By Easter, I was secretly hoping that things with the dog would get worse. During the winter, I’d watched every episode of Channel Four’s dog-training series It’s Me Or The Dog, and begged my husband to let us apply. “I’m not being embarrassed on national television,” he growled. “We’re not dysfunctional enough.”

That was debatable, in my view. We might not have called our bouncy labradoodle Teddy Pom Pom or given him his own mobile phone, but with every day that passed I felt myself skidding towards insanity.

Bawdsey came to live with us 18 months ago at the age of two months. I’d never had a dog, never wanted one, knew nothing about them. My husband loved dogs, had grown up with chubby docile retrievers.

“This place needs a dog,” he’d sigh, gazing out across our large, pet-free garden. So we got Bawdsey, a cute, gorgeous puppy, free to a good home, with the proviso that if I didn’t take to dog ownership, he’d be its primary carer.

So how was it that a year and a half later, my stress levels were soaring and I counted myself lucky if I got back from our early morning walk on time for work and both of us still alive?

I had no control over this dog unless I had a biscuit in my hand, and, biscuit or no biscuit, Bawdsey wouldn’t bother coming when called if he was busy doing something more interesting instead.

And the interesting things for him were the mega stresses for me – chasing deer, pheasants, rabbits, cyclists, tractors, trailers, quad bikes, and very rarely but most heart-stoppingly, enjoying a playful frolic with sheep and cows.

“It’s strange but it doesn’t happen when he’s with me,” mused my husband.

It was about me, then, not Bawdsey. I was somehow to blame and any amount of gloating at the doggy misfits on the telly wasn’t going to make it any better.

But I did by now love this mad mutt and wanted to improve the quality of my life as well as the experiences of everyone who encountered him. No more jumping up at visitors, no more stressed off-lead walks.

Ad hoc commands I’d picked up from books or been told weren’t working and my hopes of ever leading a normal life again, together with the biscuit mountain, were crumbling fast.

When a pitying colleague told me about a dog training organisation called Bark Busters, I knew it was time to take charge.

Bark Busters is the largest home dog training organisation in the world. It was founded in Australia in 1989 with the aim of preventing dogs being put down because their owners could not control their behaviour. It has trainers in Australia, New Zealand, Canada, the USA, Japan and 25 here in the UK.

Bark Busters therapists come to the owner’s house and work with them and their dogs on problems ranging from incessant barking, chewing things up, jumping up at visitors, pulling on the lead, growling at and even biting people.

Steve Smithson, the trainer for this area, told me that the company had seen 750 dogs in Cumbria over the past three years. So as the 751st Cumbrian client, I was more than ready to hear what he had to say.

Steve explained that because of their wolf ancestry, dogs were pack animals and needed to live as such, even with humans in a domesticated environment.

About 80 per cent of dogs are “middle of the pack dogs”, he said, and these don’t cause too many problems.

However, by his nature, Bawdsey was a middle-upper pack dog, which meant that he had that bit of extra confidence to try to get his own way – which with me he was doing and mostly succeeding because of my lack of leadership.

Steve said that I had to gain Bawdsey’s respect and become the centre of his attention – for him to focus on me and listen.

It would be my job to assume leadership of our little pack, and to make decisions. That way, he would feel secure, knowing that the pack would survive, otherwise he would continue to try to assume that leadership himself.

“Jumping up is Bawdsey’s way asserting his authority,” said Steve. “You must be aloof and passively dominant, and communicate with him through the tone of your voice and your body language. When he sees you responding when he wants something, you're not acting like a leader.

“He expects to be taught, and in a certain way. All you’re doing is teaching him to adhere to rules that inherently he already knows.”

So far so good. I was reassured that all was not lost, although as a not particularly dominant person, I felt somewhat anxious about my ability to transform myself into a convincing canine boss.

We went into the garden where, armed with some simple voice commands for correction and praise, and the most aloof manner I could muster, we practised walking on the lead.

I’ve been used to being pulled in all directions, and I was surprised when within even a few minutes, this wilful hound was actually walking by my side.

I laughed when Steve reminded me that a lead was not called a lead for nothing. “The dog in charge is the dog in front,” he said.

A week on, and I’ve been applying myself diligently to the “homework” that Steve set me. I’ve already noticed a big difference.

Bawdsey’s hardly pulling any more, with me or my husband or our midday dog-walker Graham, and is more responsive and attentive.

He’s not barging past me through doorways and gates but waiting for me, as pack leader, to go first. He’s doing more of what I want and less of what I don't.

It’s dawned on me, too, that what Steve said about changing the relationship between me and my dog is perhaps the hardest thing of all.

After 18 months of not being in charge, I’m not yet used to having my dog's respect. I'm having to notice where I still give in to him through habit, and having to correct myself.

So although it’s his behaviour that I want to change, it has to start with mine.

Steve told me it takes about five weeks for consistent results to show – provided the client puts in the work.

Bark Busters offers ongoing support if it’s needed, so I may call on Steve’s expertise again one day. I haven’t been near livestock and won’t without a lot more experience and support, and I failed miserably to stop Bawdsey chasing a rabbit on day three. I know that this is just the beginning and that I have to put in a lot of hard work.

But I’m committed to having a dog I can trust and feel safe with. I can't face that level of stress again for the rest of his life with us, and I wouldn't dream of getting rid of him. So from now on, we go forward together – with me in front, naturally.