Technology Could End Animal Abuse

Nigel sent me a clip the other day of a woman riding an AI robot almost the size of a horse. Immediately, I felt sad. Then I felt angry. Because if we can create this — if we can build something strong enough to take the full weight of an adult woman — then why on earth do we still have dressage and horse racing? Why are people not making the connection? Why are we still riding elephants, posing for tiger selfies, capturing orcas for aquariums, when we have such incredible technology at our fingertips?

We’ve already proved how capable we are when it comes to recreation. Film and theatre can conjure hyperreal beasts that make audiences gasp — dinosaurs stomping across stages, animatronics so intricate that people forget they’re fabricated. I once watched a clip of a robotic dolphin so lifelike I couldn’t tell it apart from the real thing—and it just so happens to be the blog photo for this post. And yet, while engineers create near-perfect substitutes, real animals remain chained, caged, and killed. That contradiction fills me with despair.

And it’s not just about marine life or theme parks. AI “dogs” already exist, but right now they’re being funnelled mostly into military development. These machines could be revolutionising therapy programmes, replacing guide dogs, search-and-rescue dogs, even police dogs — sparing living animals from these roles. The capacity is there; the choice of how to use it is ours.

The usual excuse is money. Yes, building animatronics and AI is expensive — but only upfront. It doesn’t carry the same ongoing cost as housing, feeding, vet care, enclosure maintenance, breeding programmes, or the reputational damage of keeping live animals. Robots need occasional repairs and upgrades; captive animals need lifetimes of constant, expensive care. When you compare the long-term costs, the “expense” argument crumbles.

The truth is simpler and far more uncomfortable: humans crave “the real thing.” We cling to authenticity even when it causes suffering. It’s the same with food. Nearly half of meat-eaters admit it’s hypocritical to love dogs while eating pigs, and 40% confess they feel guilt when eating meat — yet most continue anyway. The obstacle isn’t technology; it’s us.

And yet, we are knocking at the door of a revolution. Lab-grown meat is edging closer to becoming global — it’s a shift that could end the horror of animal agriculture as we know it. The implications are so staggering, they’re near impossible to comprehend. Billions upon billions of animals could be spared every single year. Land currently used to rear the animals, or for feed crops, could be rewilded, forests replanted, ecosystems restored. It isn’t just about having compassion for farmed animals—although we absolutely should—it’s also about prolonging our own future on this planet.

So why stop there? Imagine a different world. Imagine a centre where children swim alongside animatronic dolphins, paired with lessons about conservation and why captivity is cruel. They’d still be enchanted, but they’d also leave with empathy and awareness. Imagine therapeutic riding centres with robotic horses, their weight and movement indistinguishable from the real thing, giving people the joy of riding without exploitation. Imagine safaris or zoos where lifelike animatronic tigers and elephants roamed, their existence combined with storytelling about their wild counterparts — admiration without chains. Hell, we could really go crazy and give bloodthirsty hunters a realistic shooting challenge. Our habits—for better, or worse—can remain. The cruelty would not.

This isn’t about stripping people of joy. It’s about redirecting it. As a vegan outreacher, the number one thing I find myself saying to the public is that compassion doesn’t mean sacrifice; it doesn’t mean giving up what we love. Meat, cheese, milk, warm coats, cosmetics—there’s endless alternatives out there. Living a vegan lifestyle means reimagining. It means finding ways to keep experiencing human wonder and comfort, without making someone else pay with their freedom or their life.

The technology is here. The question is whether we’re moral enough to use it differently. Instead of funnelling funds into warfare and corporate spectacle, we could invest in compassion. Instead of chaining wild animals for profit, we could build replicas that inspire without harm. Instead of normalising domination, we could teach children that awe and empathy can — and should — exist side by side.