just a car. It’s a surveillance vehicle.
We take two quick lefts. We’re on patrol.
Scanning the neighborhood, we spot two suspicious men…
Nope. Dog walkers.
Kids! It must be them…
Nope. Just playing.
So we return to our original position, parking outside my in-laws’ house and stealthily surveying the area through the rear-view mirrors.
Then — suspicious activity! A car drives by… then turns around.
They’ve returned to recover their loot!
Nope. It’s just the neighbor.
Gabby exits our surveillance vehicle and bravely approaches the next suspect: a friendly man in his 50s walking his dog. He could have been suspicious.
At this point, I begin to worry some of our suspects might be considering reporting us — two shady figures sitting outside an elderly couple’s house. Classic diversion tactic.
Finally, after only 40 minutes, the police arrive. Is that suspiciously short? Hmmm…
We open the garage vault to reveal our secured evidence. The RCMP take the camera and moisture meter, but declare the Cheetos to be garbage.
More suspicious behavior. Is this a coverup?
After filling out a report, we prepare to head home. Then it hits me:
Are my in-laws the real suspects?
They discovered the package under their tree. Were they covering something up… or covering for someone?
And where is the neighbor who originally declared it wasn’t a bomb?
Hmmmm…
Gabby considers this for a moment. Then wonders why she married me.
But we head home, satisfied with a job well done. The neighborhood — and her parents — are safe, thanks to our quick thinking and top-tier surveillance efforts.
Some might even say… heroes.
