All Things Wise and Wonderful (All Creatures Great and Small)
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Readers adored James Herriot's tales of his life as a Yorkshire animal doctor in All Creatures Great and Small and All Things Bright and Beautiful. Now here's a third delightful volume of memoirs rich with Herriot's own brand of humor, insight, and wisdom.
In the midst of World War II, James is training for the Royal Air Force, while going home to Yorkshire whenever possible to see his very pregnant wife, Helen. Musing on past adventures through the dales, visiting with old friends, and introducing scores of new and amusing characters―animal and human alike―Herriot enthralls with his uncanny ability to spin a most engaging and heartfelt yarn.
Millions of readers have delighted in the wonderful storytelling and everyday miracles of James Herriot in the over thirty years since his delightful animal stories were first introduced to the world.
in the mood for rough stuff today.” I lifted him gently to the floor where he paced indignantly around the table legs. I examined the bull terrier thoroughly and the only significant finding was an elevated temperature. “It’s a hundred and five, Jack. He’s very ill, there’s no doubt about that.” “But what’s the matter with him?” “With a high fever like that he must have some acute infection. But at the moment it’s difficult to pinpoint.” I reached out and stroked the broad skull, running my
I mounted the stairs in record time. Helen was sitting with the cat on her knee and she looked up as I burst in. “I know about Oscar now,” I said. “Know what?” “Why he goes on these nightly outings. He’s not running away—he’s visiting.” “Visiting?” “Yes,” I said. “Don’t you see? He likes getting around, he loves people, especially in groups, and he’s interested in what they do. He’s a natural mixer.” Helen looked down at the attractive mound of fur curled on her lap. “Of course … that’s it
remember the sensation almost of shock at the start of my first winter in Darrowby. It was after the first snow and I followed the clanging ploughs up the Dale, bumping along between high white mounds till I reached old Mr. Stokill’s gate. With my fingers on the handle I looked through the glass at the new world beneath me. The white blanket rolled down the hillside and lapped over the roofs of the dwelling and out-buildings of the little farm. Beyond, it smoothed out and concealed the familiar
briefly before closing his eyes and keeping them closed. It seemed he felt better that way. I put my hand on Albert’s shoulder. “Mr. Close, how long has he been like this?” “Eh?” I increased my volume. “Mick’s eyes. They’re in a bad state.” “Oh aye.” The old man nodded in comprehension. “He’s got a bit o’ caud in ’em. He’s allus been subjeck to it ever since ’e were a pup.” “No, it’s more than cold, it’s his eyelids.” “Eh?” I took a deep breath and let go at the top of my voice. “He’s got
conclusion that there was no way of putting them back. But I had to try. “I’ll be right out,” I muttered. I looked at the alarm clock. It was five thirty. A horrible time, truncating the night’s slumber yet eliminating any chance of a soothing return to bed for an hour before the day’s work. And I hated turning out even more since my marriage. Helen was lovely to come back to, but by the same token it was a bigger wrench to leave her soft warm presence and venture into the inhospitable world