Hypocrisy alert

I believe that human lives are, while probably not objectively more important, certainly more of a priority to me than those of animals. It's not like I don't care about our furry friends, because I really truly do. But if there was a child and a puppy in front of me, and I had to shoot one, I'd kill the puppy. I'm sorry to be brutal, but that's the way things are. I might really love the puppy, and I know it would never have hurt anyone and that it is completely undeserving of death by bullet, but the child has the potential to change the world for all its inhabitants, whereas, with the possible exception of Lassie, as far as I am aware, dogs are unlikely to do much except eat, sleep, run around, hump people's legs and bark.

For this reason, I tend to avoid animal charities and slightly despair of people who give to them. Surely we should be sorting out our own species before worrying about giving sanctuary to donkeys? I know, it's disgusting how ill-treated these innocent creatures are, and I mean that with all sincerity - but a lot of humans are treated fairly horrifically as well. I'd rather get those many messes cleared up first and then move on to our four-legged pals. With that as my carefully-formed opinion, I try hard to stick to this, to care more about human tragedies than those involving animals. And, for the most part, I succeed.

But I'm not made of stone, goddamit! How can anyone resist a box of kittens?! Or a wobbly foal taking its first steps? Just the thought of those baby penguins snuggled under their dads' bellies to protect themselves from the freezing winter is enough to make tears prick my eyes. Imagine, therefore, the unpleasant yank at my heartstrings when I read in today's paper that guillemots have become so hungry due to lack of fish in the North Sea that they are now killing each others' chicks to lessen the demand for what little food is available. Apparently, guillemot couples only have one baby a year, and in the past, one parent would stay at home while the other would go out on the hunt for fish. Now, however, there's such a shortage of marine snackage that often both parents have to go scavenging, leaving their precious chick unguarded. In the absence of their protective parents, the chicks have been attacked by rivals, and even pushed off the cliffs onto the rocks below. The thought of a flightless baby guillemot plummeting towards certain death, having been pushed over the edge by a murderous cliff neighbour, makes me very sad indeed. I know worse things have happened at sea, and certainly on land, but sometimes perspective is hard to keep.

On the upside, as I was walking towards the tube this morning, a guy with a strong Jamaican accent drawled 'Hey girrrrrl - niiiiicccce glaaaassssessss'. And he didn't even comment on my arse. So that's good.