Richard Inwards, a noted meteorologist of the last century, had a somewhat jaundiced view of human nature: "In general the senses of men are coarse and dull, and void of energy.
"Those also who are distracted by a thousand other objects scarcely feel the impression of the air, and if they speak of it to fill a vacuum in their miserable and frivolous conversation, they do so without thinking of its causes or effects.
"But animals which retain their natural instincts, which have their organs better constituted and their senses in a more perfect state, unchanged by vicious and depraved habits, perceive sooner, and are more susceptible to, the impressions produced in them by variations in the atmosphere, and sooner exhibit signs of them. "
Our ancestors were keen observers of these signs. They were of the view that those who had, as the poet William Henry Davies put it, time to stand beneath the boughs And stare as long at sheep and cows could gain valuable insights into future weather.
When cows grazed on the hilltops, for example, they knew that fine weather was almost certainly on the way. It would rain before nightfall, however, if they lay down early in the morning. The forecast was even worse if the cows were observed to lick their forefeet, or to rub themselves vigorously against any nearby object.
The Greek poet Aratus, an acknowledged expert on bovine meteorology in the second century BC, has described the signs in detail: Herdsmen, while even yet the skies are fair, Warned by their cattle for the storm prepare; When with rough tongue they lick the polished hoof, And bellowing loud they seek the sheltering roof.
Another expert in cowcasting records his recipe in the form of a rhetorical question: A learned case I now propound; Pray give an answer as profound; 'Tis why a cow, say, half an hour Before there comes a nasty shower, doth Clap her tail against a hedge?
Sheep are also talented weather forecasters, although the subtle signs are different. Like cows, if the sheep feed uphill and scatter themselves over a wide area, they are predicting fine weather. With an approaching storm, on the other hand, the animals at first become frisky, leap about and butt each other, but as the bad weather becomes imminent, they very sensibly huddle together in the shelter of trees and shrubs.
Sheep are also said to eat greedily before a storm, but sparingly in winter before a thaw.
Today's meteorologists, it must be said, are somewhat dismissive of these zoological attempts at weather forecasting.