I don't have a picture of him, but it really doesn't matter. It's the fellas writing that's noteworthy, not his looks or his theatrical skills.
James Herriot. I discovered his work when I bought a copy of his book, All Things Bright and Beautiful for just a few cents. I was blown away. I was enchanted. I was hooked.
Herriot made the veterinary world come alive. You felt for him when he got called away to work at obscene hours of the night. You rejoiced with him when he pulled off a miracle cure. And your heart melted when you read about how he won the heart of his wife-to-be.
James Herriot (real name: Alfred Wight) passed away in 1995, which broke my heart. No more heartwarming prose. No more tales of his life with Siegfriend and Tristan. No more heartwarming stories of his life with all creatures great and small.
Dr. Herriot, you are missed badly.
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