My dog sent me mad

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I think there’s a really easy way to decide if you should get a dog. Imagine coming home and there’s an animal so delighted to see you that they lose control of their bladder and run the full length of your hallway while urinating. Does that sound wonderful or awful? There’s your answer.

I didn’t know this though when I got my dog. I just heard - Get a dog! You’ll never regret it. Dogs get you out of the house, they reduce anxiety, they make everything better. What nobody warned me about was how in a matter of weeks his name would grow from Rusty to:

Rusty Scruff

Rusty Scruff the Teddy Bear King

Rusty Scruff the Teddy Bear King He’s Firm But Fair

And these are very, very far from his only names. I’ve checked the very tip of the iceberg and found Scrowley, Scrowley Rowley, Scrooney Rooney, Rally Cat, John Rousel and Sausage Knickers and frankly, it’s best if I don’t look at the rest of it.

My dog has sent me mad. This is not the pet owner I thought I would be. I thought I’d be its mistress, not its mama. And he’s not my first pet so I thought I knew better. I had a goldfish when very young called Fanny (because of Enid Blyton, not some early deviance). Fanny once attempted suicide by leaping from the water onto the floor after my granny put a dead fly in its fish bowl.

Thankfully I entered the room very soon after and put it back, unharmed. But I often wonder two things. One: what was it about the fly that made Fanny want to kill itself in such a dramatic way? Was it a passionate vegetarian, the Morrissey of the goldfish world and outraged at a dead carcass being thrown in his home? And two: why was granny throwing dead flies in a goldfish bowl?

As a teenager, I had two hamsters, Bernard and Rosie. They were both very clever. Rosie used to climb upside down on the top of her cage, which I took to be some fun-times-Lionel-Ritchie-dancing-on-the-ceiling situation. But in reality was probably a depressing attempt to escape. And Bernard would help me surface clean the cage by scampering around collecting his poo and putting it on a teaspoon. He was like a little hamster Mrs Hinch.

What remarkable pets. And now there is Rusty Scruff the Teddy Bear King He’s Firm But Fair. The least remarkable (no offence Rusty) but the one that made me lose my mind. And the madness really manifests in one setting: a field holding a dog show.

A dog show is not normally something I’d be interested in but about eight years ago one category caught my eye - dog most like its owner. As my partner, Tom looks a bit like Rusty. Or enough like Rusty to amuse me by entering this category. So Tom dressed in a black T-shirt and shorts to match our black and tan dog and when we saw the other competitors, we knew we had it in the bag. Tom looked by far the most like his dog.

He came fourth. Fourth! He was beaten by three children with their faces painted. It was just pandering to children! I was disgusted. But a plan was starting to form.

I was pregnant at the time so as soon as that foetus is old enough, we’ll come back and claim our rightful first place.

Fast forward to that foetus being five years old with tan hair and wearing a black t-shirt and shorts. He really does look like his dog, which please assume is a wonderful coincidence and not a five-year game plan. All that's missing is his face painted like those children who stole the glory from us all those years ago. I paint on a nose and whiskers. It’s perfect. We are 100% going to win.

We arrive early and because our category isn’t until the end, we enter another one. Best male. Which I see as a dress rehearsal to get Rusty used to the environment. There are six dogs in this competition. They have to walk in a circle then line up and meet the judges.

The results are announced in reverse order. I hear 6th place. His name is not called. 5^th place. Nothing. 4^th place. Nothing. I’m starting to get more excited than I’ve ever been in my life. 3^rd place. Nothing. 2^nd place – Rusty Scruff the Teddy Bear King He’s Firm But Fair! I’ve never been prouder.

And then I remember that 2^nd place is first loser and the biggie is coming soon. The one we are waiting for. I somehow manage to get through the next hour. I feel like I’ve got some insight into what it’s like being an Oscar nominee when you first walk into the Dolby Theatre.

Finally, it’s our turn and I’m elated to discover only three other owners are entering. And they’re all adults. This is our year.

My son and Rusty go into the judging area, they do a perfect walk around together and then line up. Everything goes great. And then it’s time for the results.

I’m so confident of winning, I barely register 4^th place. But they seem to have said my dog’s name. Rusty Scruff. Fourth place. Out of four. He’s last!

I just don’t understand. He’s a kid! The only kid. Kids win this category. I’d used the black eye shadow from a Charlotte Tilbury palette to do his nose and whiskers. Charlotte Tilbury!

Tom is so close to going to the judges and saying, “Can you break down for me what you mean by ‘most like owner’ and your thought processes when deciding the winner?”

But I was too busy rethinking and re-strategising for next time and wondering if plastic surgery would be too extreme.

Tell me…

• All the names of your one pet.

• How your madness with your pet manifests. I’d be very happy to hear about extreme pampering.

• Remarkable feats of pets.

• And about any dog show stories.