Our dogs frequently forget the house rules and try to 'smuggle' stuff in from the yard. (Sticks, usually, although you really gotta watch that Kirby—he's shown up with birds, baby possums, and Polly-turds before.)
Usually they're pretty obvious about it and—with a verbal reprimand and a little tap on the rump—they yield up their forbidden treasure, get their feet wiped, and come on into the house. Happy to be inside, perhaps a little forlorn that their treasure has been confiscated. But no hard feelings: they'll get their chance again next time. And I'll be watching.
Last night, however, Dozer got one over on me. He got a forbidden stick past me at the door (I must've been distracted, cause this was a pretty good-sized chewin' stick.) And he got it past me again in the mudroom. That darn dog got it all the way into our living room, where he plopped down with much glee and proceeded to gnaw on it right in front of the TV!
LeeAnn and I were tempted to let him have it (in recognition of his pluck and ingenuity.) But we knew that it would be setting a dangerous precedent for Polly, who is devious by nature. So the stick was confiscated, and back out in the yard it went.