My parents' Yorkie Sugar was quite the hunter, and was always bringing home dead things--whatever could fit in her mouth, that is. Once she brought a mouse to my grandmother and me. I was too grossed out to do anything useful, but my 88-year-old grandmother had the presence of mind to take the mouse from her (using a towel, or something) and toss it back over the fence. "You have a nasty mouth!" she told the dog. She was kind enough not to mention that I apparently wasn't made of very strong stuff.