A long time has passed since then and many new animals had arrived and many animals had died. Only a few remained that remembered the times when Mr. Jones had still owned the farm. Even Boxer was forgotten by all except for a select few. Napoleon had matured into a large boar and his trusty companion Squealer had grown so fat that he could barely see out of his eyes. The farm was more organized now, it had expanded and even the windmill had finally been finished. The farm had become richer, but it was only the pigs and the dogs that prospered. The others still got little to nothing and did even more work than before. Everything was different. The Seven Commandments had been erased, and in their place read “ALL ANIMALS ARE EQUAL, BUT SOME ANIMALS ARE MORE EQUAL THAN OTHERS”. The farm’s name had also been changed back to Manor Farm. One night, many of us slowly went to peer into the house to see what the ruckus was, and were met with an unsettling sight. Napoleon sat with the humans and ate and laughed with them. He seemed so comfortable. I realized then that not only had Napoleon taken complete control over the farm and the animals, he had become the same as our first owner, Mr. Jones. Maybe it was finally time for me to leave this farm behind and got to the one place I had been longing to go for so long now, Sugarcandy Mountain.
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For a few days Clover and Benjamin tended to Boxer as he lay in his stall unable to do any work. They kept him company, bandaged his wounds, and made sure he was comfortable until the arrangements to take him to the hospital were finalized. They could only be with him in the evenings after work, but they did their best. Boxer said that when he was fully recovered, he would retire and educate himself. The van to take him to the hospital in Willingdon came around midday while the others were still at work. Everyone came to wave him off anyway, but then chaos erupted through the crowds. Benjamin shouted at the animals, he called them fools but I was unable to understand why. What had gotten into him? Then he read out the words on the van, and I was in shock. They were sending him to the slaughterhouse! He was going to die, and there was nothing any of us could do. The animals shouted to Boxer and chased after the van. It was then that Boxer kicked at the van in a desperate attempt to free himself, but it was no use. He was carried away to the knackers. After a couple days Squealer spun a tale that the van had been previously owned by the knacker’s and Boxer had in fact been sent to the hospital. But, Boxer had in fact died, he told them. The hospital had given him intensive care but it wasn’t enough. At least he died happy is what Squealer said. Most of the animals believed his lies, but I knew the truth. Boxer was killed at the slaughterhouse. At least he finally made it to Sugarcandy Mountain and could rest after all of his hard work. Rest in peace Boxer.
I felt confident in my mission. I had successfully given the animals a glimmer of hope to hang onto. The pigs had done everything to counteract my stories, but of course the animals had already heard what I had to say and they believed me. There was not much of a change on the farm after I told them of the mountain, but I let myself believe that the animals still thought about it from time to time. It was months after my return now, almost a year even. Things had been rough for the animals. They had endless amounts of work; building the windmill, tending to crops, and now there was even a schoolhouse being built for the young piglets. The animals were worn out, all but one. Boxer never stopped working. He woke earlier than the rest and slept later. He ate less and did extra work. I felt that he was trying to hold the whole farm’s weight upon his broad shoulders. He never complained, he just worked harder. However, he couldn’t go on forever. He was an old horse and his body was worn from the hours of labor. Then, one day he cracked. He was working late in the evening carrying rocks up to the windmill site when he collapsed. I had flown straight to him and shouted for the nearby pigeons to get help. Soon, all the animals came rushing towards him. He lay on his side and crimson blood dripped down his neck in a thin stream. Clover was at his side in an instant. Many of the animals rushed back to tell Squealer of Boxer’s injury and came back saying that Comrade Napoleon was arranging for him to be sent to a nearby hospital. I stepped back and breathed a sigh of relief, he would be okay as long as he got to a hospital soon.
