I love my dog MORE than my son: It's an astonishing confession - but this mother insists she means it

With her big brown eyes and constant need for cuddles and kisses, Matilda makes every maternal fibre of my being swell. Every time I look at her - or even a picture of her - my heart fills with immeasurable love and the desire to hold her close, bury my face in hers, protect and cosset her - the normal, all-encompassing feelings of intense love and responsibility that a mother has towards her child.

But Matilda is not my daughter. She is my four-year-old West Highland White terrier, and I freely admit that I love her as much as I love my 11-year-old son, William. In fact, on some occasions I love her more than him. And I don't feel a bit guilty about admitting that.

My son spreads mess around the house. He has to be chided and reminded to do his homework and put away his clothes, or told off for answering back, while my dear, sweet-natured Matilda is always obedient, even-tempered and brimming with affection.
Everything I do for Matilda results in love and gratitude. Every plate of food is gulped down amid much tail-wagging and excitement; the mere mention of a walk produces yaps of joy and wet doggy kisses.

By contrast, no matter how many meals I dream up for William, how many of his clothes I launder or how many times I take him swimming or to after-school clubs, I barely got a word of recognition or thanks.

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