JAMES HERRIOTS DOG STORIES
by James Herriot
Published by St. Martins Press: New York, N.y..
Copyright 1995 by The James Herriot Partnership.
In this sequel to his 1994 Favorite Cat Stories, the erstwhile veterinarian spins more loving yarns of the animal world; this time, though, the heartwarming tales are about dogs, and dog lovers will certainly be satisfied. The nine stories that make up this slim volume range from moving and poignant (old dogs, dying dogs, dying dog owners) to clever and silly (fat, spoiled, pompous little dogs, absurdly doting owners) to fond reminiscences of Herriot's own pets. Herriot, who died in 1995, was the author of several books both for adults and for children and is popular for the love, warmth, and humor expressed in his work and the keen insights inherent in his writing, derived from years of veterinary work. This posthumous piece is no exception; fans of Herriot's previous works and animal lovers everywhere will enjoy this collection.
His Yorkshire veterinary practice is now tended by his son.
Contents
JAMES HERRIOTS DOG STORIES
Introduction
Tricki Woo Goes Crackerdog
Prince and The Card Above the Bed
Jock: Top Dog
Tricki Woo: A Triumph of Surgery
Jake Rides into Town
Gyp: Only One Woof
Roy: From Rags to Riches
Tricki Woo: A Judge of Form
Hermann: A Happy Ending
Brandy: The Dustbin Dog
About the Author
FOR CHILDREN
Introduction
This was the real Yorkshire with the clean limestone wall riding the hills edge and the path cutting brilliant green through the crowding heather. And, walking face on to the scented breeze, I felt the old tingle of wonder at being alone on the wide moorland where nothing stirred and the spreading miles of purple blossom and green turf reached away until it met the hazy blue of the sky.
Evocative stuff? Perhaps, but true. But what is truer still follows next in one of the stories included in this book:
But I wasnt really alone. There was Sam, and he made all the difference. Helen, my wife, had brought a lot of things into my life and Sam was one of the most precious. He was to be my faithful companion, my car dog, my friend who sat by my side through the lonely hours of driving. He was the first of a series of cherished dogs whose comradeship have warmed and lightened my working life and, latterly, my retirement.
Ever since I was a child, I have always loved dogs. Don, a beautiful sleek-coated Irish setter, was my first dog and I learned from an early age the pleasure that one gets from watching a dogwhether scenting after rabbits on the hillside, or indicating quite plainly that it is dinnertime, or sleeping in front of the fire, whiffling little noises, perhaps at the rabbits in his dreams.
When I decided I wanted to be a vet, I knew that I wanted to be a dog doctor, so I could spend all my time with dogs. But the authorities at the veterinary college in Glasgow had other ideas: at that time, in the mid-thirties, animals were graded according to their importancehorse, cattle, sheep, pigand dog. And they decided I should be a horse doctor.
In due course, I qualified and was lucky to be offered a job as an assistant vet in North Yorkshire, in the town that I call Darrowby in my books. It was what is called a large-animal practice, the majority of patients being horses, cattle, sheep, and pigs. What chance was there of my becoming a dog doctor as I wanted? However, luck was on my side, because Siegfried Farnon, my boss (and later to be my partner) loved horses above everything else. He was more than happy to leave the dogs and cats to me while he attended to the Shire horses that were still being used at that time, and the hunters and ponies of the more affluent families.
As readers who know my books well will remember, I certainly did my fair share of work with the larger animals but I did love treating the smaller ones. Sometimes it was pure relief to be able to leave behind the cold, wet, and mud of the hillside and tend the ailments of some gentle little animal in a drawing roomand so you wont
be surprised that I have included three stories in this book about the Peke Tricki Woo. Oh, that sherryI can recall the taste of it now!
Driving out to the remote farms was a very lonely chore, especially during the winter, but one made a hundred times better when I had a dog or dogs with me in the car. Sam, my beagle-well, Helens reallyis mentioned several times in this book: he was very special and I can see him now, his big liquid eyes turned to me, suggesting we steal five minutes between appointments to walk on the high moors. I could rarely resist his pleaafter all, I got so much pleasure too from standing for a while looking at the superb landscape spread out in front of me. There was everything here: wilderness and solitude breathing from the bare fells, yet a hint of softness where the river wound along the valley floor. And in all the green miles around me there was seldom another human being to be seen. I always had to force myself back into the real world when it was time to go, and when I called to Sam, he would come running up the track toward me, his ears flying in the wind, an almost human smile of contentment on his face.