All Creatures Great And Small Essay
Helena Gill
Hon. English 9
Mr. Sellers
All Creatures Great and Small Essay “Jim! The phone is ringing. I thought that you would have heard it by now,” Tristan exclaimed. True to his word, I could hear the faint ding resonating from the downstairs. I scrambled down the stairs to make an attempt to catch the blasted phone before the caller stopped waiting for us to answer. Tristan was far too lazy and unmotivated to answer the phone if he had the knowledge that I was in the house. Reaching for the phone, I had barely managed to grab it as the last ding rang out. “Hello? James Herriot speaking,” I breathed into the receiver. “Hello, I’ve got a cow here that just won’t stand up. I’ve checked around him, he looks fine. I don’t know what’s wrong with him.” I immediately recognized the voice of Mr. Sidlow. He was one who was notoriously known for waiting until he did everything he could to fix the animal himself before finally resulting to call the vet at the last possible minute. So I began preparing myself for another sickly cow who I had nearly no hope of saving. I didn’t bother with changing into my work clothes understanding that it was more than likely to be a simple examination and wouldn’t be all that messy. I did however put on my Wellingtons. They were worn with constant use to muddy farms and were necessary during examinations. I drove the car onto Mr. Sidlow’s property, stopped, got out, and noticed something strange. The normal scent of animal manure was gone. I looked over the property, and searched for his animals. The fields were starting to become high, the grass long and unkempt like an old man’s beard. The trees started to grow in untamed, and the usual warm coloured bricks of the countryside were worn and grey. In the all the time I had spent on Darrowby, this was the first time I had ever seen a farm in such a way. There was no sign of Mr. SIdlow, and just when I was to call out for him, he appeared. “Old Bruce
Hon. English 9
Mr. Sellers
All Creatures Great and Small Essay “Jim! The phone is ringing. I thought that you would have heard it by now,” Tristan exclaimed. True to his word, I could hear the faint ding resonating from the downstairs. I scrambled down the stairs to make an attempt to catch the blasted phone before the caller stopped waiting for us to answer. Tristan was far too lazy and unmotivated to answer the phone if he had the knowledge that I was in the house. Reaching for the phone, I had barely managed to grab it as the last ding rang out. “Hello? James Herriot speaking,” I breathed into the receiver. “Hello, I’ve got a cow here that just won’t stand up. I’ve checked around him, he looks fine. I don’t know what’s wrong with him.” I immediately recognized the voice of Mr. Sidlow. He was one who was notoriously known for waiting until he did everything he could to fix the animal himself before finally resulting to call the vet at the last possible minute. So I began preparing myself for another sickly cow who I had nearly no hope of saving. I didn’t bother with changing into my work clothes understanding that it was more than likely to be a simple examination and wouldn’t be all that messy. I did however put on my Wellingtons. They were worn with constant use to muddy farms and were necessary during examinations. I drove the car onto Mr. Sidlow’s property, stopped, got out, and noticed something strange. The normal scent of animal manure was gone. I looked over the property, and searched for his animals. The fields were starting to become high, the grass long and unkempt like an old man’s beard. The trees started to grow in untamed, and the usual warm coloured bricks of the countryside were worn and grey. In the all the time I had spent on Darrowby, this was the first time I had ever seen a farm in such a way. There was no sign of Mr. SIdlow, and just when I was to call out for him, he appeared. “Old Bruce