I HAVE to admit that I really wanted a Doberman.

No, I really wanted a Doberman, but there are decisions taken by the head of the household and there are decisions taken by the neck (she makes the head turn which way she wants).

So our new dog isn't a sleek black and tan security alarm called Wolf or Tyson renowned for letting burglars in, showing them where the valuables are and then - and only then - refusing to let them out of the house.

It's a Papillon.

And she's called Petal.

For those readers who cannot picture this delightful toy breed, it's hairy, stands about nine inches high and has ears larger than its head, making it the canine equivalent of Dumbo.

It is for this very reason why the breed was named Papillon, or butterfly dog, and even the hardest heart couldn't fail to be moved by its diminutive charm.

Of course, I was disappointed. Up to a couple of weeks ago, we were in negotiation with top Doberman breeders and had chosen a suitable puppy to accompany - and learn from - our nine-year-old Bearded Collie.

The decision may have occurred during my sleep, but suddenly I was travelling 700-plus miles to pick up something which would only frighten an intruder if we could somehow teach it to wield a baseball bat and a powerful handgun.

I've got over the treachery now, but I still can't get over that name.

After all, there is no way on God's earth that I am standing in a busy park or off-season beach shouting "Petal" at the top of my voice.

So on the long journey home, we decided it had to be given a new name.

I was quickly exempt from this exercise on the basis that the only suggestions I put forward were attached to Norse gods, usually big hairy ones with large axes.

But how I laughed at the first suggestion of "Kisses".

Imagine the potential danger to the dog, I pointed out, if I was to shout "Kisses" when there were women around. The poor thing could be seriously injured in the crush.

It was hopeless and even the dog was wincing at the prospect of being called Peaches or Fluffy.

Eventually, the conversation - like its new owners - turned to alcohol and after dismissing Southern Comfort, Stella and Old Thumper, we settled on Bailey, a tipple which has been know to make a regular appearance in our household.

Of course, the name breaks every rule of naming a second dog by being virtually identical to Ellie, the name of our first dog.

But my wife still reckons there's the chance of getting an unexpected drink every now and then.