With her big brown eyes and constant need for cuddles and kisses, Matilda makes every maternal fibre of my being swell. Every time I look at her - or even a picture of her - my heart fills with immeasurable love and the desire to hold her close, bury my face in hers, protect and cosset her - the normal, all-encompassing feelings of intense love and responsibility that a mother has towards her child.

But Matilda is not my daughter. She is my four-year-old West Highland White terrier, and I freely admit that I love her as much as I love my 11-year-old son, William. In fact, on some occasions I love her more than him. And I don't feel a bit guilty about admitting that.

My son spreads mess around the house. He has to be chided and reminded to do his homework and put away his clothes, or told off for answering back, while my dear, sweet-natured Matilda is always obedient, even-tempered and brimming with affection.

Mother's best friend: Kelly Rose admits that her dog Matilda is often higher in her affection than her son

Everything I do for Matilda results in love and gratitude. Every plate of food is gulped down amid much tail-wagging and excitement; the mere mention of a walk produces yaps of joy and wet doggy kisses.

By contrast, no matter how many meals I dream up for William, how many of his clothes I launder or how many times I take him swimming or to after-school clubs, I barely get a word of recognition or thanks.

Before you pick up the phone to the NSPCC, you should know that I'm not alone in how I feel. A recent study revealed that dogs trigger the same parental instincts in adults as their children do. Dog-owning mums reacted with the same feelings of love and compassion to images of their pet as they did to those of their children.

It comes as no surprise to me that in one part of the study, where the area of the brain that deals with facial recognition was analysed, the women responded more favourably to pictures of their canine companions than to pictures of their offspring.

Different needs: While Matilda will always rely on Kelly Rose, William is becoming more independent

This resonates with me. For, much as I love my son - and I do, more than any words could express - I also love Matilda with the same drive and passion. And on occasions, those feelings of love for her do run deeper than those I have for William.

Matilda doesn't disappear to school every day, or for playdates or football competitions. She is there at my side, wherever I am

After all, I'm on borrowed time with Matilda in a way I'm not with my son. With her, I have 12 or so years at best. I'm already a third of the way through, so I need to make her every moment as happy as possible. I want her never to feel unloved or unwanted.

Obviously, I want my son to feel that way too. But as we have decades of fun and shared time left together, I feel that Matilda's needs now are more pressing.

There is also the fact that she will always be a baby, while my son is growing up and away from me.

A puppy brings out that same love that a parent feels for a newborn - a ferocious sense of idolatry combined with a need to protect and treasure. But with children that love evolves and becomes more organic, less obsessive. It doesn't change with a dog because they always need you in exactly the same way.

Pampered pooch: Sometimes Matilda gets more attention than William

Home hierarchy: The dog believes she's second in line, then William

The enormous sense of responsibility I feel towards Matilda has not changed since the day I brought her home. I chose to take her from her mother, bring her into my home and make her dependent on me for ever.

Unlike with William, I am not preparing her for a bigger journey. Her life begins and ends with me. It's up to me to make her happy. After all, isn't that what having a pet is all about? Shouldn't every responsible owner put their furry companion first?

My role in loving, nurturing and caring for William is to ready him for the world, to make him a responsible adult and less reliant on me. And with each passing day, he is demonstrating that he needs me less and less.

At 11 and a half, the signs of burgeoning independence are there. There is no more hand-holding when we are out, no kisses goodbye if anyone can see.

The little boy who would spend hours snuggled up to me on the sofa sharing a book, or falling asleep with his head in my lap, is long gone. And as a single mother, I have to hand William over to his father every other weekend, so my relationship with him is punctuated by periods when he is away from me. Not so with Matilda, who never leaves my side or suffers from divided loyalties.

She doesn't complain when I nuzzle my head on her belly, stroke her face lovingly or scoop her into my arms.

Pupply love: Matilda gives affection in abundance

She doesn't disappear to school every day, or for playdates or football competitions. She is there at my side, wherever I am.

She spends her days in my office under the desk and sleeps in my bed at night. If I tell her I have to pop out, she flattens her ears and puts her tail between her legs, and when I return she greets me as if I've been away for months.

A relative once berated me when I came home and greeted the dog with kisses and cuddles but forgot to acknowledge my son

It is on those occasions - when her face is pressed into my neck, her nose cold and wet against my ear, her love for me palpable - that I really cannot imagine loving anyone or anything more.

I guess a lot of it comes down to a human need to feel wanted and loved, and Matilda gives that in abundance. Children, as they grow older, do not give such physical shows of love to their parents.

The feeling of being the most important person in the world to your child stops the moment they start school and realise that other people can fulfil their basic needs.

And as they grow up, you fade fast from their thoughts.

Sharing a parent: William can sometimes get jealous of his mother's constant canine companion

They want you out of the way when their friends are around. You are told not to interfere, not to nag. And that's tough for any mum to cope with - which is probably why, as the study bore out, so many women eventually replace their needy kids with needy dogs. It is probably why you used to see old ladies pushing dogs around in old prams. Unlike children, dogs never grow out of the need to be babied.

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Naturally, my son can resent the attention I pay Matilda and her attachment to me. He'll complain that Matilda's walks take priority over giving him a lift to his friend's house, or that her need to be fed outweighs his calls for a snack.

He will become jealous when I tell him that, no, I can't get up to look at what he is doing on his computer because Matilda is asleep on my lap. And no, he can't move her off the chair nearest the TV, where he wants to sit.

This doesn't go down well with everyone. A relative once berated me when I came home and greeted the dog with kisses and cuddles but forgot to acknowledge my son. Yet Matilda plays up to her role of mummy's girl in a way my child never has, and I just react to it.

She is jealous of him too. On the rare occasions when my now quite strapping son plonks himself next to me on the sofa, Matilda is there in a flash, sitting between us, one paw placed possessively on my knee. If I am styling his hair or helping him with his tie, she presses herself against my legs, needing to be part of the goings-on. And I love it. Who doesn't get pleasure from feeling wanted and needed, and knowing you are the centre of someone's world?

Being a pack animal, Matilda observes a hierarchy and, while she knows I am head of that pack, it is obvious that she regards herself as second in line, with William third. In my mind, though, and despite what anyone else might think, based on my love for her and the fulfilment of her needs over anyone else's, Matilda will always be first.



