When I was little, my dad would bring home a nasty cut of raw beef to give to the dog. The dog would love it. He'd prance (doberman) around the back yard happier than a pig in shit. At the end of the day, he'd bury it. Then he'd proceed to dig it up every few days and prance around chewing on it for a day, then re-bury it. He'd repeat that until it had rotted to the point that he couldn't differentiate the rotten meat from the dirt it was buried in.