JUST as I started to unwrap my fish supper, my brain cells glowed and I remembered ‘Madonna’. Now I am not talking ‘Material Girl’, Papa Don’t Preach’ or even ‘Like a Virgin’. Oh no. The Madonna I was thinking about was a female Koi Carp whose abdomen became terribly distended. She was examined at the University of California’s Aquatic Animal Health Unit, where, after expensive and complicated CT scans, her 1.1kg gonadal tumour was diagnosed. To put this into perspective, this accounted for a full half of her bodyweight. It sounds serious and it was.

But do not despair! Unlike my poor battered haddock, there is a happy ending. Madonna, under the expert care of four veterinary surgeons, survived a ninety minute operation, during which she was kept alive by having anaesthetic infused water pumped through her mouth to perfuse her gills. The tumour, which was pressing dangerously on her heart, was excised and Madonna began swimming and eating normally shortly after the surgery. Within three weeks, her sutures had been removed and she was returned to her home pond. (Did her physicians carp on about how fintastic they had been?)

And what has this got to do with my fish supper? Well it seems to me that life is sometimes just about your luck and we all tend to value some individuals over others. Take Madonna, a fish, for example. Goodness knows what her diagnosis and subsequent treatment cost (and good luck to her) but is her life as a fish actually worth more than my haddock that was plucked from the sea and deep fried for my benefit?

Or take the poor chicken. Recent government figures indicate that we slaughter around 100 million a month (yes you read it right!) to provide us with food, most of whom will have lived around six weeks. They will have had a fairly miserable existence, being hatched, vaccinated and living in the same shed until their ‘superior’ growth genetics allow their slaughter at only forty-two days old. Not much of a life, really. What distinguishes them from the Golden Eagles, Peregrines, Kestrels and Buzzards that are ‘protected’ by law? How unlucky to hatch out your egg and find yourself in the factory instead of an eyrie with a majestic view of the Scottish countryside. And for that matter, why does the RSPB harp on about birds of prey so much but do so little to enhance the life of the humble hen?

So it seems it is all, indeed, just about your luck. It’s the same with our dogs. Will their owner turn out to be a hill-walking enthusiast or a couch potato? Will they care about their health and happiness? Will they nurture them, train them, provide proper stimulation and allow normal behaviour? If they become unwell, will they go the extra mile like Madonna’s owners?

Because the thing is, us humans, to some extent at least, can make our own luck. We can make choices about health, exercise, diet and so on, but when it comes to our animals, and our wildlife, it is our duty to do the best we can for them.