I was reading an article last week which convinced me I must have been talking in my sleep, so closely did it mirror certain happenings in our family.

It was as though the author, a distinguished columnist in one of our most popular papers, had somehow gained access to my brain as I planned this article and I seriously debated whether or not I should junk it and start again.

Then another news article appeared along similar lines and I realised once again that most animal lovers in this country love their animals this side of idolatry and will go to any lengths to preserve their beloved pets, even to the extent of forking out about £10,000 to keep them going.

Those of you who are regular readers of this column will possibly remember Freebie, my daughter's dog. Perhaps it might be more accurate to say "that human being which happens to occupy an animal's skin" for Freebie is a lot more human than some humans I know.

She distributes her favours very selectively and her displeasure is very clearly indicated by a total lack of interest in any ear scratching, tummy rubbing or similar blandishments. Displease Freebie and Outer Mongolia becomes positively spring-like by comparison.

I was recently cast into outer darkness for forgetting to buy her favourite brand of sausages and having them ready cooked for her arrival.

She ignored me totally, gave an Oscar-like performance of "Oh dear, what a poor unloved and deprived doggy I am" before making do with some succulent chunks of best-cooked lamb, which she graciously consented to demolish before rolling herself up in her personal duvet, ferried all the way from her London home.

She travels with more luggage than my daughter and son-in-law put together. She has an outsize bath towel in case an enticing piece of water should cross her horizon, calling for closer investigation.

She has a zippered bath robe to wear after any ablutions and a raunchy little number for strapping on if the weather turns too inclement for her delicate constitution.

She had to be given a new one with a different pattern as she disliked her previous one and managed to do it terminal damage. Add to that lot her basket, biscuits and drinking bowl and you are just about ready to roll. In addition, I keep a few "must haves" in case anything gets forgotten.

Since her accident on my stairs some time ago, she can become the old soldier with no difficulty and when my family stays for the weekend she gets carried up to bed.

My son-in-law is her willing slave. Suddenly, however, the harsh winds of reality have been blowing in her direction. My son-in-law has gone off to see his family, half-way round the world and Freebie's welfare has been left to other, less easily duped, individuals.

My granddaughter's boyfriend has put Freebie on a diet, she is fed charcoal biscuits to assist with her anti-social habits too indelicate to discuss in a family column and she is finding out about "tough love". Walkies means a brisk canter through the park with a young man who is not about to take no for an answer when she pleads exhaustion and by the time her master gets home he will find a new, slim line, energetic companion.

They celebrate her birthday on the same day as my daughter's and Freebie is now getting old enough to qualify for inclusion in this column in her own right.

They love her to distraction and no doubt will go into deep mourning when she goes to that great kennel in the sky.

And between these four walls - and don't tell Freebie - but so will I!