All Things Bright and Beautiful (All Creatures Great and Small)
The second volume in the multimillion copy bestselling series
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.
Now in a new edition for the first time in a decade, All Things Bright and Beautiful is the beloved sequel to Herriot's first collection, All Creatures Great and Small, and picks up as Herriot, now newly married, journeys among the remote hillside farms and valley towns of the Yorkshire Dales, caring for their inhabitants---both two- and four-legged. Throughout, Herriot's deep compassion, humor, and love of life shine out as we laugh, cry, and delight in his portraits of his many, varied animal patients and their equally varied owners.
afraid this one’ll be dead,” I said, and as the tiny creature lay across my palm there was no sign of breathing. But, pinching the chest between thumb and forefinger I could feel the heart pulsing steadily and I quickly opened his mouth and blew softly down into his lungs. I repeated this a few times then laid the pup on his side in the basket. I was just thinking it was going to be no good when the little rib cage gave a sudden lift, then another and another. “He’s off!” Bert exclaimed
I used to put it away sharpish, like that, but ah can’t do it now.” Chuckling to himself, he continued with his breakfast. His wife showed me the door. “Aye, it was a real compliment to me.” She looked at the table and giggled. “You’ve nearly finished the jar!” “Yes, I’m sorry, Mrs. Horner,” I said, smiling through my tears and trying to ignore the churning in my stomach. “But I just couldn’t resist it.” Contrary to my expectations I didn’t drop down dead soon afterwards but for a week I was
I said hoarsely as I got back into the car. “If that injection improves them I’ll do the lot.” I gave what I hoped was a confident wave and drove off. I felt so bad that it had a numbing effect on me and over the next few days my mind seemed to shy away from the subject of the Dalby stirks as though by not thinking about them they would just go away. I was reminded that they were still very much there by a phone call from Mrs. Dalby. “I’m afraid my cattle aren’t doing any good, Mr. Herriot.”
use, thinking at the same time of Siegfried’s words: “Ewan has his own way of doing everything.” At the farm Mr. Thwaite trotted over to meet us. He was understandably agitated but there was something else; a nervous rubbing of the hands, an uneasy giggle as he watched my colleague opening the car boot. “Mr. Ross,” he blurted out at last, “I don’t want you to be upset, but I’ve summat to tell you.” He paused for a moment. “Duke Skelton’s in there with my cow.” Ewan’s expression did not
stomach into a lurch of apprehension; miles and miles of it coiling its way across the most desolate stretch of country in all England. And even from this distance you could see the drifts, satin smooth and beautiful, pushing their deadly way across our path. On either side of the road a vast white desert rolled and dipped endlessly toward the black horizon; there was not a light, not a movement, not a sign of life anywhere. The pipe jutted aggressively as Granville roared forward to do battle.