| My friend has trained her rottie to use a treadmill for humans. All she has to do is tell him to get on, set the timer and start it. He does the rest. She monitors him by listening to the ticking of his nails on the track. One day when she was upstairs she thought the rythum sounded strange. She went to the top of the stairs and looked down. Somewhere along the line, he must have stopped, been thrown backwards, and off. He knew he was supposed to be on it, but he couldn't figure out how. When Kathy saw him, his butt was on the carpet, but his front paws were on the tread and he was, in his mind, jogging. He was probably wondering why he hadn't thought of that sooner. |