What can explain the ongoing appeal--and quantity--of these writing British veterinarians? Herriot has been best-selling for months, and countless others keep turning out perfectly readable accounts of their work. Taylor, who joined the confederacy with last year's Zoo Vet, again provides an agreeably instructive report of his wildlife. Traveling with syringe, water-purifying tablets, and the poems of John Betjeman, he swings from one adventure to another, retrieving a razor blade from a monkey's mouth, propping up two stuporous onagers in a slimy canal, and giving an elephant, recovering from a throat obstruction, a drink of hay tea. The recovery rate of these exotic beasts is lower than among farm animals or house pets, but the tranquilizer dart gun has significantly improved Taylor's opportunities for examination and treatment--although one angry chimp returned the dart before succumbing to its effects. Taylor alludes to his own postgraduate education, crediting several zoo and marineland old-timers for much of it, and includes a few back pocket tips for diverting sick animals: after-dinner mints and small cheroots are surprisingly effective. From the diabetic camel to the stripper who feared she'd given her python dancing partner a case of VD, snappy and colorful.