My name’s Griz. My childhood wasn’t like yours. I’ve never had friends, and in my whole life I’ve not met enough people to play a game of football. My parents told me how crowded the world used to be, but we were never lonely on our remote island. We had each other, and our dogs. Then the thief came. There may be no law left except what you make of it. But if you steal my dog, you can at least expect me to come after you. Because if we aren’t loyal to the things we love, what’s the point? Like a moth to a flame, I once again find myself hopelessly drawn towards my favourite sub-genre of fiction. I’m not sure what you would call someone who enjoys apocalyptic fiction, I guess apocalist is as good a label as any? Regular visitors to The Eloquent Page will be well-aware of my obsession when it comes to all things cataclysmic. I’ve been stupidly lucky over the last few years. There have been some genuinely exceptional novels released in this category. The good news is that there is another to add to the list. A Boy and His Dog at the…