I didn’t notice the bold claim at the top of the package of dog treats: “Preferred by 9 out of 10 dogs” the package of Pedigree bones read, harkening back to the age-old “4 out of 5 dentists prefer toothpaste A” claims.

But these are canines. How on Earth can one prove that 9 out of 10 prefer these treats over another competitor?

In six years of owning a horizontally challenged dog who would eat a piece of cardboard provided there was a dab of ketchup on it, I never once have seen her choose one treat or another. Whatever treat is closest to her snout is her favorite.

By that logic, the Pedigree folks likely took nine dogs, put their treats closer to the snout and then… voila… what great results! Information shipped to the marketing folks that 9 out of 10 prefer these treats — and your dog will, too.

Such gaudy, unprovable claims — I thought. So I did my own research with one canine and two treats.

The dog sat on the couch watching “Judge Judy” as I crept into the bathroom to turn on the faucet. Any sound of plastic bag opening usually means treat time for her, but I wanted this experiment to be on the up-and-up.

Armed with the 9-of-10 treat in the right hand and a knock-off Pringle potato chip in the other, the experiment was on. (There were no competitors’ treats, but this dog has eaten a bag of Ruffles — and the bag — before).

On the floor I placed exhibit A, the chip, and exhibit B, the treat, slightly behind the chip. She eased off the couch and waddled toward the doorway.

She walked to the chip and started to sniff. “In the bag,” I thought, the theory works. It doesn’t matter one bit to a dog. The cardboard ketchup theory proved correct, while the Pedigree 9 of 10 nonsense was debunked.

Then she turned slightly to the left and sniffed again. The chip still held its form on the floor as she inhaled the 9-of-10 treat with vigor. She eventually got to the chip, but not before begging for another 9-of-10 treat.

Never before had I believed in the 4-of-5 or the 9-of-10 claims. I rarely put much stock in political polls either because answers are predicated on the wording of the questions. Bold claims are for the advertising and marketing folks, I believed.

Not anymore.

The dog who has eaten chicken wings (with bones) and video games debunked my debunk — and disproved the cardboard ketchup theory.

•

Sean P. Murphy is web editor. He can be reached at smurphy@vicksburgpost.com