Where I grew up, shooting a kid with a shotgun (loaded with rock salt) was considered an object lesson about property rights, and we'd have been shocked if anyone went to jail for it. How times have changed.
I remember at 12-13 yo in the mid-'70s, the family lived for a time (father in civil service-transfers were fast-track grade advancement) in south-central MS near the eastern MS/western AL border. There was this old farmer that raised huge patches of watermelons and strawberries that all the kids knew would shoot at you with this old break-action double-barrel 12ga loaded with rock-salt shells (though he couldn't see at distance worth beans) if he spotted you in his fields (and sometimes actually grazed the occasional slow/careless kid with a piece or two, usually one kid a season).
Everybody in the surrounding area knew this and him, including the police & sheriff. That was the way things had been for as long as many if not most who lived there could remember, even as they were kids.
Nobody even thought to call the police. They'd have simply told you that "...you ought-not to be a-trespassin' on no private prop-perty. Ev'rbody know the ol' man'll light bee-hines wit rocksalt if'n he catches ya in is fields! Ya'll'll get hurt ya keep it up, an' if we gotsta carry ya'll to the horsepital, we'd be 'bliged to charge ya'll wit trespass." (there *were* signs).
The old boy sat in a rocking chair on his porch and typically never even stood to shoot. The range was like anywhere from 60 to 100-plus yards. He also loaded these shells of his really light on powder charge. If you had on jeans all you'd get is a nice welt if you were closer.
The only two times I remember any blood having been drawn or any skin penetration or other injury (other than self-inflicted) occurring was when the two kids in question didn't pay attention, had gotten far too close, and were wearing shorts. Only one small piece barely penetrated skin both times, though from the way they'd each screamed at the time, I'm sure it burned like hell.
The first "strawberry-heart" medal-winner popped out the little salt fragment with his own thumbnails, wiped it hydrogen peroxide, stuck a band-aid on it, and carried on. Next season, the other medal-winner's piece of salt was so small it had dissolved before the kid had stopped running, and left but a single drop of blood, a welt, and a painful memory.
I was always careful to stay at the edge of his range, kept real low, and never stayed long or ate/took very much on the occasions I was pressured to join in. We didn't hurt the old man's harvest. He had these huge fields, but a lot of what grew he never picked and it rotted in the fields.
I do "distinctly* remember what the sound of rock salt sounds like whizzing around/past you from a 12ga, some making weird "ricochet"-type whining, moaning, or buzzing sounds, striking vegetation around you, etc.
Nothing like it to get those legs really moving!
It's downright motuh-VAY-shunul! :D
CoD!?!? Bah! Back in *my* day, we went out unarmed and deliberately got shot at with *real* guns just for *fun*!!! :D
Strat