Gordon Cooper Tracy is really not my type. He's young. He's brash. He's... well, reckless is not the right word but he's certainly impulsive. He's scruffy, he wears the same garish Hawaiian monstrosity of a shirt nearly every single day. And he smells. Of sand and sea and something else; a brackish, not unpleasant odour, 'teen spirit' I believe an old band from the 90s called it.

I'm supposed to like all the boys equally and I'm not meant to have a preference. 'Never mix business with pleasure' is a hackneyed old phrase but it's relevant, even today. You have to keep a professional distance with colleagues and put your sticky emotions to one side. So, if I want to cuddle someone, I cuddle Sherbet. He's soft and round and squirms in my arms without any of the nonsense that comes with human contact. Bertie is a joy at any time of the day, whereas Gordon just brings untold anxiety and mayhem. I never know what he's going to do next, but I can guarantee it'll put his life in danger and I won't sleep for days until I know for sure he's all right.

I'm an orderly person you see. I like everything in its proper place. And you may have noticed but I do love pink, not even ironically. It's a calming, joyful, unquestioning colour and it soothes me- it's nothing to do with being a girl. Mother loved pink and her mother loved pink. Besides, accessorising is easy when everything is the same colour and I am nothing if not coordinated. So why is it that I tolerate Gordon Tracy's wild splash of every other discordant colour that I can think of, exploding before my eyes like an accident in a clothing factory with the intrusive stink of sunscreen thrown on top? He clashes with everything. It ought to drive me to despair but against my will my brain becomes irrational. Why do I allow such confusion in my life?

Because Bertie adores him. Bertie shuffles, squeaks and wiggles his chubby little pug bottom, desperate to lick the salt from Gordon's face. I watch closely to see how gently Gordon lifts my little dog who snuggles into his neck, rubbing his wet nose behind Gordon's ear while he laughs and says "Eww, now I'm all slobbery." Bertie's face contorts with doggie joy and happiness, revelling in the same unconditional love that he gives us. Gordon puts him down and immediately Bertie rolls on his back, eager for tummy rubs. My little dog is unafraid of this blond whirlwind who's five times his size and arrives with little notice. Bertie senses no danger from a man who spends his whole life hurtling from one dangerous situation to another because he knows there's no danger to fear. Gordon will get down on a dirt floor with Sherbet and it's wonderful to watch them play- the knot of worry works itself loose and happiness flows through me like sweet honey. I have absolutely no problem admitting that I love watching the madcap antics of Gordon Cooper Tracy and Sherbet Creighton-Ward. Their combined zest for life is contagious. And while I don't quite trust my emotions in more complex matters of the heart, I put my faith in my dog's judge of character completely.