When my wife's father died we inherited a few things including a baby elephant tusk.
Francesca and I didn't know quite what to do with it.
Unless you're a son of Donald Trump (his two boys went on an African killing spree last week), shooting elephants isn't the coolest thing.
Neither is possessing the body parts.
Still, there is a beautiful piece of ivory hiding on a low shelf in our living room.
Today a zoologist friend and his wife stopped by for ice cream. He spotted the tusk and quickly let us know that it was not African at all. He told Francesca, "You've got is a walrus tusk and your dad may have found it on a beach!".
We were elated, our sins washed away.
Phil also let us know my trophy "sea turtle bone" is actually a gill plate from a refrigerator-size Ocean Perch.