a small deer

I turned off Hwy 1 and onto Pescadero Rd. and in the headlights is a small deer. I notice it is limping and pull over. I assume it was hit by another night time traveler, who did not stop. I am trying to decide and cannot. Many possibilities of life, death and my role fall into a web of colluded emotions. I get out and walk toward the small deer, who's yelps and distress calls ring inside my minds ears as I write. I half decide to run the small deer over, and now I think I was doing this to pull the deer away from the pain of being eaten alive by a coyote or ripped apart, slowly by a bobcat. I back up and hit the small. Hazards flashing I hit the road and look for the small deer; it lies in the ditch unable to move. I have no knife in my truck and I flash to a story of a two men smothering a grown deer with tears in their eyes as she slipped into death. I try and the small deer is still strong with life. The tailgate opens and I set the small deer in the bed. Now I drive window down, fast to home, I see my house is lit. To the front door and I say," There someone hit a deer, it's inside my truck." I grab two knives and we drive to the edge of the farm. Far enough from our landlords house, and I bring the small deer to the grass. What should I do? What is in my gut. I try to cut her neck and the knife is too dull. I try to smother the small deer again, and its will kicks hard. This is not right, we drive back to the place I first saw the small deer on the road. There among the poison oak and the black berry bushes I leave her. To what I don't know. To her mother finding her, from her tired and soft yelps. To a coyote who needs to feed her pups. To raven pecking at her dead swollen body. She is one deer out of hundreds hit by cars every year, who's soon death and just the thought of her death has filled me with life. My mind will soon begin to rationalize or demean my choices, but now I am alive and here in my living body.