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吉米·哈利 （James Herriot，1916—1995），原名James Alfred Wight，苏格兰兽医作家，被英国媒体誉为“其写作天赋足以让很多职业作家羞愧”。其多部自传体小说《万物既伟大又渺小》（All Creatures Great and Small，1972）、《万物有灵且美》（All Things Bright and Beautiful，1974）和《万物既聪慧又奇妙》（All Things Wise and Wonderful，1977）等相继荣登《纽约时报》畅销书榜首。1979年，他获颁大英帝国勋章并谒见女王，1982年获颁皇家医学院特别会员，1983年则获颁利物浦大学荣誉兽医博士。一系列畅销书为他带来了非凡的荣誉和财富，但是吉米·哈利依然安之若素，坚持在乡间从事兽医工作，执业长达五十多年。
《万物有灵且美》一书中作者以轻松幽默的笔触，记录乡间行医的点点滴滴，满溢着兽医生活的笑与泪、朴实的人情、土地的智慧以及生命的奇迹。
I heard from Rob Benson again a few days later. It was a Sunday afternoon and his voice was strained， almost panic stricken.
“Jim， I’ve had a dog in among me in-lamb ewes. It was chasing the sheep all over the field. There’s a hell of a mess—I tell you I’m frightened to look.”
“I’m on my way.” I dropped the receiver and hurried out to the car.
The in-lamb ewes were in a field. This was worse than I had feared. The long slope of turf was dotted with 1）prostrate sheep—there must have been about fifty of them， motionless woolly mounds scattered 2）at intervals on the green.
Rob was standing just inside the gate. He hardly looked at me， just gestured with his head.
“Tell me what you think. I daren’t go in there.”
I left him and began to walk among the stricken creatures， rolling them over， lifting their legs， parting the fleece of their necks to examine them. Some were completely unconscious， others 3）comatose； none of them could stand up. But as I worked my way up the field I felt a growing bewilderment. Finally I called back to the farmer.
“Rob， come over here. There’s something very strange.”
“Look，” I said as the farmer approached hesitantly. “There’s not a drop of blood nor a wound anywhere and yet all the sheep are flat out. I can’t understand it.”
Rob bent over and gently raised a lolling head. “Aye， you’re right. What the hell’s done it， then？”
At that moment I couldn’t answer him， but a little bell was tinkling far away in the back of my mind. There was something familiar about that ewe the farmer had just handled. She was one of the few able to support herself on her chest and she was lying there， blankeyed， oblivious of everything； but…that drunken nodding of the head， that watery nasal discharge…I had seen it before.
“It’s 4）calcium deficiency，” I cried and began to gallop down the slope towards the car.
Rob trotted alongside me. “But what the’ell？ They get that after lambin’， don’t they？”
“Yes， usually，” I puffed. “But sudden exertion and stress can bring it on.” “Well ah never knew that，” panted Rob.“How does it happen？”
I saved my breath. I wasn’t going to start an exposition on the effects of sudden derangement of the 5）parathyroid. I injected the first ewe in the vein just to check my diagnosis—calcium works as quickly as that in sheep—and felt a quiet 6）elation as the unconscious animal began to blink and tremble， then tried to struggle on to its chest.
“We’ll inject the others under the skin，” I said. “It’ll save time.”
By the time I was half way up the slope the ones at the bottom were walking about and getting their heads into the food troughs and hay racks.
It was one of the most satisfying experiences of my working life. Not clever， but a magical 7）transfiguration； from despair to hope， from death to life within minutes.
I thought Rob had enough to worry about at the time， so I didn’t point out to him that other complications could be expected after the 8）Alsatian episode. I wasn’t surprised when I had a call to the Benson farm within days.
I met him again on the hillside with the same wind whipping over the straw bale pens. The lambs had been arriving in a torrent and the noise was louder than ever. He led me to my patient.
“There’s one with a bellyful of dead lambs， I reckon，” he said， pointing to a ewe with her head drooping， ribs heaving. She stood quite motionless and made no attempt to move away when I went up to her； this one was really sick and as the stink of 9）decomposition came up to me I knew the farmer’s diagnosis was right.
“Well I suppose it had to happen to one at least after that chasing round，” I said. “Let’s see what we can do， anyway.”
This kind of lambing is without charm but it has to be done to save the ewe. When I had finished， the ewe’s head was almost touching the ground， she was panting rapidly and grating her teeth.
“Is there owt more you can do？”
“Oh， I’ll put some 10）pessaries in her and give her an injection， but what she needs most is a lamb to look after. You know as well as I do that ewes in this condition usually give up if they’ve nothing to occupy them. You haven’t a spare lamb to put on her， have you？”
“Not right now， I haven’t. And it’s now she needs it. Tomorrow ’ll be too late.”
