THIS week I have been mostly running around with a sponge cloth, kitchen roll and a squeezy bottle of carpet stain and odour remover. (If that sentence doesn't put you off visiting our home, I'll know I can count you among our true friends!) A glance at the picture of (very temporary) angelic peace above will tell you why. Here's living proof that appearances can be deceptive.

This little bundle was running round the hall barking for all she was worth just a few minutes ago, for no reason I could discern. It certainly isn't Postman Time yet.

I was alone in the house, the Harnham Handyman having escaped to enjoy himself elsewhere with a hammer and nails, leaving me in sole charge and sopping wet from the shower.

Drying my hair was well-nigh impossible as I had to keep running downstairs to find out whether she a) wanted a wee, b) had had a wee or c) was just winding me up and wouldn't need a wee for at least five minutes yet. So if you see me looking like I've been dragged through a hedge backwards, you'll know that's just how I feel!

And I know you won't believe this, but as I sat here typing the last sentence she threw up on the kitchen floor. Which may have been what she wanted all along, only it hadn't crossed my mind.

The poor little mite hasn't had the best start in life, having been saved along with her sister from a Welsh pound by Dorset Dog Rescue.

Touched by a cute photo on the charity's website, showing her perched on a flowerpot, we visited the family in Ferndown who were fostering the pair, and were smittten. To be honest, having been dogless for seven months, I'd been waiting to have my heart-strings tugged by the first waif that came along.

Anyway, here she is. Named Poppy - because of the flowerpot and the fact that we found her on Remembrance Day. At 61, I'd had plenty of time to forget how demanding a toddler can be, and a five-month-old pup that hasn't yet begun housetraining is no easier to reason with.

I find I’m confining myself to the kitchen to keep her company and to spare our soft furnishings from the onslaught of tiny fangs – yes, she's teething, too.

To be fair, she does spend a lot of time snoozing, presumably building up her strength because she's very skinny and perpetually hungry.

Once you start checking out these things on the internet, it's astonishing how many poor creatures like Poppy there are, amid our nation of supposed animal-lovers, desperately needing someone to adopt and love them.

I believe a return to dog licensing is required, along with the compulsory microchipping that’s already due to come in. With concessionary rates for pensioners' pets, of course. And a crackdown on puppy farming.

Maybe the government could pay our wonderful Dogs Trust to organise it?

anneriddle36@gmail.com