Forty years ago, I was fortunate enough to enter life with a family dog present, followed by another five years or so later that lived well into my late teens. Although missing the favourable ears of a Spaniel, the two labradors showed me early on the
possibilities of dogs, more importantly the love of a dog which was far superior to that shown by my mouse, hamster, or goldfish. No matter what was going on in life the dogs were always happy to see me, be around me and listen to me, although unfortunately rarely spoke back. After a hiatus while I navigated my 20s and early 30s my career accelerated at pace, along with the responsibilities, pressure and stresses that comes with hard work and long hours over the last decade. I needed to relax after work, switch off, a non-screen hobby. “I know what I’ll do, I’ll get a dog!”.

After being approached randomly by a Sprocker in the local woods in a post covid-era adopted daily walk, the stars aligned and no other dog would be acceptable, instantly falling in love with the ears, the eyes and the enormous amount of energy
my new spaniel friend possessed. Months later Scully was born to a Springer mother and Cocker father, and a couple of weeks after, became an equal partner in our household. The first year was as crazy as any first-time puppy house, with the added sprinkle of Spaniel madness. Into his first year we started gundog training, canicross and perfected his “name any of your 10+ toys and I’ll go get them” wizardry. Then, disaster struck.

Scully was inspecting a local field for balls or birds when he hit the deck with an almighty blood curling squeal. Then, like the absolute rock-solid hero he is, he carried on – but the next day, same again. Into the ‘Scullymobile’ we went (my pickup
truck, now his) to be told by the vet he had a luxating patella of a severe grading which would need operating on at some point, essentially, one of his knees coming out of place. It was soon Christmas, and again, his knee came out, this time however it seemed like an eternity for him to be able to self-adjust to get it back in place (and I absolutely was not running around like a headless chicken, screaming in panic while he was calmly trying to achieve this). The day soon came for surgery, prepared we were for the advised “6 to 12 weeks” of rest needed, which due to failure of the surgery turned into 12 months, yes months, of heavily restricted movement and multiple return trips to the vets. One day I may write a book on this as it was so emotionally draining I couldn’t even begin to detail here. But anyone who knows Sprockers or Spaniels of the high energy variety will understand what a year in doggy lock down will do to you, without even considering the impact on poor Scully. 

His third year came and after one major surgery, many instances of being ‘put under’ and corrective operations along the way, it was now time for the second attempt of full surgery. It’s at this point I reflected on how fortunate we were in the face of all the horrendous times faced. We could afford the spiralling costs once the insurance ran out, we had nothing but Scully to fend for and had careers that allowed for a stupendous amount of time at veterinary practices, referral surgeries, hydrotherapy centres and physio consultants. It got me thinking about all those that may be struggling, particularly with a high energy breed for whatever challenge they may face. How could I turn this abysmal existence of Sprocker guardianship into a positive one? Scully was now back to the strict rest that comes with a first, not to mention I’ve-actually-lost-count-how-many-surgeries this was. 

In some subconscious triggering of “my dogs broken so I’d like to help you and yours” I’m sure, I stumbled across Sprocker Assist & Rescue. I’ve spent many evenings and weekends driving Sprockers up and down (and across) the country to
meet their new families and completed a few home visits along the way too. It’s made me realise that Sprockers simply are the most incredible, loving dog breed, with all the people I’ve encountered wanting to do what’s best for the dog, but most
importantly it’s given me such satisfaction of helping others in times of need. I’ve met a couple of volunteers along the way too and the motivation is mutual; to help people in need and give back to as many Sprockers as we can. Our way to thank them for entering our lives.

Couple this heartwarming story with the clear fact I’m going through a midlife crisis, I jumped at the chance to run the London Marathon in 2026 for the Sprocker Assist & Rescue charity. As a small charity with limited resources and funds, raising awareness and donations will spur me along to complete the physical challenge of a lifetime and hopefully at least encourage some of the crowds and TV spectators, donators and fellow runners to investigate “What is a Sprocker?”, then, read this story and maybe settle with goldfish after all. Approaching his fourth birthday, Scully is physically coming on leaps and bounds, notwithstanding the mental impact of his very own two year lockdown of varying degrees, coupled with an amazing trainer we’ll get to a point where he doesn’t have a breakdown every time he sees the sight of an open field or beautiful forest, until that time we’ll stay committed, just don’t ever underestimate such a fascinating, intelligent and demanding high energy breed. Reassuring to know that charities such as Sprocker Assist & Rescue are there at
times of need. I’ll be updating you on my marathon training adventure as I go, up to and including the big day.