Brave
Ah the Patterdale Terrier - scourge of the fox world. Fearlessly he hunts rabbits and hares, kills rats and generally strikes terror into the world of the small and furry. Not for him the soft life of comfy beds and two square meals a day. He'd much rather be out all night raising hell, or rootling about in a badger's set looking for a bit of fun. Fierce he is. Attack Dog.
Aye, right.
For the DevilDog has a secret dread. And since this is my blog, not his, I'm going to name it.
The DevilDog hates... sneezing.
Even the sharp intake of breath prior to explosion is enough to have him scurrying for cover, this woe-bringing worrier of weasels. Leverets might quake in their nest, ears quivering with terror, but a good old honk on the schnozzle would soon set them at ease.
It can be quite a hazard. Nothing can be allowed to get in the way of a sneeze-fleeing devildog. He'll knock the cup of hot tea from your hands into your lap, the legs from underneath your maiden aunt, the dachshund head over heels (no great distance there), the cat flying. He doesn't care. He just has to get away.
Nothing else scares him. If I shout, he just looks at me to say, 'yeah, I can hear you. So I ate the sheepshit on the road. What're you going to do about it?' If it thunders, he simply looks at the window and sighs. He's been out shooting and the guns don't bother him at all.
But sneeze and he's off.
As you can probably imagine, this time of year is particular hell for the DevilDog.
The DevilDog - He's well hard!
Aye, right.
For the DevilDog has a secret dread. And since this is my blog, not his, I'm going to name it.
The DevilDog hates... sneezing.
Even the sharp intake of breath prior to explosion is enough to have him scurrying for cover, this woe-bringing worrier of weasels. Leverets might quake in their nest, ears quivering with terror, but a good old honk on the schnozzle would soon set them at ease.
It can be quite a hazard. Nothing can be allowed to get in the way of a sneeze-fleeing devildog. He'll knock the cup of hot tea from your hands into your lap, the legs from underneath your maiden aunt, the dachshund head over heels (no great distance there), the cat flying. He doesn't care. He just has to get away.
Nothing else scares him. If I shout, he just looks at me to say, 'yeah, I can hear you. So I ate the sheepshit on the road. What're you going to do about it?' If it thunders, he simply looks at the window and sighs. He's been out shooting and the guns don't bother him at all.
But sneeze and he's off.
As you can probably imagine, this time of year is particular hell for the DevilDog.
The DevilDog - He's well hard!
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