Yorkshire

The terrier loved perverted fun, knew lousy weather, little sun. His stubby legs could barely run so he made up the game of 'one'. For yonks he spent his lonely nights on his computer, using bytes. Soon, Carpal Tunnel got his wrists thus grew the pile of unmarked lists of names of poets he could hate and from the shadows he would rate. He did not know that his malaise could have been cured in simple ways. A vitamin, it's called B-Six is for the tunnel a great fix, as for the terrier's misery, he lacked the vitamin called D. Which can be taken through the hide, but, sunshine's lacking countrywide. Thus, things were looking rather bleak, his brain, quite tiny, sprang a leak. And no more 'Ones' were ever seen on Poemhunter's happy scene.