In England--and, presumably, much of the rest of the world--there'd been some kind of unnatural disaster. I think nuclear or chemical agents used in a war had poisoned much of the environment. This might've been a long time ago. People seemed pretty much okay, and society seemed safe and functional. But there was something wrong with the animals.
People from Yorkshire--and that general part of England, I guess the north--had started shooting animals from trains and harvesting their meat. I think they stole people's pets, too. I'm extremely fuzzy on why.
Maybe untainted meat was hard to come by in northern England, so people were poaching it from the south.
Maybe there was something wrong with people's pets in the north, and they needed to be fed raw flesh.
Maybe all the animals were poison and eating them was illegal, but a practice had started in Yorkshire where people consumed the dangerous meat for some kind of buzz.
I remember carrying two floppy, pink slices of meat, which looked very much like they'd just come from the supermarket, and not the hasty, amateurish butchery of some sheep or dog. I don't know who I was. I bought them upstairs to the attic of some gray, rural, English cottage, looking for a big Ziploc bag to put them in.
That's about all I've got.