The handover didn’t quite go according to plan. After much soul searching, I had finally made the heartbreaking decision to give away our lovely dog Juno — a beautiful husky cross with blue eyes and a penchant for leaping 6ft fences. She was going to someone who, I hoped, could give her a better (and more secure) home than I.

The couple who’d arrived to take her away seemed ecstatic. Of course they were. They were getting a house-trained dog — one that had cost me a fortune in vets’ bills and food — for nothing.

They were excitedly greeting Juno with their shiny new lead and squeaky toys when Dolly, my three-year-old daughter, appeared from nowhere and threw herself, sobbing, on the dog’s neck.

After having some pets for just months, Shona (pictured) is happy to give them away and buy new puppies

‘Why can’t we keep her, Mummy?’ she wailed, inhaling mouthfuls of snot and fur. ‘She wants to stay with us, I know she does.’

This did, indeed, seem to be the case. Juno was looking up at me so beseechingly I almost changed my mind. Almost. But as she and her new owners drove away that afternoon in June 2012, with Juno staring accusingly out of the back window, I felt nothing but relief. You see, I already had my eye on another puppy — this time a miniature dachshund, who, I was fairly confident, wouldn’t be constantly trying to scale the garden wall.

‘Come on, Dolly,’ I said, picking my hysterical daughter off the gravel. ‘I want to show you a photo of a puppy.’

I know people will be shocked by my lack of canine commitment. A dog is supposed to be for life, right? Not until it gets a bit annoying and starts shedding hair all over the sofa.

But I have an even worse confession to make; over the past four years I have fallen in love with four puppies and, on each occasion, driven miles with hundreds of pounds of cash in my pocket to buy them. Then, months later, I have turned my back on them and given them away. I admit this is strange, not least because no one is more welcoming and loving to a doe-eyed little puppy than me.

While they’re with me, they have a perfect life. I trawl pet shops choosing comfy baskets and colourful collars. I have debates with my children lasting days over what name we should give the new addition to the family.

I have paid for vaccinations and microchipping and laughed at my husband, Keith, when he has threatened divorce at the thought of yet another pooch.

‘Don’t be silly, darling,’ I have argued. ‘A dog is a man’s best friend. We can’t live without one.’

So where, today, are all these four-legged friends I promised a ‘for ever home’ to? I’m ashamed to say I have absolutely no idea. The minute they become too much trouble — which they always do — I fall out of love and start advertising them in the classifieds section of our local newspaper.

You’d think after doing this four times in four years — and spending over £1,000 — I might have learned my lesson. But I’ve just gone and got another dog. This time she’s a seven-month-old whippet cross cocker spaniel whom Dolly has named Clover. And if she continues to leap onto the kitchen counters to steal food I’ll probably get rid of her, too.

No doubt, by admitting this, I’ll be inviting fierce criticism from dog lovers everywhere. But I would ask people not to judge me too harshly.

Maybe I’m like this because I was never allowed a puppy as a child. Maybe I just don’t know my own limitations when it comes to training an animal and clearing up after it.

Of course, we all know the appeal of puppies over older dogs, but I think my condition is different. I’m a serial dogamist

I admit there must be something mentally wrong with me. Why else would I keep buying dogs only to wave goodbye to them a year or so later?

In every other area of my life I’m a fairly grounded adult. But show me a cute ball of fluff and all common sense flies out of the window.

Of course, we all know the appeal of puppies over older dogs, but I think my condition is different. I’m a serial dogamist. In the early stages of the relationship I’m head over heels. I attend all the puppy classes. I don’t even begrudge picking up dog poo.

There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for my new canine companion. But the moment things get complicated and they develop a problem, I don’t covet a dog-free existence like any other sane person might. Instead, I start wondering if there is another, more suitable dog out there.

Maybe one that is less bouncy, less barky, less inclined to moult everywhere. And so the new search begins and I cannot rest until I have found a replacement puppy to lie adoringly at my feet.

The first dog I gave away was Juno. I got her in February 2011, from a well-known dogs’ home in London after our adored labrador Oscar died.

I had, at least, owned him for ten years since he was a tiny puppy, before a tumour claimed his life. And, to be fair, he was an unproblematic dog, as labradors tend to be. We lovingly buried him in the garden.

Juno, at 12 weeks old, seemed an ideal dog for a young family. Apart from having slightly psychotic blue eyes, she was gentle and stuck to me like Velcro. But boy did she like digging. If I left her alone in the garden for longer than ten minutes she had almost tunnelled to Australia. I discovered, too late, that this is quite common for huskies — something to do with their breed having to survive Arctic conditions and keep warm.

Shona poses with her tiny dog Pippa Pup. However, the dog has already been given away

So our lovely Surrey back garden became a muddy mess of craters that the children kept falling into.

Then Juno started scaling the garden wall and digging huge holes in other people’s gardens, too.

We reinforced the fences with chicken wire, but nothing stopped her. Then I had an epiphany. If we got another dog to keep her company it might stop her straying.

A lbus, an eight-week-old chunky ball of cuteness, came from a council estate in South London. He was advertised, in September 2011, as a pure Rhodesian ridgeback, a breed I’d always been told are gentle giants.

