My big fear factor really gives dogs a bad name

I turn into a big sissy when I see one and regress to my five-year-old self. I'll grab the arm of whoever I'm with and sneak behind them for protection.

The dog next door. A dinky, yappy Jack Russell called Sindy. Looked harmless but she was scary as hell.

She tormented us kids on the block. Me and my bro, we lived on the corner and to get anywhere in the cul-de-sac (where all our mates lived) we had to pass her lair. Walking, cycling, running – if you dare – would set her off barking. . . And she wasn't always behind closed doors.

She would snarl, with strings of doggy drool swinging from her pointy little fangs as she barked and eventually chased us to our destination. Why couldn't she be nice and waggy-tailed?

Then there was the dog on the corner of the sweet shop street. Me and my friend would bravely embark on the 10-minute trip to get penny treats (yep, I'm that old). But we'd have to pass the hideaway of the scraggily, trampy looking Yorkshire terrier called Fonzie.

He would yelp and growl, baring his teeth, targetting us on our mission to get sugar.

Boy did we run, risking the safety of our ankles.

And then there are the dogs I meet when I'm out running. Even on a lead I like to give them a wide berth. You never know if they might take a fancy to a chunk of my thigh flesh. I get visions in my mind of them mauling me, tearing my body to shreds.

Recently I saw a stocky, muscly Staffordshire terrier striding purposefully towards me on its little legs like the Dogfather. It looked like it meant business. I stopped running. I avoided any eye contact with the beast. It kept striding my way. The owners, trailing behind, smiled. I nervously muttered: "Sorry, I'm not a fan of dogs."

Yeah? Nice. It's the to death part that worries me.

I read the papers, all those vicious dog attack stories, they make me nervous.

There are a few dogs I feel at ease with. My friend's chocolate labrador, Murphy. He's one of a kind. I'd clone him. Never heard him bark, not once, he's a big old softie. And my boyfriend's parents' dogs; Bea, a soppy, gorgeous golden retriever and a cute, fluffy, pomeranian, called Ollie. But even so, left alone with them brings out all my mini-me fears.

And I know dogs sense that, but I'm powerless around them, they are like wolves to me. I recoil and retreat, tail between my legs. I try and put myself in a dog's shoes (if they wore them) and imagine myself as one. How would I be around people? And what breed of dog would I be?

Having asked my family and friends this very question, they didn't seem to mind stepping into dangerous territory and supplying answers. Something small and scrappy was the general response, chihuahua and Jack Russell being hot favourites. Lassie was even mooted. I'll take that.

Maybe, I won't disagree. I'd like to think I'd be a nice little dog who likes a bit of fuss and attention but is prepared to protect myself. But I do reckon my bark would be worse than my bite.