Today, about twenty minutes into my stupid far run, I passed a crow pecking on the head of a baby bird.
At first I thought the bird was dead, but when the crow flew away at my approach, I saw the little one weakly move a wing. My heart was so sad for how much pain it was in, so I looked around for a rock or a heavy stick to smash its skull so that it wouldn't feel any pain. I couldn't find anything and I didn't have the willpower to kill it with my bare hands, so I kept running.
It didn't occur to me until I finished my run two hours later that I could have maybe rescued the bird. Stopped my run, picked it up, taken it somewhere where someone could have attempted to heal it.
When I ran past the place where I saw the bird, only a tiny bloody leg remained.
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