Just remembered when was a youth, grabbing a roadkill pheasant on a summer day while hiking 50 miles with some friends. We hied into yon copse in the midday sun, not sure if meat was warm from freshly killed or from reheating under the day’s sunlight.
Neil drew the plucking straw and proceeded to have at it until the neck accidentally ripped so the bird’s crop emptied grain everywhere, prompting Neil in turn to empty his stomach contents up the tree with loud retching noises.
We made greenstick kebab skewers from the pheasant meat and toasted over a hasty fire, and it tasted like warm blood and desperation. Felt manly as all hell.
Still hungry we nipped over the road to the local village pub for peanuts, paying for them with bloodied hands that didn’t go unnoticed. There was silence in the pub. Not the best of evenings.
EDIT*. Wombat that’s ok yet were you to then put the cow into a whale that you’d punched to death from a sea kayak then you’d win hands down.