There's nothing I love more than rescuing injured wildlife. My friends tease me, saying I must secretly sabotage animals so that I can swoop in to save them. It's all in good fun—though I can tell from their eyes that maybe they're just a little serious. Over the years, I've proudly rescued elephants, a giraffe, a hyena, and even a rare zebra. So, when I was recording the daily activities of a herd in Amboseli National Park, you can imagine my heart racing when I got the message: a baby elephant needed help.

We didn't waste a second. Dust flew from the tires as we sped across the savannah, weaving through herds and landscapes toward the location. Upon arrival, we spotted the baby standing close to its mother and a protective auntie, their stances tense, their eyes watchful. No more than three weeks old, the calf was heartbreakingly small for an elephant. As we drew closer, the mother and auntie tried to nudge him away, but something was clearly wrong. The baby could barely walk, stumbling with each painful step. His back leg was injured, and he couldn't keep up.

Our team quickly radioed Kenya Wildlife Services (KWS), and the wheels of action began turning. KWS employs rangers and vet teams for moments exactly like this, and they work alongside the Sheldrick Wildlife Trust, which brings helicopters and mobile units into the field. Meanwhile, the Amboseli Trust for Elephants researchers arrived, their deep knowledge of the local herds proving invaluable. But, as is often the case in the wild, things take time. We waited. Hours passed, and we stood vigil, protecting the mother and baby from curious tourists and wildlife alike.

Then, suddenly, it was "go time." Things moved in a blur. The rangers positioned their vehicles to drive the auntie away, though she didn't leave without protest. She trumpeted furiously, charging at the vehicles, desperate to stay by her family's side. But eventually, she was moved a safe distance away.

Now, it was the vet team's turn. Enter the vet—an impressive Kenyan woman with a commanding presence, her long, manicured nails glinting as she took charge. Instantly, the entire operation fell under her command, and our admiration for her was instant. She gathered the intel, coordinated the teams, and within moments, the sniper had his tranquilizer gun loaded and aimed. One shot—perfect accuracy. The dart hit the mother.

The rangers sprang into action, holding onto the mother's tail and pushing on her side as she staggered. The last thing we needed was for her to collapse onto her baby. For a few agonizing moments, she tried to run, but the sedative took over. She swayed, then crumpled to the ground with a heavy thud. We rushed to insert a twig into her trunk to keep her airways open while others fetched water to cool her down. In the brutal heat of Amboseli, elephants flap their ears to regulate their body temperature, but now that she is sedated, we need to keep her cool.

All the while, the baby became frantic. He let out the most heart-wrenching cries as we gently restrained him for the vet to examine. His leg, swollen and painful, was dislocated. The vet wasted no time, administering pain relief and antibiotics and then working the joint. It wasn't easy—she pushed and pulled with all her might. The baby screamed in pain, and at that moment, my heart broke. I knelt beside him, his tiny trunk barely thicker than my thumb. I know it wasn't much, but I stroked it softly and whispered lullabies, reassuring him that his mom was nearby and that everything would be okay.

With a final, excruciating cry, the leg popped back into place. Relief washed over all of us. As the baby calmed, we watched closely as "wake-up juice" was administered to the mother. Slowly, she stirred, rolling onto her knees, and with each movement, our hearts pounded. At the last possible second, we released the baby and ran to the safety of our vehicles, waiting for the moment we'd all been holding our breath for.

And then it happened: the baby bolted straight to his mother, immediately latching on to nurse. The reunion was perfect. We watched in awe as they walked away, the baby's limp already improving with each step. Then, from the distance, we heard a triumphant trumpet. Finally released from her "time-out," Auntie came charging back, racing to join the little family as they headed off to rejoin the herd.

As we packed up, I couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by the experience. Witnessing such fierce loyalty and the unbreakable bond between these animals and seeing so many humans working together for their good filled me with pride. On that day, we all did something good and, in the smallest of ways, made the world just a little better.