Otter Creek This Was No Accident, This Was a Therapeutic Chain of Events

His front paws scraped uselessly on the debris around him, blunt nails scrabbling and scrambling for any form of purchase, leaving dull rivets in their wake. He didn’t find any.
 
His muscles ached, and his lungs burned, his back legs kicking uselessly at the underside of the makeshift raft he found himself in.
 
“Fuck off.” He spat, once more, his breathing laboured and his shoulders and legs shaking, burning as he struggled to keep holding himself upright. “I don’t need your shitty fucking help, you crazy fucking bitch—”
 
It was then his front legs gave out from under him and he was plunged back under the water’s surface for a dizzying, disorienting, frightful second.