I'm My (Dog's) Own Worst Enemy

It all started innocently enough. I found myself meandering around a small town hardware store/gas station/local hangout after a long opening morning pheasant hunt. Somewhere between the overpriced energy drinks and drywall anchors the pet aisle caught my eye, feeling quite proud of my pup's performance that morning I figured it would be worth coughing up a few extra dollars to reward her for a job well done.

Beggin' Strips? Sure, why not, nothing wrong with a little treat at the end of the field -but wait – what's that? Do I spy an entire smoked pig femur? Perfect. This would keep the little hellion occupied as I try to warm up to a piping hot bowl of chili.

We arrived back at the farm house and much to Beau's delight I tossed the bone into her kennel before retreating to the comforts of clanking spoons and college football. No more than an hour later, I went back outside to uncrate the dog and was greeted by a feverishly wagging tail… and no bone.

Zip, nadda, zilch. There was nothing left of what was once an entire femur. "Crud." Except I didn't say crud.

The rest of the afternoon was basically a casual walk through the park with my gun over my shoulder and an uncomfortable lab licking my heels. She wasn't having anything to do with sudden movements and therefore I wasn't going to be partaking in the flushing of any birds.

Luckily, Sunday morning arrived and after a few extra bathroom breaks Beau was back up to full speed. Lesson learned. It's one thing to be a bone collector; it's a totally different thing to be a bone eater.

Have you ever inadvertently made your dog take an off day?

The Over/Under blog is written by Andrew Vavra, Pheasants Forever's Marketing Specialist.