The concept of the vege-terrier had never occurred to me until six weeks ago, during the dog days of the heatwave, when our mutt, Dublin, 18 months and generally a good girl, stopped eating.
Not uncommon, according to the vet, but as the days became weeks and all she would take were a few ice cubes, flies (head swivel, snap — ugh) and pieces of carrot that my girlfriend fondly carved into small bone shapes (not really, it was me), we definitely became anxious. Of course, Dublin still accepted the trashy, empty calories of dog treats slipped to her by kind staff in our local pub, but this, I figured, is just one of the frustrations of feeding young animals: they appear to try to troll…