Every Living Thing (All Creatures Great and Small)
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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.
down to the damaged bone, removing the partial callus and a seemingly endless mass of fibrous tissue, tying off the spurting blood vessels, freshening the ends of the bone, drilling, screwing in the plates that would hold the broken ends together. I was sweating and exhausted by the time the last skin suture was inserted and all that could be seen was the line of stitches. Thinking of what lay underneath, I breathed a silent prayer. Over the next few weeks, Rupe Nellist kept bringing Titch in
you hold it, please?” She gasped as she laid it on my outstretched arm and I, too, was amazed at its weight. “Yes,” she went on, “it is the most beautiful country suit and, do you know, he never wore it.” She shook her head and her eyes softened as she stroked the lapels. “No, he never did. He died a few days after it was made and he was so looking forward to it. He was such an outdoor man, but he did like to be smartly dressed.” Then she said somewhat abruptly, looking up at me with a resolute
his hand unsuccessfully in areas such as sportswriting, Wight found modest success with the publication of If Only They Could Talk in 1970 and It Shouldn’t Happen to a Vet in 1972. He adopted the pen name James Herriot because self-promotion for doctors and veterinarians was frowned upon in England at that time. In the United States, his first two books were combined by his New York publisher and released as All Creatures Great and Small (1972), the volume that would make the name James Herriot
ears?” “That’s right.” He nodded. Partly he was seeking information but he was also keeping me right, making sure I didn’t make any silly mistakes. It was a source of wonder to me that both my children were fascinated by my job. I often thought that the sight of their father rushing around all hours of the day and night, missing meals, working on Saturdays and Sundays while my non-veterinary friends played golf, would be enough to turn them away from my profession for life, but instead of that
of the police. I could imagine her exasperated cry. “Useless! Useless!” Chapter 37 THERE ARE FEW SIGHTS more depressing than a litter of dying piglets. “Looks pretty hopeless, Mr. Bush,” I said as I leaned over the wall of the pen. “And what a pity, it’s a grand litter. Twelve of them, aren’t there?” The farmer grunted. “Aye, it allus happens like that.” He wasn’t a barrel of laughs at any time but now his long, hollow-cheeked face was set in gloom. I looked down at the little pink