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Colour Me Golden?

Bailey's been changing colour recently:

• The new, coarser fur on her back has a yellowish tint compared to the pure cream of her puppy coat

• Her ears have turned a much darker shade than the rest of her

• The skin on her tummy has changed from black to greyish-pink

• Her nose is also showing alarming signs of pinkening slightly.

Well, I say alarming but obviously it doesn't matter in the slightest what colour her snout is, except that black noses are cuter. A Golden Retriever owner told me that the nose colour typically matches the upper dental palette, which means Bailey is detined to have a pink one. But we'll see.

They are also supposed to go the colour of their ears but I think this is unlikely with Bailey as it would mean a pretty dramatic darkening.

Why it's gotta be a Golden...

I was musing just yesterday, as Bailey lay farting at my feet, about just how I came to own a Golden Retriever. It's a tail tale of two dogs.

I always wanted a dog. Always. But my parents both worked full-time so it just wasn't an option. They took the view - rightly, in my opinion - that it's just not fair to keep a dog if you're out all day long. These days there's no shortage of dog walkers to pick up a pooch once or twice a day for an outing but not back then when I was a nipper (b.1963). So I never had a dog.

This changed in part when I was living in London in the 90s and had the opportunity to look after my boss's Golden while she and her family went on holiday. Fuzzy was his name. Try shouting that in the park: "Fuzzy, come! Fuzzy, leave it!"

He was a big boy, as you can see, and a real beauty. He could pull on a lead like a carthorse but he had the gentlest, sweetest nature. I loved him and looked after him whenever I had the chance.

Circa 1994, I think

Fast forward to this summer and I'm walking to the local pub one evening. As I pass a corner house down the road, I spot a gorgeous Golden Retriever in a garden. I whistle, he trots over for a friendly pat, then our minds meld in some kooky canine karma kinda way and in that instant I know without any question that I've got to get one.

Thing is, I'd been prevaricating about taking the pooch plunge for years. I work from home, the kids are at an age to appreciate a dog, we have a garden and heaps of parks nearby etc etc. There weren't too many excuses not to, other than the commitment thing. For my 40th birthday, the saintly Mrs M (who is not a natural dog lover) agreed that I could finally get the dog I'd banged on about since we'd met, subject to a few conditions - not least that I had to have the snip. Not quite sure about the connection - I wasn't planning to mate with the dog - but I went ahead gladly and became a Jaffa. Then I got cold feet and opted for a parachute jump instead. And then we moved to France for a year.

So it was only this year that I really felt ready to own a dog, spurned on by the constant pleading from my two dog-loving boys. Once they'd both signed up to their lifelong doggy responsibilities in blood, we went for it.

"Any regrets?" asked Mrs M controversially as I carried 20kg Bailey up the stairs for the 15th time today (I'll protect her hip development if it kills me). "Not one," I gasped, truthfully. I've got Fuzzy and the dog from the corner house to thank for that.