Because the Boy with the Cold Hard Cash is Always Mister Right

U.S.S. Shipwreck

0000-0400

I'm trying to build up my running skills so that I don't up dead on the side of a hot Nevada road this August. No worries; I'm on a plan. It's called the "from couch potato to awesome athlete plan" or something. At this stage, I am to run three days a week. Today was a running day. Because of the nasty air outside due to the inversion, I did not want to go outside and run. I turned, instead, to my trusty old treadmill. My treadmill is piece of trash manual thing that makes running so much more difficult as I have to actually move the belt along with my own strength; running gracefully or hands free is not an option.
The interesting thing is that my little corgie, Roxie, will under no circumstance, come upstairs - ever. She used to use my room as a place to relieve herself and due to repeated punishment coupled with her own massive guilt, she is scared to venture to the upward part of the house. Today was different. As I was making my sad attempt at a workout, Madonna's "Material Girl" blasting out my headphones, I happened to glance over to my left to see the Roxie, looking up at me with an expression of concern in her eyes. I have heard of animals being able to sense when their owners are injured or ill. I think she thought I was going to die up there, pumping away on my little manual treadmill. When I showered afterward, she layed outside the bathroom door, probably anticipating her owner's heart failure, wondering how she would get her next meal.