Dogs Like To Obey. It Gives Them

I Have Felt Cats Rubbing Their Faces Against Mine And Touching My Cheek With Claws Carefully Sheathed. These Things, To Me, Are Expressions Of Love.

I Became A Connoisseur Of That Nasty Thud A Manuscript Makes When It Comes Through The Letter Box.

I Was Helped By Having A Verbatim Memory Of What Happened Years Ago, Even If I Can't Remember What Happened A Couple Of Days Ago.

And There Was That Letter From The Bramleys—that Really Made Me Feel Good. You Don’t Find People Like The Bramleys Now; Radio, Television And The Motorcar Have Carried The Outside World Into The Most Isolated Places So That The Simple People You Used To Meet On The Lonely Farms Are Rapidly Becoming Like People Anywhere Else. There Are Still A Few Left, Of Course—old Folk Who Cling To The Ways Of Their Fathers And When I Come Across Any Of Them I Like To Make Some Excuse To Sit Down And Talk With Them And Listen To The Old Yorkshire Words And Expressions Which Have Almost Disappeared.

There Was No Last Animal I Treated. When Young Farm Lads Started To Help Me Over The Gate Into A Field Or A Pigpen, To Make Sure The Old Fellow Wouldn't Fall, I Started To Consider Retiring.