I found Juno, by then 18 months old, a new owner first. She’d been with my family for over a year, but her escapologist tendencies were causing me too much stress

However, I was slightly suspicious that he had a touch of the Staffordshire bull terrier about him or, worse still, rottweiler, because his tattooed owners wanted only £350 for him, instead of the usual £700 to £900. Needless to say, he wasn’t Kennel Club registered but, still, what did that matter? I found him too gorgeous to resist.

After I’d picked him up and was navigating the M25 with him attacking the gear stick all the way home, I did wonder, for a moment, if I’d made the right decision.

But by then it was obviously too late. As Albus grew — and, oh how he grew — he became more and more aggressive with other dogs.

Juno was still clearing fences and I was forking out £25 a week for a canine behaviour specialist to sort out Albus’s anger management issues.

One particular dog walk will remain for ever etched on my mind. An elderly neighbour who had patiently tolerated Juno re-turfing her carefully tended lawn was out walking with her equally elderly westie.

I don’t know what Albus thought this dog had done to him, but he took instant and aggressive action. The westie just about survived, after I forked out hundreds of pounds to pay his veterinary bill.

By April 2012, quite frankly, I’d had enough of both dogs and decided to give them away. I found Juno, by then 18 months old, a new owner first. She’d been with my family for over a year, but her escapologist tendencies were causing me too much stress.

In July 2013, Shona's family welcomed Cookie, a sweet-natured eight-week-old labrador cross collie from a local farm - but she too had to go

I placed an advert online and found a fantastic owner for her — a geography teacher with a passion for hiking up mountains. If that didn’t exhaust her, nothing would.

I knew Albus had to go, too — but not until I found myself another puppy. I soon set my sights online at Pippa, a tiny dapple-coloured sausage dog, who’d been brought into the country from Lithuania.

Her owner, an Eastern European factory worker, said she could not cope with the dog and needed £300 to pay her rent.

‘How irresponsible,’ I thought as I made the three-hour round trip to collect her from Leicestershire. Looking back, that seems laughably hypocritical.Obviously, once I had Pippa, I had to get rid of Albus as quickly as possible, not least because he might actually eat my adorable new charge.

So, I quickly found him a new home with an ambulance driver, his wife and five children.

They also had two cats, but were so overjoyed to be getting a free dog — especially one as majestic as Albus — that they didn’t anticipate any problems.

I was so relieved to be rid of him I thought: ‘Who am I to disabuse them?’ Meanwhile, I focused all my energies on gorgeous little Pippa. And at first, it was a love to rival no other. But you’d be surprised at how much trouble a little sausage dog can actually cause.

Maybe I’m like this because I was never allowed a puppy as a child. Maybe I just don’t know my own limitations when it comes to training an animal and clearing up after it

We had Pippa for nearly two years and during that time we moved from the Home Counties to a farm in Devon.

I don’t think I can be entirely blamed for failing to anticipate that, once here, Pippa would try to kill everything that moved.

In the first two months she slaughtered countless pheasants, ducks, doves and — unbelievably — a heavily pregnant sheep carrying twin lambs.

But I didn’t get rid of her straight away. Again, in my infinite wisdom, I thought buying another dog to keep her company would help.

In July 2013, my family welcomed Cookie, a sweet-natured eight-week-old labrador cross collie from a local farm.

But it turned out that dogs can be worse in pairs. The two of them would disappear for hours, rampaging across fields and worrying local sheep. A few months later they killed a breeding ram and the farmer threatened to shoot them both. Frankly, I was tempted to hand him the gun.

Once I got them home, I knew I’d have to get rid of one of them. So, a year ago, Pippa, now three, went off to live happily with a retired couple in a suburban bungalow.

I kept Cookie, thinking she’d be far better behaved if — yes, you guessed it — I got another puppy to keep her company. Hence, the arrival of the aforementioned Clover into our home.

The two dogs got on, but Cookie still escaped from the house and killed sheep. So, three months ago, she had to go, too. She is now living with friends of mine, away from sheep and other wildlife.

Now only Clover remains. Keith has again threatened divorce if I so much as dare to mention the word ‘puppy’ again.

And I keep telling myself that this one’s for keeps.

I have loved, for a while at least, each and every one of my dogs. But there is no doubt that I have clearly failed on every occasion to wholly embrace a long-term relationship with them and all that this entails — tolerance, patience, time and effort.

What’s worse is that I dread to think of the kind of message all this has sent out to my long- suffering children. Just the other day, Dolly said to me: ‘If I’m naughty, Mummy, will you re-home me, too?’

It would almost be funny if it weren’t so terribly true.

Beverley Cuddy, editor of Dogs Today, said last night: ‘I’m speechless when I meet people like this. Dogs are family and you don’t give up on family. It sends shivers down my spine.

‘The problem is when you get a puppy, it’s ready to learn. If, in its first home, the dog doesn’t learn and hasn’t become sociable, when it enters the rescue world, it’s a dog with a whole lot of problems, a dog that’s not easy to love.