One time, back in the oughts when I was in college, a buddy and I were scouting. Game down a dirt road that had a telltale ND slough hugging either side. Couldn't quite make out what was in the middle -- looked like a big dead moose or something. As we drove closer, discovered it was about 50 coot just chilling in the North Dakota setting sun.
For giggles, I hammered down on the ol Prizm gas. We laughed, and laughed, fully expecting them to move at the last minute.
Nope...
There were a few stragglers, but we laid waste to a solid 30-40 coots as they sat dumbly, awaiting their fate like a bunch of cultists drinking the spiked Kool Aid.
It was a thing of beauty.
Also, Louisiana boys call Coots by a different name and, I believe, they are a staple ingredient in cajun waterfowl gumbo, depending on the parish: