Thinking of my own misguided youth brings to mind a pertinent and painful memory. I still bear the little white scars of it to this day. You hear of it happening out in the country sometimes, but ya never figure it'll happen to you...
My brother and my cousin and I were out for a stroll one warm, summer evening. In our wanderings around the countryside that is deep East Texas, we happened upon a local farmer's watermelon patch. Now we all knew the farmer, and knew him to be a 'good ole boy' (an upright individual). What we didn't know was how well he guarded his watermelons when they were coming ripe...
Now I was all of 11 years old, which made both my brother and cousin 17. Those watermelons looked mighty good there in the moonlight, and there was a creek nearby we'd planned to swim in anyway, so we might as well enjoy one while we're out right?
As stealthily as 3 young men could we crept into the watermelon patch and picked out a good one, a yellow-meat (they're sweeter than traditional red-meat watermelons) which was perfectly ripe and the perfect size to carry out with us. My brother made quick work with his pocketknife and off we crept with our prize. Then, from the dark we hear "Who the hell's stealin my watermelons?" then... *BOOM*, followed by the intense pain only a rock-salt load can bring. Three shots fired, 3 boys running like hell through the watermelon patch in intense pain but not so intense that we stopped running or dropped said watermelon. We hauled arse to the creek as fast as our legs would carry us.
The water melted out the salt (it's the only remedy for a rock-salt load by the way, short of cutting out each individual crystal) quickly and soon enough we were just a peppered-mess of small wounds all over our backs and arses. That watermelon was damned good though, best I ever ate. I think it was the effort spent in getting it that made it that way.
Now - what laws were broken? By us - theft under $5 by a minor...a mere handslap and a "You BY GOD better not get caught in anyone's watermelon patch again or I'll salt you myself!" from any judge. By the farmer, not one blessed thing - he was protecting his livelyhood. Evidently the farmer figured we were kids or those rounds would've been buckshot rather than salt, but either way, he broke no law. Even if he'd have killed us (pronounce that 'kilt' to speak proper Texan) good and proper he wouldn't have broken a single law.