Always eat what I shoot.
What's it like? Different for everyone, I guess.
Try, thrilling, terrifing, worst feeling of your life, better than sex, all rolled into one. You line up a shot, and you heart starts racing to the point that you lose your aim. Then, he stops and lifts his head. Your gonna lose him in a tenth of a second. He's gonna pick up on you. He turns slightly, giving you an instant's view of him magnificense. You start to second guess yourself. You shouldn't kill him. He's too much for you. Too proud. Too much health, nature, power. Then your heartbeat stops, and you release. He spots you right then, hearing you. He starts to flinch, to run, but it's too late. Your aim was true. Right through the lungs. He starts to run, but he doesn't get very far. As you approach, you hear his last snuffle, as his lungs fill with blood. The strength goes out from him. Your buddy claps you on the shoulder, proclaiming what a trophy you've taken. But all you can do is look at the loss. You decide to sell the head. The hide. The meat, you keep. You'll not waste anything. It's sacrafice becomes your burden. It's pride, your shame.
And at the next barbeque, you can serve up steaks and burgers, knowing that you've done your part for nature. You kept your bargain. You fed your young, and left his young more food for them. They'll grow up stronger, faster, prouder, for the work you've done. If only you didn't keep seeing that profile, the instant before your heart stopped beating.