When I was around 10 years old, I was walking out to a poplar bluff with the .22, with an old cooey single shot, in hopes to find a grouse or rabbit for supper. We didn't have a whole lot when I was growing up.
I was walking along side an oat field and noticed a deer watching me from cover of the crop. I could only see its head and the white patch on its throat, but that was a plenty big enough target for this young farm lad.
I ran to the yard to fetch my Dad. He didn't believe me at first, but reluctantly drove out to look. Sure enough, there was a deer laying there. We'd eat venison for a couple weeks for sure!
I was ecstatic until I saw the look on the old man's face, it was then I knew that I messed up. He dressed the deer and we headed back to the yard with it and processed it almost immediately.
I was told in no uncertain terms that no matter how poor we were, I was not to poach. It was worse than stealing because there was no giving it back.
I felt bad for quite a while, but that venison sure was good!!