Rabbit Hunting
Dealing the remaining board cards after a hand is over, just to see what would have come.
You fold your flush draw on the turn, and the bettor — magnanimous in victory — lets the dealer run out the river anyway. That's rabbit hunting: dealing cards that have no bearing on anything, purely to satisfy curiosity. Casinos generally forbid it because it slows the game; home games allow it because home games allow everything.
The harmless fun has a cost, and it's paid in bad reasoning. Poker decisions are judged on the information available when you made them — your equity versus the price at that moment. Say you folded a flush draw on the turn to a pot-sized bet: you had nine outs, about 20% equity, and needed 33%. The fold was correct, full stop. If the river comes your suit, nothing changes — you made the right decision and the deck disagreed. Rabbit hunting invites you to learn the opposite lesson.
Worse, it's a tilt delivery device. Watching the exact card that would have won you the pot arrive dead is a small, perfectly engineered frustration, and players who rabbit hunt after every fold are usually the ones forcing the action an hour later to "make it back".
If your home game enjoys it, fine — it's social poker, not the World Series. But if you're working on your game, decline the courtesy. Fold, let the pot get pushed, and if the hand still bothers you, review it afterwards with an equity calculator. The discipline of not needing to know is worth more than the information. There's also a fairness angle most players miss: rabbit hunting shows cards to whoever happens to be watching, and the deck has no memory — but players do, and they draw the wrong lessons.