Here's the story of my first deer, when I was 18.

I walked up on this little yearling whitetail at 25 yards, and he stood there looking at me. I fired, and missed. He never moved. So I bolted in round #2, fired again, missed again. The buck still never moves. I bolt in round #3 and calmly (ha ha) break his neck. That sounds better, but I was aiming behind his shoulder.

Anyhow, the fun was only beginning. As I proudly approached my first deer, after five years of failure, I saw he was lying in a thick patch of brush. In order to gut him out I'd just need to grab a protruding hind leg and tug him out into the open. When I touched his hind leg, it triggered a nerve and the hind leg lashed out in a vicious kick. The kick caught me perfectly flush in a spot no man wants to get kicked in! Do I need to elaborate further?

Well, now I'm literally rolling around on the ground in agony beside my dead deer. A single thought penetrated the pain - Dear God Please do not let another hunter happen along right now! The pain subsided eventually, replaced by a desire for vengeance. So I stood up and fired a coup de grace shot into the buck's head.

At that I didn't get the last laugh, because when we tried to do the skullcap mount we found my revenge shot had absolutely shattered the skull.