Last week, Flossie and I encountered something unusual just a few paces from our front door.
It was a dead rat, lying flat on its back, spreadeagled on the road.
We’d walked past it the previous day, me feeling horrified, Flossie showing a keen interest in getting a closer look.
I had quietly hoped that someone would dispose of it.
But as it hadn’t magically disappeared overnight, I accepted that the person would be me.
I decided not to overthink it. With Flossie on the end of the lead in one hand, I confidently plucked a poo bag from my pocket with the other.
The rat was sizeable. The bag was flimsy.
So, I created a double bag and reached out gingerly to pick up the rat.
It was rather floppy. It was also bigger than my poo bag construction.
As its tail threatened to touch my hand, I let out a strangled scream and dropped it back onto the road.
I’m embarrassed to say that I let out several more shrieks as I grappled with the dead body. Flossie looked on with some curiosity, slightly puzzled by my squeaks.
As I danced around the rat, by now, making a spectacle of myself, my neighbour drove past and stopped the car.
I explained my predicament. She expressed sympathy, equally alarmed by the sight of the lifeless rat.
Thankfully, she produced a heavy-duty carrier bag.
Now we could tackle the situation properly.
She offered words of encouragement, albeit from a distance, as I, once again, braced myself to scoop the rat into the bag.
This time it was successful.
I tied the handles and we set off on our walk, swinging the weighty rodent contents rather triumphantly as we went.
I chuckled to myself as I waved to a couple of people. They had no idea what I was carrying.
Needless to say, it was a relief to deposit the bag in the first public bin we could find.
As published in the Bath Chronicle, 27 February 2025
Suzy Pope is a certified copywriter and newspaper columnist specialising in pets, business and lifestyle. If you would like help with a writing project, please get in touch.
