I Will Write Another Book If I

I Think It Was The Beginning Of Mrs. Bond's Unquestioning Faith In Me When She Saw Me Quickly Enveloping The Cat Till All You Could See Of Him Was A Small Black And White Head Protruding From An Immovable Cocoon Of Cloth. He And I Were Now Facing Each Other, More Or Less Eyeball To Eyeball, And George Couldn't Do A Thing About It. As I Say, I Rather Pride Myself On This Little Expertise, And Even Today My Veterinary Colleagues Have Been Known To Remark, "old Herriot May Be Limited In Many Respects, But By God He Can Wrap A Cat.

It Was Sunday Morning (one A.m.), A Not Unusual Time For Some Farmers, After A Late Saturday Night, To Have A Look Round Their Stock And Decide To Send For The Vet.

If A Farmer Calls Me To A Sick Animal, He Couldn't Care Less If I Were George Bernard Shaw.

Over The Years I Knew Her She Always Looked At Me Like That - As Though I Was A Quite Pleasant But Amusing Object - And It Always Did The Same Thing To Me. It's Difficult To Put Into Words But Perhaps I Can Best Describe It By Saying That If I Had Been A Little Dog I'd Have Gone Leaping And Gambolling Around The Room Wagging My Tail Furiously.

They Can't Find My House Now Because I Keep It Very Quiet Where I Live.