I came to the conclusion that the animals needed to get some life back into them. They needed someone for once to be a friend to them, instead of order them around. I took this responsibility onto myself. I flew around the field and would stop occasionally on a tree stump to remind the animals of Sugarcandy Mountain. I told them that once they had finally made it there, they would be able to lounge in their homes and eat to their hearts content. They had no reason to work, for there was none to be done. In fact, I had once seen a little glimpse of what lay beyond the clouds on one of my higher flights! There were fields of clover that went on forever and even lumps of sugar that grew on the bushes. The animals (well most of them) believed my tales of Sugarcandy Mountain; after all of their hard work they clung to the idea of this incredible place with all they had in them. Shouldn’t they be rewarded for all the intense labor they had been put through? Of course they should! The pigs were taking all the credit for the work the others had done and it wasn’t right. The pigs would not have been able to make any of this possible without the animals that were so loyal to them. They were tyrants, simply put, and the animals on the farm were their oblivious victims. It had been days and still I continued to watch the animals from afar, not gathering up enough courage to approach them. Most had already learned of my return from town, but they treated me just the same as they acted the same way towards me that they always had; pretended I wasn’t there. Another thing that I found as I made my way around the farm was that there were quite a few familiar faces missing. Of course I had already heard of Snowball’s infamous departure years ago but I found that there were many other animals that had disappeared. Not only were there various sheep, hen and geese that seemed to have disappeared, even a couple of pigs were gone! With further investigation I found that the animals missing had confessed countless acts of treason towards the pigs. Some had only committed petty acts such as stealing a few extra ears of corn whereas others had done the unimaginable and were spies for Snowball. Napoleon's newfound fleet of trained dogs had slaughtered the perpetrators in seconds and had done so for anyone who admitted to a crime. The dogs were vicious and followed Napoleon around whenever he went out, which I noticed wasn’t very often. They guarded the house as well. So, I thought, not only did the animals appear miserable and overworked, they were also being slaughter for trivial matters. What happened to Animal Farm, the place where the animals planned to rule themselves and make everything fair?
The morning of my first official day back at the farm I decided that I was going to start my rounds again. I longed for the familiarity of the harvest’s smell, wind whipping at my wings and hearing the quiet chatter of the animals hard at work. Also, I was curious as to how the animals had adapted to their new way of life. Around and around I went, all across the teeming acres of the farm, but every animal I saw had the same sullen look on their face. They tended to crops, chopped wood, and moved stones into place on the windmill. All they did was work and work, many of them looked tired and hungry and their movements were halfhearted. Others, such as Boxer pushed through the weakness and picked up slack from the others. He had always been such an innocent and noble horse. But altogether, the animals looked absolutely lifeless. This surprised me for I had thought that the animals were flourishing under their new management, and if not extremely successful then at least content with their lives. The one thing that really stood out to me as I watched them was not that they were exhausted or being worked too hard; no, I realized that all the animals left here had lost hope. Before the rebellion, and even after, they had clung to it knowing that as long as they believed that things would get better, they would. But now even that had been snatched away from them, and I couldn’t help but notice that the only animals thriving here were the pigs.
I arrived back at the farm late in the depths of the night the day after Mr. and Mrs. Jones left me at the inn. Luckily it was still spring so the temperature had no effect on my flight. Although I was tired, I flew straight to where the pigs were now residing, the old house. I saw that the pigs had taken up the extra rooms and Napoleon was in Mr. Jones’ room. Odd, why were all the other animals in the barn whereas the pigs and dogs were here? I got to Napoleon's room and sat down to talk to him. He said that I was welcome to stay here on the farm and get my rations of food. He also supplied me with a gill of beer each day. I always had the utmost respect for Napoleon, for he had been a noble animal since his early years. Not only that, but he almost immediately said that I could stay after I told him of my rejection from the farmers. Of course, he knew I would come back eventually and had kindly left my perch in the room so I would have someplace to sleep. The other pigs were gracious in welcoming me back as well but had little time to spare in between all the work that needed to be done. I found that I collapsed in a heap of exhaustion when I was finally alone.
In the months and years that followed I was incredibly wary of the farmers. I kept my distance and just watched them. They were still hung up on their defeat at the farm and were unable to put it behind them. Finally, Mr. Jones came to the conclusion that the only way to move on from Animal Farm was to move away from Animal Farm. Mrs. Jones agreed almost instantly, for she had always been a very materialistic woman who wanted the best of everything. Anyone could tell that the shame of losing their farm and living in a dingy inn had taken its toll on her. The Jones decided to move further south in hopes to find work on plantations or even temporary jobs in factories to make ends meet. They were packed in a matter of just two days and ready to go. But it was with a heavy heart that I realized as they started up the car they had forgotten something. Not something, someone, they left me behind without even a second glance. The people who I had worked so hard for had simply abandoned me without batting a single one of their nasty human eyelashes. They didn’t need me anymore; it was as simple as that. Well I didn’t need them either; we would see how well they would fare without me keeping watch. I was now seeing what all the animals back home had months ago, the humans weren’t our friends. They had left me here! It was finally time to make the long journey back to where I was welcome, Animal Farm.
