A friend in England tells me that peacocks are fond of cauliflower. Who would have guessed? And apart from being beautiful, it's probably the only thing they have in common with my darling dog. This may seem strange to you and me, but it's one of the few vegetables she really likes (cooked and heated, not cold). Carrots, unless cooked and part of a stew, lost their appeal some years ago. Apples used to be liked, in puppyhood; now they are poma non grata. And lettuce is an alien non-food to her. Broccoli also raises no interest, even though we're told that it's the same species as cauliflower, differently cultivated. She'll eat it green or white or orange, but cauliflower it must be.
That brings me to my next thought, which is that when you have a dog, you develop funny unexpected habits. I'm thinking of the fact that I never, these days, just plonk down her meal (whether it's Breakfast part A or part B, or whether it's Dinner, ditto). I always announce it like a waiter: 'sardines with peanut butter'; 'fish with cheese and hot sauce', 'cauliflower cheese with hot sauce', 'egg with butter and parsley flakes', 'tallow, chicken broth, and fish', 'yoghurt, gelatin, and beefburger', 'meatloaf!'. It's as if I've come to believe that the advert for the tastiness of what she is about to eat must be frank and enthusiastic. If it's not good enough to say aloud, in the slightly superior and triumphal tones of a posh waiter, then it's not good enough to serve in the first place!