THE various ailments suffered by our small and expensively sickly dog have prompted a recurring nightmare.

In it, I am walking down a busy High Street pushing a small pink pushchair in which the dog has been placed.

Everyone is pointing at me and laughing, including the dog and my wife, who I somehow know has got me into this mess.

Even during my waking hours, I cannot erase the image of this irritating little dog lounging in a pushchair while I am the butt of the public’s cruel jibes.

It isn’t just the fact that the dog has cost us a similar amount of money as our mortgage during the past couple of years that fuels this growing resentment.

It’s more the fact that two weeks before we bought the thing, I had agreed to buy a Doberman, a dog far more suited to a hefty bloke who likes football and has never watched Sex In The City.

It all went very pear-shaped a fortnight later when I found myself driving to Scotland to pick up something that I know Paris Hilton would have described as ‘like totally awesome.’ For four years, I was forced to take it for walks, but managed to hide it behind our Bearded Collie so the neighbours wouldn’t see me.

Since our beloved Beardie died, I have been exposed on a daily basis, although I have fashioned a very convincing false moustache and beard for daylight walks.

I know the pushchair is coming because my wife will stop at nothing to lavish love and care – and half my wages if it comes to that – on the dog.

I am still scarred after buying doggie perfume for the thing on her behalf – a bottle of Pucci and a bottle of Barker Noir.

(It is rather pathetic that what little reputation I have left should be dragged through the mire publicly, but I had to tell you so that I can highlight the irony should my wife ever try to divorce me on the grounds of unreasonable behaviour.) Worst of all – and proof that the arrival of this second dog in our household had a dramatic effect on her emotional state – she was very concerned that Barker Noir, parodying the male fragrance Drakkar Noir, may be a ‘gentleman’s scent’ rather than being suitable for a small female dog.

It is a concern which did not keep me awake at night, I stressed, for it is highly likely that whatever doggie perfume you buy, it will doubtless smell the same as all the rest.

But no, she argued, and pointed out another company which makes their own dog perfume, boasts about one fragrance: “A delicate and sweet floral bouquet with a background of clean soft powder and vanilla, it is particularly suitable for females.”

In the midst of all this madness and ahead of the inevitable purchase of the pushchair, my wife constantly points out other large men like myself walking very small dogs.

All of them, she suggests, look comfortable with their companion, unlike myself who appears to struggling manfully with his sexuality.

One day, I will quietly inform her that every one of those men, however much they adore their wives, would much prefer to be strolling out with a Doberman on the end of the lead.