He must have a screw loose somewhere.
Perhaps he's one of those creatures who've slipped the ratchet off the motion cog.

Maybe he can't stop running till he runs down." In the meantime Jerry continued to run, up port side and down starboard side, from stern to bow and back again, wagging his stump tail and laughing friendliness to the many two-legged gods he encountered.

Had he been able to think to such abstraction he would have been astounded at the number of white-gods.

Thirty there were at least of them, not counting other gods that were neither black nor white, but that still, two-legged, upright and garmented, were beyond all peradventure gods.
Likewise, had he been capable of such generalization, he would have decided that the white-gods had not yet all of them passed into the nothingness.

As it was, he realized all this without being aware that he realized it.
But there was no Skipper.