There’s a kind of individual out there we’ve all encountered, I’m sure, and that’s ‘dog people’ – you know, people whose existence revolves around their domestic canines; whose homes run to the rhythm of their Best Friends’ whims and fancies, and who can think and speak of little else but the doings and misdoings of their fur babies.

I’m not going to lie here – Corner Cottage has come close to slumping into this narrowly-focused lifestyle. In the wake of our puppy’s arrival, we’re finding ourselves doing things just a week ago we’d never have imagined we’d do.

Just yesterday, we carried the little monster across town for a playdate with his cousins at the Don. Every time he whimpers, we rush to attend to his needs. We pay close attention to his bowel movements. This morning, he received a bath in the sink with carefully-warmed water and special puppy shampoo. And of course, every adorable yawn, whimper, wuff and wobble is recorded for posterity in video or still format.

Today I had to do some work, so after his morning walkies round and round the garden (not unlike a teddy bear), I told him sternly that I couldn’t play and he’d have to amuse himself for a bit. And from the expression on his face you’d think he’d been whipped brutally with a sharp-edged cane, rather than being massaged, stroked, sung to in baby-like tones and fed on finely-chopped chicken breast lightly browned in olive oil and butter.

In fact, the boffins who devote their lives to the study of these things have reported that there is a real evolutionary driver behind this expression of woe. Over the 33,000 years or so of Best Friendship, humans’ positive response to the cuter doggo has caused a gradual evolution of the levator anguli oculi medialis muscle so that they can turn on the mournful face at will.

And that adorable puckered forehead triggers a protective response in us and ensures they get what they want from us. It’s guaranteed their survival as a species: even today, the research shows that the dogs with the best pleading expressions are adopted more quickly from animal shelters.

Combine the puppy eyes with the way the hairy little monsters prick up their ears and cock their heads sideways when you talk to them, as if they’re really trying to understand, and you’re doomed. They say cats are the master manipulators – that dogs have owners and cats have employees – but let me tell you now, the doggos have it nailed when it comes to eliciting the required response in humans. Cruise has made a career of it.

Now, so as not to come over as one of those dog people, I’m going to admit that it’s not all imploring eyes and puppy dogs’ tails. Archie’s breath for one thing is a thing of horror. Leaving aside the obvious issues of poo, wee and vom, our darling little furbabies are indeed still very much animals, as evidenced by their wish to eat pretty much anything they find on the ground.

But hang on . . . by drivelling on about a six-week-old pup, am I not behaving precisely as I’d protested I wouldn’t? Is it enough to confess that your doggo’s breath smells bad?

The answer, of course, is no — because Archie is clearly exceptional: a gifted pup if there ever was one, and cuter than any that has gone before. Now excuse me while I take his bedding out of the dryer while it’s still warm. He likes it that way.