Remember, though, that rules can all be broken. Late last season, I shot a big Tennessee doe standing broadside at 15 yards. My arrow looked about perfect—three inches behind the shoulder, a third of the way up from the belly. Certainly ahead of the diaphragm. I could see it stuck in the ground, soaked in red blood. She ran 70 yards and stopped. I figured she’d fall right there. Instead, she walked 200 yards through the open timber and bedded down in a thicket on the next ridge. When my buddy and I took up the heavy blood trail four hours later, we jumped her from her bed. She labored off slowly down into a creek bottom, and so we backed out and gave her two more hours.