The next morning when I awoke I had a crick in the back of my neck. I groaned in pain and massaged my neck with the back of my wing; it was times like this that I desperately missed my comfortable perch back home in the Jones’ house. I decided to get some fresh air and flew out the door. I slowly flew by the pub on my way to the town square to pick up some of the gossip that the angry drunks would let out. As I peeked into the dirty bar I saw that a crowd had gathered around a man who was speaking animatedly. It was then with shock that I realized that it was none other than Mr. Jones! I strained my ears to listen and was yet again met with an astounding fact; he was telling lies of the battle at the farm that had occurred just a few months ago. He shouted tales of how the animals had become deranged, psychotic creatures that were bloodthirsty into the crowd. He said that their starvation had led them to the brink of insanity. He spun countless lies after those but I sat on the windowsill dumbstruck. That wasn’t what happened at all! The animals’ strategy was foolproof; they were organized and prepared but in no way were they lethal or crazed. If anything it was the farmers that had been cruel since they had in fact attacked first. But why would Mr. Jones lie? Was it just that losing had put a dent in his pride or was his true side was starting to come out because of troubling times that were upon him?
When we arrived back to town Mr. Jones and his haggard men headed straight for the old inn. They collapsed onto their respective beds still in their mangled clothes with leaves and twigs sticking out all around. I was exhausted as well after the tiring flight so I settled down in my perch by the window and shut my eyes. That night my dream was vivid, every image sharp and I could feel emotions running through it as it progressed. I dreamed that I had gone all the way to Sugarcandy Mountain. I had my own room with every single one of my favorite things; from a large window to peer out of to the little crackers back on the farm that made my mouth water. I flew outside, looked around, and stopped in my tracks. I saw everyone from back home, as long as faces that I hadn’t seen in years. My friends! Some of my very closest friends that I hadn’t seen in years were here. They had either been sold to other farms or had died of old age. It was incredibly refreshing to see all of them again, especially the old ravens that used to live on Manor Farm with me. As I continued on my way, everything seemed so wonderful; the animals were at ease with one another and there was an abundant amount of food, and the tone of the entire place was calming. As I continued onward the colors started to blend together into nothingness until I eventually woke with a sigh.
I had trailed the men until they were just at the border of the farm and then I flew higher and higher into the sky. I could finally see my old home for the first time in months! It looked very much the same from afar, but I was itching to get a closer look as I settled on a branch. As soon as they entered, the farmers were overwhelmed with fleets of the animals. They had already been lined up and ready for an attack! They must have caught sight of the men approaching from the distance. Snowball must really have thought of every scenario, for he stood back and shouted commands to the animals after every move the poor farmers made. Despite this, it seemed that the farmers were faring well. The animals began to retreat at Snowball’s command, and the farmers let out a hoot of triumph. They foolishly followed after the animals, and that was when the real trouble began. The men were stampeded upon by some of the strongest animals that lived on the farm. They were slaughtered, and now it was their turn to flee. I quickly leaped off the branch I was watching the action on and flapped after the men. But, as I flew after them I wondered if I was cheering for the men who had always been reasonably good to me or the animals that were brave enough to defy them. To my surprise, I found that I had subconsciously been leaning towards the latter anyway.
