My brother wounded a 6 point buck juuuuuuuuust before sunset. The buck turned tail and ran so Mike fired off a hail Mary shot as it hopped the barbed wire - he figures that’s where the other half of the rack went. His hunting party met up near the stand, laid their rifles around the pickup, and set off to track the un-dead deer.
They followed light blood stains for a while and a couple of spots of darker pools across the swamp and through the cornfield until, finally, in a clearing, they found the still-living deer - using flashlights and the buck’s reflecting eyes. At this point anything they did to the deer wasn’t strictly legal as hunting laws here do not take kindly to shooting things after dark but, well, you know, it’s not quite right to just leave the poor thing just lying out there.
Now remember, all of their rifles are back at the truck, but one bright spark said “Wait, I have my pistol with me - let me go get that.” I suppose the theory was that shooting a dying deer after dusk with a handgun was slightly less illegal.
The friend returned with the handgun and popped off a shot from about 25 yards away which, apparently, did nothing more than glance off the buck’s skull and either enrage or scare it further, because he got to his feet and charged straight at my brother. By this time the only thought going through Mike’s head was, “I’ll be FUCKED if I’m going to track this stupid deer all goddamn night,” so he did the only logical thing he could do: He grabbed it by that half rack and bulldogged it. The buck’s back hooves went through his blaze, through his sweatshirt, through his tshirt, through his longjohns, and left a total of about 3 feet of welts across his back. Another member of the party jumped into the fray and dispatched the deer with a knife.
Absolutely no alcohol was involved in this incident. No, I didn’t believe that, either.