Kirsty Bosley: Box-set binge bliss v puppy love - But which is the healthiest habit?

I don't think that's allowed, but I've done it anyway.

The reason? I want to coax her into watching Making a Murderer, a show I binge-watched in two days. I want to use the five minutes before we officially clock on in the morning to discuss the case of Steven Avery of Manitowoc County, Wisconsin. I want someone else on my desk to worry about whether he's been stitched-up and wrongly incarcerated so that I don't have to go through that kind of turmoil alone in the office.

However, despite me having shared my very precious Netflix password with her some two months ago, Lisa hasn't logged in once. She says: "I'll watch it this weekend," every Friday, only to come in on Monday still ignorant of the plight of Steven and his nephew Brendan Dassey.

Instead of finding out what REALLY happened with that tell-tale vial of blood, she's standing in the garden in the freezing cold waiting for Pippi the puppy to do a wee. She's going to bed early because she's been up since the crack of dawn doing all of the things necessary to look after her new canine pal. Trying to convince a stubborn Pippi to go and do a poo in the rain is more time-consuming than you might think.

Lisa couldn't lie under her duvet for six hours on a Sunday, solidly watching the murder case unfold, because Pippi might chew the leg of the dining table. She can't concentrate on the specifics of the Manitowoc County Police hierarchy because she's got to keep Pip company on the floor (she's only small).

It wasn't until Lisa had her new dog that I came to realise just how much effort was involved in owning a pet. I've never had one – they make me itch a bit and I think they smell bad. I always thought that I was the lucky one – I don't have to go for walks when I don't want to, or worry about where to send my dog if I go on holiday.

I don't have to slop cans of meaty chunks in gravy into a bowl each day and I can spend my wages on cocktails without worrying about the cost of a vet visit due to an unfortunate bowel episode. I'm free of responsibility and that, I assumed, made me the lucky one.

Instead of trying to wipe the brown dry stuff from around a dog's eyes, I can spend my days lying in an ergonomically devastating position for six hours at a time, binge-watching Netflix and eating Cheetos at a rate of one bag per 43-minute episode of Prison Break. I'm the happy one, right?

Well, not exactly. According to a study performed by researchers from the University of Texas last year, there are links to be found between binge-watching TV series and feelings of depression and loneliness.

There were 316 people aged 18 to 29 taking part in the study, all asked questions about how they watched telly normally, how often they binge-watched and how often they felt lonely and/or depressed. Those whose answers signified sadness and desolation were also the ones who binge-watched.

And I thought I was as happy as Larry watching Sopranos with the subtitles on – it's difficult to distinguish between the broad, Jersey accent when it's interspersed with Italian interjections, I've found.

I thought Lisa was the one who'd drawn the short straw, having this new, serious responsibility. But having a pet can have the opposite effect.

According to the Society of Companion Animal Studies, pets can be included in mental health treatment plans to increase self-esteem and self-confidence, as well as helping with loss and grief. This treatment can make you more empathetic. The society also claims that pet ownership can improve mood, reduce depression, lower blood pressure and cholesterol levels, which lowers the risk of a heart attack.

They also state that a study conducted at the University of Minnesota of nearly 4,500 people found that cat owners were 40 per cent less likely to suffer a fatal heart attack than people who didn't have one. Only this week I wrote a story about how animals from Guide Dogs for the Blind were being taken into universities to help students relieve stress.

And here's me gobbling down green Pringles and re-watching every episode of Lost for the third time, crying when Charlie dies. SPOILER ALERT. I almost had a heart attack once when Deb found out that Dexter was a murderer.

Former four-time Prime Minister William Gladstone claimed to have read 22,000 books in his lifetime, and is remembered for his love of books. When I die, there's a chance I'll be remembered as the girl that watched 70,200 episodes of American drama television in her lifetime.

That could happen, if I watch three episodes a day each week night, six on a Saturday and another half dozen on Sunday for the next 50 years. And believe me, I'm capable of that – especially when season four of Bates Motel comes out.

But that's assuming that I'll live to be 80 – the average UK life expectancy for women. And I'm not entirely sure that'll happen, given I'd rather sit at home stuffing Revels into my trap and crying over Breaking Bad than walking through the park on a bright, spring morning. Maybe I'm not the lucky one, after all.

I expect a good few dogs will have cocked their leg over the moss-covered Kirsty Bosley Netflix Memorial Statue by the time the bouncing, energetic and happy dog-owner Lisa hangs up her lead for the great walkies in the sky.