I shot a deer when I was thirty. My husband had started bow hunting so I took the rifle I had bought him and shot my own. The feeling I had was that I had tortured the animal. I shot him first in the backside and he ran about a mile. The second shot I broke a leg. Then he sat down in a small ravine and I knelt down and got a better shot for the kill. I never hunted again since I wasn't a good enough to kill him with one shot. I didn't care enough for hunting to practice enough to get good.