I HAVE a new love. He is completely uninhibited about kissing me in public and makes a huge fuss of me whenever he sees me. People smile at us when we're out together and tell me how cute he is. We're quite an item: it's only been a week but I've got his front-door key already.

If only he were a bloke, I'd be made up.

He does, I admit, have flamboyant taste in knitwear, but I like a male bold enough to stand out from the crowd. Which is just as well, because when you are walking a Yorkshire terrier puppy wearing a stripy polo-necked jumper, you do attract a certain amount of attention.

Doing the school run on my first date with my canine companion, I felt rather like Geri Halliwell or Paris Hilton, both of whom have fashionably dressed dinky dogs. Dog fashions are now so hot they're apparently selling them in Topshop and Accessorize. I considered donning dark glasses and swishing my hair in pap-friendly fashion to complement his look, but there didn't appear to be any snappers from Grazia on Scarcroft Green.

In true celebrity style we were mobbed in the schoolyard, albeit by crowds of children eager to pet him.

It was all a bit too much for Baby David - yes, the name does have Royle Family connections - who leapt into my arms and hid his face in my coat with Michael Jackson-ish reticence in the face of his adoring fans.

Baby David is not, I should tell you, my dog. He belongs to Yvonne, my neighbour, who is happy for me and the daughter walk him as often as we like. Baby David (I find it unaccountably difficult to call his name in public; perhaps putting on Denise's voice would help) is still very young and when I took him out it was only the third walk in the big wide world he'd ever had.

I rapidly discovered it was like taking a toddler out. He has no road sense yet and will veer off the pavement unexpectedly and bound into other people's gateways.

That is, when he's not crossing in front of me or dodging behind me, so that I end up tripping over his lead or whirling round like one of those rotary clothes driers trying to disentangle my legs.

Everything spooked him to start with: people, pushchairs and especially other dogs. I don't blame him; they scare me, too. On our first trip to the park, a big dog came bowling up to us - I suspect Baby David looks like dinner in rather colourful packaging - and I only just scooped him out of the way in time.

I had planned to drop in on the way to see Pauline, who is a theatrical costumier, who was going to measure me for a corset, as well as test-ride a bicycle that Andy at the Bike Rescue Project had lined up for me.

This was, I came to the conclusion, a little ambitious for a first date. If sticking the dog in a bicycle basket didn't traumatise him sufficiently (I'm very wobbly), seeing me in my bra certainly would (ditto).

This dog-walking business is turning out to be a learning curve for me as much as Baby David. You don't have the same flexibility when you're out with a dog - you can't just pop into shops, for starters - or, as Geri Halliwell has discovered, go down the gym. She was booted out of hers recently for tying her pooch to the treadmill while she was running. One wonders what she does with baby, Bluebell.

I'd like to quiz Geri on the form for handling poop bags stylishly, because I haven't found a way of juggling puppy, handbag and dog poo in a graceful manner, but maybe she isn't the right person to ask. Her Shih Tzu, Harry, famously did just that in a designer boutique, and he has also reportedly crapped on the carpet at 10 Downing Street.

Please be assured, I will be picking up after my pup. In my opinion, dog owners who don't scoop their poop should be punished by being made to scrape the pavements for a week, preferably wearing a high-visibility jacket like Boy George with a suitably shaming label (feel free to send suggestions; maybe we could pass the idea on to Street Scene).

Originally, I started the dog walking for the daughter. She's an only child and I remember from my own childhood what a great companion a dog can be. Baby David has been to meet her from school a few times now and she walks him home, chirruping away happily to him. Seems we're both smitten.

It looks like being a long-term relationship. Guess I'd better tell the husband.