Where I grew up there was a program where you’d sign up for a waiting list. Then when the county police encountered a deer that’d been injured but not badly mangled by a car, they’d put it out of its misery and send it to a local butcher. You’d pay $50 to the butcher and end up with a huge amount of packaged venison.
We kept a freezer in the basement just for that. It would fill the freezer.