Days passed and the men had put together a plan of attack. They had their hearts set upon getting their homes back from the animals that had taken it over. The farmers were ready to attack. They were almost fully confident that they would be able to go back and secure their old positions on the farm. As they slowly but dutifully made their way through town and continued onto the path that led to Animal Farm they talked and laughed and cheered. Some had brought along their silver flasks and were taking gulps of alcohol before passing the contents around to others. They even gathered men from neighboring farms as allies. Men from farms such as Foxwood and Pinchfield had also joined the fleet of men marching forward. As they strutted, arrogance radiated off of them and their smiles gave the impression that they had already won the battle. Almost every man carried a stick as his weapon, but even from high above their heads I could make out the gleam of Mr. Jones’ gun. As I looked up I could almost make out the silhouette of the farm, and I swore that I saw other birds flying quickly towards the farm. We were almost there. This was it! My chance had finally come to go back home and check up on the animals I had left behind!
“Come on Napoleon! Let’s walk over towards the fields.” I called to the little piglet from a few steps ahead. He let out a little snort and barricaded closer to me until he finally sat down with a thump on the freshly mown grass. The piglet had always been near and dear to my heart, ever since his mother had died leaving him an orphan. It wasn’t uncommon for something like this to happen, but I had been close friends with his mother. She had been gentle and kind to me, one of the few who ever had been. I had promised her that I would take care of her son and make sure that he would learn all that he needed to one day grow up and be a strong, respected boar. I had been trying to teach him all the principles that I had been taught as a young bird, and he was an exceptional student. Even at this young age he was able to comprehend and apply my teaching to his life. Though he was still a piglet, anyone would be able to tell that little Napoleon had an extraordinary strong ambition to learn as much as he could.
Months passed before I finally gave in to the curiosity that was burning away inside of me. We were still here and the inn, where the days were uneventful and the nights were horribly dreary. I still picked up whispers on the street of the farm that had done what none of the others had before. The people were appalled, but I had no idea what could possibly be going on back home. I would fly through the streets under the cover of the dark shadows that loomed through the town, past homes and pubs hoping to catch anything that was a fact about the animals. But it seemed as though nobody had a clue and everything I heard was fiction; the animals becoming cannibals, they were dying, or even that they were going on perfectly with their lives. I had no way to know how the animals were faring, and it was frustrating. I had nothing to do to pass the long hours of the day anymore. There were no morning rounds for me to attend to, Mrs. Jones had secluded herself into our small room at the inn, and Mr. Jones was still stuck in his own little inebriated world where he could just drink away his problems. All that there was left for me to do was reminisce old memories from long ago where the animals now were just little babies and I was still the most treasured animal there was.
Mrs. Jones met up with Mr. Jones and his four burly men when we finally made it to the nearest town. We checked into a small, cozy inn in the corner of town. The service was acceptable and the price was cheap. For now, I guess they were calling it home. The men talked over the sticky situation that they had gotten into, and had finally come to the conclusion that the animals wouldn’t last very long. Especially with the harvest coming soon. I personally, believed that the men were greatly underestimating the animals; I had seen their plans and listened to their talks about the future. It sounded like they knew what they were doing pretty well. Rumors began to circle throughout the city about the farmer whose land had been taken away from him, by his own animals. And now, the animals were running the farm, harvest included, all by themselves. To the humans, even the thought of this was preposterous! I had to admit, it was incredible. The pigs had thought of every aspect of the rebellion. People were saying that they wouldn’t last at all and then Mr. Jones could take his farm back. The curiosity was eating me alive. I sat idle all day by the windowsill, but all I really wanted to do was go back and see the how the animals were doing back at Manor Farm. What had they changed? Which of the animals were in charge, which had to work the hardest? And most importantly, were they thriving or crumbling to bits?
Looking around from my post above the barn, I came to the realization that the farm was slowly but surely declining. Nowadays, Mr. Jones and his men were incredibly lazy. The farmer had resorted to drinking his days away, whereas his men just discontinues their work altogether. On the other hand, even though the animals were still underfed and mistreated, they were thriving under their new leadership. The pigs (mainly Napoleon and Snowball) had taken over the rebellion, with little Squealer at their heels. Their wish was his command. The animals attended frequent meetings where the pigs had elaborated upon Old Major’s ideas, and given it a name. This new system was aptly named Animalism. Of course, the rebellion came soon. It was late Saturday night, and crashes and banging could be heard echoing through the night from outside in the store-shed. I was awake in an instant with a screech and I peeked out the window. From what I could see from the house the animals had broken into the shed for food, and now were being harshly reprimanded, by the farmers’ whips. But in a turn of events, the farmers were the ones being chased, butted, and kicked this way and that. Like the cowards these men were, they took off towards the main road. Mrs. Jones was up in an instant. I watched from my perch as she few around the room, grabbed a few essentials and scurried out the back door of the house. I obediently flew off after her with one last look over my shoulder at the farm. Mr. Jones should’ve heeded my warnings from the beginning.
