Blacktail Deer Plateau Bye, baby Bunting, daddy's gone a-hunting

I'm reading The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon by Stephen King and the main character's dad says the, "Bye, baby bunting, daddy's gone a-hunting" line.

Saēna reared onto her hind legs too, the two flailing at one another like a pair of wild stallions sparring somewhere in the wild, wild west, perhaps over a mare. The smaller tot landed a lucky blow, her tiny left forepaw striking Osprey Jr. just beneath her right eye, making her cheekbone smart. The elder puppy yelped involuntarily, feeling a bolt of indignant anger shoot through her. Before she could contemplate retaliation, she found herself inexplicably thrown off balance (for Saēna had managed to latch onto her right foreleg, halting it midair and stalling her momentum) and pitching forward so that her chin hit the floor with a quiet crack.

The impact dazed her slightly and she lay still for a moment. Slowly, she began to pick herself up off the den floor. Although Junior was no crier, her lip trembled at the ache in her cheekbone and the newer, worse pain in her mouth. Her tongue darted from her blunt maw, flicking little beads of blood into the air that splattered on the floor. She didn't notice, though Saēna or any onlooking adult might notice the watery blood pooling against her gums and teeth, the result of a bitten tongue.

Trying to quell her own urge to whimper and whine, Osprey Jr. soon discovered something that helped her forget: a metallic scent that made her wounded mouth suddenly water. It made her think of the piles of mush the adults brought home. She growled as hunger pinched her belly. Little did she know, the little Redleaf-DiSarinno was smelling her own blood.