Every Living Thing (All Creatures Great and Small)
This fifth and final installment in James Herriot's heartwarming collection brings back familiar friends (including old favorites such as Tricki Woo) and introduces new ones, including Herriot's children Rosie and Jimmy and the marvelously eccentric vet Calum Buchanan.
Every Living Thing is a perfect opportunity for existing fans of Herriot's work to reacquaint themselves with his writing, and for those who've never read him to see what generations of animal lovers have already discovered: James Herriot is that rarest of creatures, a genuine master storyteller.
body. I slumped into the kitchen chair where I had drunk so many cups of tea. Sitting there, in dressing gown and slippers, I could hardly believe that the long struggle had ended this way. “Molly,” I said after a minute. “I’d really like to get to the bottom of this.” She looked at me. “You mean a post-mortem?” She shook her head. “No, no, nothing like that.” There didn’t seem to be anything I could do or say. I went out, leaving the mystery behind me, and as I walked through the moonlit
increasingly wearing. Endless sessions of “Really, Mrs. Featherstone, the thing you are pointing out is quite normal,” or “I assure you, Mrs. Featherstone, you are worrying needlessly,” resulting in the lady drawing herself up and sticking out her chin. “Are you suggesting, Mr. Herriot, that I am dreaming these things? That I cannot believe the evidence of my own eyes? My poor Rollo is suffering and I expect you to do something about it.” Weak-mindedly I invariably submitted and fobbed her off
too pleased to have any sort of attention. He was enjoying the whole thing. As I worked I became aware of a head watching me over the garden hedge. I looked up and an elderly man nodded cheerfully. “Mornin’. You’ll be t’vitnery.” “That’s right.” He blew out his cheeks. “By gaw, you must be a busy feller goin’ round washin’ all them dogs all the time.” I smiled at his idea of a veterinary surgeon’s life. “Oh, yes, it’s quite a job.” I was aware of his intent gaze as I completed my shampoo
cleansing and it wasn’t long before Bernard was waving me goodbye as I drove away. In the darkness of the yard he still had the handkerchief round his face—the Cisco Kid to the life. I felt I had managed to put the police sergeant in the picture. However, he still wasn’t quite convinced. “But he still wouldn’t be wearing that mask when he came into Darrowby.” “Bernard would.” “You mean he just forgot to take it off?” “Absolutely.” “Well, he’s a rum sort of feller.” I could understand his
indeed—one of the strangest stories I’d ever heard, and it was never far from my mind over the following weeks. I kept wondering how the old man and his cat were getting on in that igloo, and if the kittens had arrived yet. But they couldn’t have—I was sure he would have let me know. I did hear from him at last one stormy evening. “Mr. Herriot, I am telephoning from the farm. Emily has not yet produced those kittens, but she is…very large and has lain trembling all day and won’t eat anything. I