Old Major died today. He had a short burial near the flower orchard. His passing cast a glum mood throughout the farm for days, enveloping the animals in grief. I missed the old boar, but I hadn't known him very personally aside from the fact that we had both been on the farm for a long time. Many of the animals now had new attitudes, and this change was especially evident in the pigs on the farm. Weeks passed, and then months and the animals slowly became more and more irritable. They never said anything, but they didn’t need to. I could tell just from their actions. They were tired of this life and were ready to take back control of their own futures. My constant attempts to warn Mr. Jones of the behaviors of the animals were ignored, for the farmer had drunk himself into a stupor. I decided to tell the animals of a place I had believed in for some time now, Sugarcandy Mountain. It was there that the animals went after death. It was an exquisite place far above even the highest clouds; nobody worked had to work and clover, sugar, and linseed cake was available year round for its inhabitants. It was magical! However, if I ever managed to convince anyone that this place was in fact real, the pigs would counteract my tales with ones of their own. They had everyone wrapped around their fingers.
The farm animals were wary of me, I knew that but I went around anyway, digging for information on what had happened. By nightfall, I had been able to piece together the big picture of the story. Two nights ago Old Major (one of the most respected animals on the farm) had called a meeting and had requested the presence of every animal on the farm. He told everyone, from the horses to the hens, about a dream that he had. But first, he had helped all of them realize that the way they were living did not count as living at all! They worked in horrid conditions for tremendous amounts of time with little or no food. Old Major told them that their lives were so bad because of the humans. He said that every animal should be comrades and that man was the enemy. Man was the cause of all their troubles. Near the end of the meeting Old Major taught the farm animals a song called Beasts of England from his dream. I realized that Old Major wasn't wrong, but was he right? He had given the animals hope but what would come of it? Maybe Mr. Jones didn’t need to know about this little midnight meeting for now.
I woke earlier the next day than I had in a while. The sun was beating unmercifully down across the acres of farmland that stretched across the extent of Mr. Jones’ land. After a quick breakfast of a few crackers fed to me by Mrs. Jones I set to work, deciding it was better to finish up my morning rounds before noon came around and the heat got worse. On the farm, Mr. Jones had entrusted an undeniably important job to me, to watch over the other animals. I soared above their heads and watched their every move from above over the black feathers on my wings. If I saw even the slightest bit of suspicious activity between the animals, I had full permission to investigate. That’s exactly what happened this morning. By the time I started, the whole farm was awake and ready for the day’s work. I started at my usual spot, the hen house and continued on from there. But something was wrong with the animals. No, nothing was wrong, it was different. There was a buzz of electricity throughout the fields, a certain type of excitement that was almost palpable in their newfound motivation. But what was it? I could see it from the way the horses stood straighter and the pigs walked prouder. I was going to find out what in the world was causing every animal (except Benjamin the placid mule of course) on the farm to actually look like they had a purpose for once.
The brittle of the winds swept through even the thickness of my blackened feathers as I made the daily rounds of the farm lands watching out for slackening animals. They were miserably laboring along, continuing the day’s tedious work. The animals worked for days on end with small rations, but I noticed that the pigs and the horses had it the worst. Just watching them, my body ached and my feathers stood on end. Over on the far end of the fields, I spotted Boxer the horse. He was one of the most hard working and dedicated animals on the farm. No matter the condition of the weather or the harvest he worked through it. The pigs were also an essential part of the farm community. They use their wit and knowledge to get through life and encourage the other animals. After I was finished with my rounds around the entirety of the farm, I reported back to Mrs. Jones for a treat. As I flew back to the farmhouse, I saw out of the corner of my eye that the car was missing from the front driveway. I realized nobody was home. That’s when I decided to fly back to the barn and rest for a little bit. I found a nook in a secluded corner of the barn and shut my eyes.
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