Rat Drowning in a Bog

I was bleary-eyed at 8 am, two miles into a five mile run along the Platte river, and into my distant peripheral came an animal twitching movement. I looked over my shoulder and saw, in a small pond, or perhaps a large puddle, a rat under water, its hind legs reflexively kicking once or twice, as I witnessed, causing sharp ripples in the water around the animal.

A muskrat, I thought -- but it was not. It was a common street rat either drowning or having drowned. I was suddenly compelled with all of my being to save the creature from suffering. I gave an audible wince as I propelled myself toward the scene. My shoes sank into the rotting earth. I picked up the nearest twig, with which I intended to rescue the creature.

As I approached the rat, I considered that perhaps it was a rabid animal, or a rat-trap from the underworld that will snap my neck; the rat became the cheese and I became the rat.

I took one more step forward and stopped, frozen -- the rat's jaw opened and closed, but its eyes were hollow and black, having been chewed out or rotted away. I let it drown.