It was a day like any other in my hometown. Hamburgers were on the grill, and a nice breeze was blowing our way when a tiny baby deer, scared and malnourished, ran through our backyard and collapsed in our pasture. Being people of sympathy, we decided to help it rather than leave it for predators. Oh, sure, deer get eaten by hungry wolves all the time and we don't bat an eye, but little adorable animals make us throw our practicality to the wind and disrupt the natural order. (The Parks & Wildlife folks told us that if we left it in the pasture then its mother would come along for it. Give us a break, park ranger, we're not children.)
It was almost impossible to find it in this tall grass, and we didn't want to scare it, but, once we got there it had grown too weak to get away. It had been separated from it's mother for quite a while.
My dad's pretty good with animals, and it didn't complain at all when he carried it to the house. I'm sure if I had picked it up it would have bitten my ear off, or peed on me, or something.
Dad used an old turkey baster (I think) and fed it some health juice that he used to feed to our calves. My brother brought out that small animal cage so it could stay somewhere and be safe. I contributed by naming it "spot." Also, I took it for walks (we made a leash/collar out of some string) when it regained its strength and it led me on clumsy trips through our pasture in the dark. I started wondering about how ironic it would be if predators got both of us because I wanted to take baby deer for a walk.
Here's where he slept for a few nights. My parents finally found a family that wanted a pet deer and gave Spot away. Now, try not to think about how difficult it can be do have a pet deer when one lives in the country.