My heart was jack-hammering. And I don’t mean just a moderate case of a racing pulse, but a what-is-this-alien-beast-ripping-open-my-ribs hammering. I could feel the heart valves slamming shut like a screen door in a storm. With the gun up, using an old ironwood as a brace, my crosshairs jerked from side to side. I had the doe in my sights for a few seconds, before the pair bolted downwind, so I never really had the shot in hand. Still, I was left shaking my head. What the heck? Buck fever over a couple of middling-size does?