Just at that moment a familiar figure wandered into view. It was Herbert， the unwanted lamb， easily recognisable as he prowled from sheep to sheep in search of nourishment. “Hey， do you think she’d take that little chap？” I asked the farmer.
He looked doubtful. “Well I don’t know—he’s a bit old. Nearly a fortnight and they like ’em newly born.”
“But it’s worth a try， isn’t it？ Why not try the old trick on her？”
Rob grinned. “O.K.， well do that. There’s nowt to lose. Anyway the little youth isn’t much bigger than a new-born ’un. He hasn’t grown as fast as his mates.” He took out his penknife and quickly skinned one of the dead lambs， then he tied the skin over Herbert’s back and round his jutting ribs.
When he had finished he set Herbert on the grass and the lamb， resolute little character that he was， bored straight in under the sick ewe and began to suck.
“She’s lettin’ him have a drop， any road，”Rob laughed.
I began to gather up my gear. “I hope he makes it，” I said. “Those two need each other.”As I left the pen Herbert， in his new jacket， was still working away.
I had one more visit to Rob Benson’s place， to a ewe with a 11）prolapsed uterus after lambing. It was so beautifully easy. Afterwards the ewe trotted away 12）unperturbed with her family to join the rapidly growing flock whose din was all around us.
“Look！” Rob cried. “There’s that awd ewe with Herbert. Over there on t’right—in the middle of that bunch.”
They were near the top of the field， and as I wanted to have a close look at them we maneuvered them into a corner. The ewe， fiercely possessive， stamped her foot at us as we approached， and Herbert， who had discarded his woolly jacket， held close to the flank of his new mother. He was， I noticed， faintly obese in appearance.
“You couldn’t call him a runt now， Rob，” I said.
The farmer laughed. “Nay， t’awd lass has a bag like a cow and Herbert’s gettin’ the lot. By gaw， he’s in clover is that little youth and I reckon he saved the ewe’s life—she’d have 13）pegged out all right， but she never looked back once he came along.”
I looked away， over the noisy pens， over the hundreds of sheep moving across the fields. I turned to the farmer.“I’m afraid you’ve seen a lot of me lately， Rob. I hope this is the last visit.”
“Aye well it could be. We’re getting well through now …but it’s a hell of a time， lambin’， isn’t it？”
“It is that. Well I must be off—I’ll leave you to it.” I turned and made my way down the hillside， my arms raw and chafing in my sleeves， my cheeks whipped by the eternal wind gusting over the grass. At the gate I stopped and gazed back at the wide landscape， ribbed and streaked by the last of the winter’s snow， and at the dark grey banks of cloud riding across on the wind followed by lakes of brightest blue； and in seconds the fields and walls and woods burst into vivid life and I had to close my eyes against the sun’s glare. As I stood there the distant uproar came faintly down to me， the 14）tumultuous harmony from deepest bass to highest treble； demanding， anxious， angry， loving.
《万物有灵且美》一书中作者以轻松幽默的笔触，记录乡间行医的点点滴滴，满溢着兽医生活的笑与泪、朴实的人情、土地的智慧以及生命的奇迹。
I heard from Rob Benson again a few days later. It was a Sunday afternoon and his voice was strained， almost panic stricken.
“Jim， I’ve had a dog in among me in-lamb ewes. It was chasing the sheep all over the field. There’s a hell of a mess—I tell you I’m frightened to look.”
“I’m on my way.” I dropped the receiver and hurried out to the car.
The in-lamb ewes were in a field. This was worse than I had feared. The long slope of turf was dotted with 1）prostrate sheep—there must have been about fifty of them， motionless woolly mounds scattered 2）at intervals on the green.
Rob was standing just inside the gate. He hardly looked at me， just gestured with his head.
“Tell me what you think. I daren’t go in there.”
I left him and began to walk among the stricken creatures， rolling them over， lifting their legs， parting the fleece of their necks to examine them. Some were completely unconscious， others 3）comatose； none of them could stand up. But as I worked my way up the field I felt a growing bewilderment. Finally I called back to the farmer.
“Rob， come over here. There’s something very strange.”
“Look，” I said as the farmer approached hesitantly. “There’s not a drop of blood nor a wound anywhere and yet all the sheep are flat out. I can’t understand it.”
Rob bent over and gently raised a lolling head. “Aye， you’re right. What the hell’s done it， then？”
At that moment I couldn’t answer him， but a little bell was tinkling far away in the back of my mind. There was something familiar about that ewe the farmer had just handled. She was one of the few able to support herself on her chest and she was lying there， blankeyed， oblivious of everything； but…that drunken nodding of the head， that watery nasal discharge…I had seen it before.
“It’s 4）calcium deficiency，” I cried and began to gallop down the slope towards the car.
