When I was in my late teens my mother kept a small herd of bison on our ranch along with some longhorns, angora goats, a quarter horse stud and his little band of mares and foals. (my mother loved "critters" even to the point of a housebroken whitetail buck deer.) Every week or so some one would pull up to the house and offer big money for the privilege of shooting one of the bison, and some were very reluctant to take NO for an answer. One such mighty hunter got to the point of threatening to shoot one of the bison with or without, permission. At that point, I walked over to the gun cabinet, took out my rifle, started shoving rounds into the magazine, and said, "Okay, but since they can't shoot back, I will shoot for the bison." The expression on his face and the sight of his car speeding away from the "critter pasture" was far more satisfying than shooting him in the crotch would have been.
(65 years later, I have to say I'm glad he didn't accept my offer.)
