Today I got to hold a baby deer and also be a hero

Our time is winding down, a big move to the Pacific Northwest is fast approaching. Maybe that's why everything seems extra sweet—through the fear of tarantulas and scorpions and hornets and sweat. Sweet sweat.
Our time is winding down, so we're making our Must Do Before We Leave list.
Our time is winding down, we're starting to check things off.

July through August is hot in Texas. This is not new information. But July through August are also kind of my favorite... This is when all the sweet baby deer with their red coats and white speckles pop up like daisies and run and play with each other, always staying nearby their mamas. Apart from the spring time with all of the wildflowers, this is my favorite time of year here. It's so hot. It's hornets. It's brown grass. It's beautiful. It's kayaking down the river. It's diving in. It's bursting with new, red–coated–speckled, life.

I had just dropped Jason at work and was on my way home. I turned up the big hill to our house and saw one of our neighborhood deer in the middle of the road. This is nothing very new. But as I drove closer this doe didn't scurry away. She was immovable, frozen, focused on something to the side of the road. She didn't even notice the car. I looked in the direction of her intent gaze and there was her baby, stuck in the fence.
I jumped out of my car. She jumped away from me and a bit down the road, but not far.
I gingerly walked closer to the foal, she and her mama made deer warning calls. The sweet deer baby jumped harder and higher and stronger than I knew she could, in pure panic. I saw where the fur had been rubbed raw on her sides, where she was bleeding and injured.
I didn't know how to do this alone. I didn't know who to call.
Suddenly I heard the slap slap slap of flip–flops running down the hill. My nice neighbor man (who I'd never met until this morning—when we became innocent animal saving heroes together) heard the deer calling, saw my car stopped in the road. We worked together to lift and pull the speckled baby back out. She straightened out her beautiful front legs as long and still as she could for us. As soon as her hooves passed the poles, she bounded out of my neighbor's arms and she and her mama vanished into the trees.
Someone was clapping and cheering up the hill. I turned to see a neighbor lady peering down at the emergency situation over her tall, flowering, cactus peddle bushes and cheering for the victory.

I'm too exhausted from our marathon down mission memory lane trip (we just got back from visiting Houston this morning, where Jas served for two years) and running on roughly two hours of sleep last night, to draw any conclusions or meaningful morals from this experience.

I've just got this:

It was surprising how obvious and audible and visceral the concern that mama doe had for her sweet baby.
It also wasn't surprising at all.
It was surprising how quickly I could care about nothing other than relieving this sweet, speckled deer baby from her plight. The urgency. The magnitude of how much this mattered.
It also wasn't surprising at all.

And hero looks good on me.