One morning my son, then aged about 8, looked out of the window and said there was a stag in our garden. I looked out and realised it was towing it's entrails. It had jumped our gate - the type with spikes on top - and had obviously not jumped high enough to clear it. Obviously we couldn't leave the poor thing to die in agony and if we'd rung the red deer commission to report it, it would have sufered longer so we called our neighbour who had a shotgun. There was enough meat on our half to half fill our freezer. My ex buried the skin in the front garden every day and every evening our dogs dug it up again.
We sold antlers from on the hillside in our workshop so ex decided that a full set, mounted on a shield, would be worth a bob or two. To speak up decomposition, he buried the head, just leaving the antlers above ground. He tied a sack over one and put an upturned bucket over the other. Every week or so he checked on it and one day announced happily that it was almost ready to finish off. the next morning he was furious to discover that one of the dogs had knocked the bucket off and gnawed one antler.
Those dogs risked life and limb frequently. Often when out he would pick up road kill rabbits if he knew they were fresh. One day he got home having picked up a large one just down the road. We were very hard up and free meat meant we ate meat. He came in the house furious burt laughing as well. It was his own fault for forgetting the dogs were in the back of the car when he threw it in. They had a lovely feast.