Sprocket

Having focused attention on Jock the Westie in this blog quite a bit recently, it's only fair to redress the balance by posting a few snaps of Sprocket the Patterdale. Never heard of this breed? - neither had I before buying him. Apparently Patterdales are named after a village in the Lake District where the Lakeland terrier was crossbred with some other terrier mutt (probably a Staffordshire bull terrier, though it could have been a sabre-toothed tiger) to produce the perfect burrowing-animal killing machine. Basically, they're hunters. And enthusiastic diggers. And nearly always black - though Sprock's obviously brown (or red, as doggy experts define it). Far as I know, they're not recognised by Cruft's or the Kennel Club (or whatever the official governing dogs' body is). Unsurprisingly, they have an enthusiastic following with a few tribes of mental retards in the American backwoods (ever seen the film 'Deliverance'?) who keep gangs of them for poaching and (illicit?) badger hunting. Had I known all this beforehand, I may well not have have bought the brute. But I did. So that's it. Lumbered.

Unlike Jock he doesn't come across as being cute and cuddly, he's aggressive towards other dogs (but not bitches) so he has to be kept on a lead most of the time (he escaped once and beat the living daylights out of Tommy, the hamlet's 'boss' dog) and he has a horribly unattractive bald tail (the result of microscopic bugs buggering up his hair follicles as a pup at the run-down kennels where he was born). But despite all that I think he's fab. Absolutely adorable. And he's a bright spark. Damned intelligent. Coochie, coochie, coo.