Doing laundry is one of those fun, never-ending tasks that most every wife experiences on a routine basis. I dutifully check my husband's pockets on his jeans with each and every load. I never find anything very interesting or of much value; just a handful of change here or a pocket knife there.
My two year old son is now old enough that he has discovered the magical wonderfulness of pockets.
Behold: a calf's horn recovered from next to the processing chute, destined for many a grand adventure travelling from treasure box to toy box to toy pickups and where ever else a two year old can think to take such an awesome toy.
New house rule: horns may only be brought into the house once they are hollowed out and no longer have traces of blood on them.
Doesn't everyone have rules like this?