Andy Richardson: One man and his dog - The pawfect pal

When we rode around the back garden during pretend speedway races, she'd chase our bikes and yap.

When we'd sit on the step and cry – as kids do – she'd nuzzle her head into our laps and our tears would magically go.

And when we'd dance around the kitchen in moments of hijinks she'd gaze with chocolate brown eyes and emote: "Crazy humans. Glad I'm a dog. Woof."

Mum was in charge of Mischief. Actually, that's not true. Mischief was in charge of Mischief.

Mum just had to clean up after her while we just did what all kids do: had all the fun and took none of the responsibility. Mischief was the sixth member of our family. She was as important and well-loved as the rest of us.

In older age, she underwent an operation. Afterwards, the vet put her in an old T-shirt to cover her war wounds.

She looked like some sort of four-legged, indie kid. Who knew dogs could rock the Freddo Frog hot-tee look?

We expected her to celebrate her new-found fashionista status by barking canine-friendly versions of Stone Roses tunes: 'I Want To Be A Dog'. No, Mischief: 'It's I Want To Be Adored'. You don't get away with pawful dog puns with us. Try harder. Damn dog. And don't drop the Offenbach Bomb either.

The curiously-named Josh was next up. Though why I thought it was a good idea to give a dog a name inspired by the guy who succeeded Moses as the leader of the Israelites is anybody's guess. Josh came into my life at the wrong time. I was too busy.

The dog was too bored. We were the odd couple. Josh would eat my 6ft yukka tree. I would sprinkle Schwartz chilli powder on it afterwards to stop him doing it again.

Our paths soon parted. I'd played squash in West Bromwich on the day that Brian Lara scored 501 at Edgbaston.

There'd been a sudden storm that evening and Josh had accidentally been left out in the rain. I high-tailed it home to rescue the soggy critter. Josh looked at me the way a girlfriend looks at a man who's forgotten her birthday. And I vowed to find him a better home.

And then came Blue. Blue had eyes like David Bowie. He had fur like a wolf-lion. He had the temperament of Kofi Annan. He had the style of Eddie Redmayne and Ricki Hall. And he had the manners of Cary Grant. He was the perfect dog.

Blue had a fuse longer than Npower. He patently refused to lose his temper. Other dogs could bark at him, nip his wolverine tail or nick his food.

And he'd just look at them as if to say: "Is that all you got?" Fearless and Zen in equal measure, he was Yoda and the Godfather, the Dalai Lama and Al Capone.

Blue was as willing as a bridegroom on his wedding night, as game as a field full of pheasants. We'd go on long walks through the Shropshire Hills. Then he'd sit in his basket for three days afterwards, wondering why he'd done 20 miles when a breeze around the park would have been enough.

He was smarter than Albert Einstein and Isaac Newton. If we suggested a walk he didn't fancy, he'd find a way to avoid it. If he wanted to be someplace else, he'd just go. Independent and cool, he was his own dog.

On a whim, I bought Wife One a vintage Land Rover. She hated it. So did Blue. I'd try to encourage him to jump in the back so that we could drive into the country and wonder over dales. He'd gaze up at me: "You expect me to get into that thing? It hasn't even got a stereo."

And he'd sit on the floor with sad eyes that said: "Don't make me do it. . ."

If he wasn't up for a walk around the park, he'd do a cheeky U-turn while I was looking the other way. While I'd be striding towards Kingsland Bridge, Blue would be shuffling in the opposite direction. And if I called him and said: "C'mon, mate." He'd come straight back at me: "Nah, look, the grass is greener this way, innit."

Persuasive and charming, loyal and classy: Blue was the uber dog.

Blue now lives in the Great White Kennel in the sky and this little canine-lover is between dogs.

My next one won't be anything that's too perfect: Crufts ain't for me. I'm hoping for something with bags of character and eyes like David Bowie. A Diamond Dog would be just fine.