A farmer once told me one of the greatest luxuries of his life was to wake up early only to go back to sleep again.

For years I used to bore my wife over lunch with stories about funny incidents.

No animal is a better judge of comfort than a cat.

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.

I seem to have spent a good part of my life - probably too much – in just standing and staring.

I am never at my best in the early morning, especially a cold morning in the Yorkshire spring with a piercing March wind sweeping down from the fells, finding its way inside my clothing, nipping at my nose and ears.

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.