I WAS having a drink with a group of girlfriends the other day when we got on to the subject of family pets.

The reason the subject came about was that my good friend Fiona and her soon-to-be ex-husband Billy, are in dispute over who gets custody of Millie the pet dog.

“I mean,” explained Fiona, “Millie was given to me as a gift from Billy. And a gift is a gift.”

She had obviously been through this sorry tale a hundred times.

“And, as I said to my mum,” she continued. “He only wants the dog because I’m getting the car.”

For the life of us we could see no reasoning behind her statement.

“Couldn’t you have joint custody?” I foolishly suggested. “It usually works well with the kids.”

Fiona scowled: “My lawyer suggested we agree on visitation rights.”

“Oh well, co-parenting is all that rage these days,” I replied sarcastically.

However, my comments were clearly way over Fiona’s head as she concluded: “Millie has already shown signs of separation anxiety ... so she’s staying with me and that’s that.”

I couldn’t help thinking how we are all sounding very Americanised these days what with custody, co-parenting and visitation rights. But at the end of the day, it all just adds up to huge lawyers’ fees!

However, Susan attempted to steer the conversation on to a lighter note and away from the never-ending and costly matrimonial split.

“When I was a wee girl, the only pet I was allowed to keep was a box of ants!”

We burst out laughing at the ridiculous idea of keeping ants.

“That must rate as one of the most boring pets ever,” I laughed.

“Well, actually,” butted in Christine, “I read a survey that said fish were the most boring pets, followed by a tortoise or turtle ... and then a lizard.”

“We had a tortoise,” said Mae. “And you are right Christine. It was boring.”

“What about you Janice?” asked Susan. “Being one of six kids you must have had lots of pets.”

I started laughing because it reminded me of a story I recently spotted on the Evening Times website which read: “The Scottish SPCA responded to a report of donkey neglect, only to find a life-size garden ornament.

“The caller stated the donkey was kept in the back garden of a house in Airdrie and tied to a fence without any shelter.”

This took me back to my childhood, so I started to tell the girls about our family ‘pet’.

One evening, me and my five siblings were called out into the street, as apparently our dad had a surprise for us.

In a million years we would never have guessed what it was.

Excitedly, we all waited as the tail end of a huge truck came down and out trotted a beautiful Shetland Pony called Trigger.

We couldn’t believe our eyes or ears when my dad announced that he had gotten us our very own horse.

Now to let you understand, we didn’t live on a farm, no, we lived on a newly-built housing estate in Airdrie (affectionately known as spam valley), and the new posh neighbours were more than a little perturbed to see a pony trotting off the back of a lorry!

“A Shetland Pony?” Mae squawked. “Where on earth did you keep it?”

“In the back garden,” I said. “At first it was the best pet ever because it wasn’t very tall which meant we could easily jump on its back for a ride.”

At this point the girls clearly thought I was making this tale up.

“But It was actually quite a vicious wee pony,” I continued. “It used to chase us up on top of the garden shed, where we had to wait until our mum came out of the house and rescued us.”

“So how long did you have it for?” asked Susan.

“Only a few months,” I replied, “because it ate all the flowers and grass in the garden. And chomped its way through my mum’s precious rose bushes which she had looked after for years ... and also none of us wanted to clear up the mess after it.”

The girls were silent.

“So, eventually the Bell household changed back from the Big Fat Gypsy household to one of normality again.”

“Yep,” everyone agreed, “a Shetland Pony probably was a strange pet to have in a back garden of a housing estate.”

“It was,” I confirmed ... “Until we got a ...”