If Only They Could Talk
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
When newly qualified vet James Herriot arrives in the small Yorkshire village of Darrowby, he has no idea what to expect. How will he get on with his new boss? Herriot's books form the basis of the popular BBC TV series All Creatures Great and Small.
was time I was on my way. But I felt that I ought to make a gesture before I left; something to communicate to the horse that I understood his problems and that we belonged to the same brotherhood. I stepped briskly forward and patted him on the neck. Quick as a striking snake, the horse whipped downwards and seized my shoulder in his great strong teeth. He laid back his ears, rolled his eyes wickedly and hoisted me up, almost off my feet. I hung there helplessly, suspended like a lopsided
mumbling about the weather, but the men weren't listening; they never took their eyes away from me as I stood rigid, like a suit of armour against the wall. They studied each part of the outfit in turn, wonderingly. I knew what they were thinking. Just what was going to happen when this formidable unknown finally went into action. Anybody dressed like that must have some tremendous task ahead of him. The intense pressure of the collar against my larynx kept me entirely out of any conversation
it was only me. 'Mrs. Hall thinks he should be back fairly soon. Perhaps you would join me in a cup of tea while you're waiting.' She gave me a quick glance which raked me from my rumpled hair to my scuffed old shoes. I realised suddenly how grimy and sweaty I was after the long JOURNEY Then she shrugged her shoulders and turned away. The dogs regarded her apathetically. A heavy silence blanketed the room. I poured a cup of tea and held it out to her. She ignored me and lit a cigarette. This
knacker man but preferred 'fell-monger'. He considered in his heart that, after twenty odd years of cutting up diseased animals he knew more than any vet alive, and it made things rather awkward that the farming community unhesitatingly agreed with him. It never failed to spoil my day if a farmer called in at the surgery and told me that, once more, Jeff Mallock had confounded my diagnosis. 'Hey, remember that cow you were treating for magnesium deficiency? She never did no good and ah sent 'er
tartan ones for the cold weather and macintoshes for the wet days. He struggled on, drooping in his harness. I thought it wouldn't be long before I heard from Mrs. Pumphrey. The expected call came within a few days. Mrs. Pumphrey was distraught. Tricki would eat nothing. Refused even his favourite dishes; and besides, he had bouts of vomiting. He spent all his time lying on a rug, panting. Didn't want to go walks, didn't want to do anything. I had made my plans in advance. The only way was to