No Animal Is A Better Judge Of

If I Had Been A Little Dog I'd Have Gone Leaping And Gambolling Around The Room Wagging My Tail Furiously.

I Love Writing About My Job Because I Loved It, And It Was A Particularly Interesting One When I Was A Young Man. It Was Like Holidays With Pay To Me.

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.

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.