He was three years old when I bought him and he came with that name. He never found many birds, but one day (before lunch) he killed a baby goat, got sprayed by a skunk, and ate two bobwhites that he neither pointed or retrieved. He ran off the first six times I let him out of the box. On one of those jaunts he was gone overnight. The next morning I found him snoozing in a hog trap where he had eaten and rolled in a vile mixture of rotten feed corn, molasses, and catfish guts. I eventually traded him for a cast iron smoker pit on wheels.
Mouthful of Feathers 
I have known a few of those. The worst being a setter that would eat a bird even if wrapped in gaucho wire.
These pictures and stories on this site are making me miss my winters in the south.
Suck about the name. 🙂
Oh my God. I’m crying, I’m laughing so hard. And I suddenly don’t feel so bad about giving back the bitch that flunked out of gun dog school this summer… at least I didn’t trade her for a BBQ…