My poor little live oak

When Camille was born, I had delusions of planting a live oak so that by the end of her years, it would have the stature of one of those century-old live oaks in southern Louisiana like the one below.

Four summers in, I'm not sure this puny thing is going to make it. I had it shipped from coastal Georgia, and even though we're in the same "zone," it looks like it's just too hot here, even with daily watering. I know these things are slow to grow, but the hardwoods my neighbors have planted have grown by leaps and bounds compared to this one.