Rob trotted alongside me. “But what the’ell？ They get that after lambin’， don’t they？”
“Yes， usually，” I puffed. “But sudden exertion and stress can bring it on.” “Well ah never knew that，” panted Rob.“How does it happen？”
I saved my breath. I wasn’t going to start an exposition on the effects of sudden derangement of the 5）parathyroid. I injected the first ewe in the vein just to check my diagnosis—calcium works as quickly as that in sheep—and felt a quiet 6）elation as the unconscious animal began to blink and tremble， then tried to struggle on to its chest.
“We’ll inject the others under the skin，” I said. “It’ll save time.”
By the time I was half way up the slope the ones at the bottom were walking about and getting their heads into the food troughs and hay racks.
It was one of the most satisfying experiences of my working life. Not clever， but a magical 7）transfiguration； from despair to hope， from death to life within minutes.
I thought Rob had enough to worry about at the time， so I didn’t point out to him that other complications could be expected after the 8）Alsatian episode. I wasn’t surprised when I had a call to the Benson farm within days.
I met him again on the hillside with the same wind whipping over the straw bale pens. The lambs had been arriving in a torrent and the noise was louder than ever. He led me to my patient.
“There’s one with a bellyful of dead lambs， I reckon，” he said， pointing to a ewe with her head drooping， ribs heaving. She stood quite motionless and made no attempt to move away when I went up to her； this one was really sick and as the stink of 9）decomposition came up to me I knew the farmer’s diagnosis was right.
“Well I suppose it had to happen to one at least after that chasing round，” I said. “Let’s see what we can do， anyway.”
This kind of lambing is without charm but it has to be done to save the ewe. When I had finished， the ewe’s head was almost touching the ground， she was panting rapidly and grating her teeth.
“Is there owt more you can do？”
“Oh， I’ll put some 10）pessaries in her and give her an injection， but what she needs most is a lamb to look after. You know as well as I do that ewes in this condition usually give up if they’ve nothing to occupy them. You haven’t a spare lamb to put on her， have you？”
“Not right now， I haven’t. And it’s now she needs it. Tomorrow ’ll be too late.”
Just at that moment a familiar figure wandered into view. It was Herbert， the unwanted lamb， easily recognisable as he prowled from sheep to sheep in search of nourishment. “Hey， do you think she’d take that little chap？” I asked the farmer.
He looked doubtful. “Well I don’t know—he’s a bit old. Nearly a fortnight and they like ’em newly born.”
“But it’s worth a try， isn’t it？ Why not try the old trick on her？”
Rob grinned. “O.K.， well do that. There’s nowt to lose. Anyway the little youth isn’t much bigger than a new-born ’un. He hasn’t grown as fast as his mates.” He took out his penknife and quickly skinned one of the dead lambs， then he tied the skin over Herbert’s back and round his jutting ribs.
When he had finished he set Herbert on the grass and the lamb， resolute little character that he was， bored straight in under the sick ewe and began to suck.
“She’s lettin’ him have a drop， any road，”Rob laughed.
I began to gather up my gear. “I hope he makes it，” I said. “Those two need each other.”As I left the pen Herbert， in his new jacket， was still working away.
I had one more visit to Rob Benson’s place， to a ewe with a 11）prolapsed uterus after lambing. It was so beautifully easy. Afterwards the ewe trotted away 12）unperturbed with her family to join the rapidly growing flock whose din was all around us.
“Look！” Rob cried. “There’s that awd ewe with Herbert. Over there on t’right—in the middle of that bunch.”
They were near the top of the field， and as I wanted to have a close look at them we maneuvered them into a corner. The ewe， fiercely possessive， stamped her foot at us as we approached， and Herbert， who had discarded his woolly jacket， held close to the flank of his new mother. He was， I noticed， faintly obese in appearance.
“You couldn’t call him a runt now， Rob，” I said.
The farmer laughed. “Nay， t’awd lass has a bag like a cow and Herbert’s gettin’ the lot. By gaw， he’s in clover is that little youth and I reckon he saved the ewe’s life—she’d have 13）pegged out all right， but she never looked back once he came along.”
I looked away， over the noisy pens， over the hundreds of sheep moving across the fields. I turned to the farmer.“I’m afraid you’ve seen a lot of me lately， Rob. I hope this is the last visit.”
“Aye well it could be. We’re getting well through now …but it’s a hell of a time， lambin’， isn’t it？”
“It is that. Well I must be off—I’ll leave you to it.” I turned and made my way down the hillside， my arms raw and chafing in my sleeves， my cheeks whipped by the eternal wind gusting over the grass. At the gate I stopped and gazed back at the wide landscape， ribbed and streaked by the last of the winter’s snow， and at the dark grey banks of cloud riding across on the wind followed by lakes of brightest blue； and in seconds the fields and walls and woods burst into vivid life and I had to close my eyes against the sun’s glare. As I stood there the distant uproar came faintly down to me， the 14）tumultuous harmony from deepest bass to highest treble； demanding， anxious， angry， loving.