The long awaited battle we had predicted came my great fellows. Yesterday there was a brilliant effort shown by the animal kind who stood, fought, and died so valiantly for our farm. The pride in my animals was swelling my heart so big I was sure it would burst. Wounds? Yes many wounded. Even I managed to escape with some battle scars. The grazing of bullets across my back is the proof. Fatalities? Yes, but only one. May her soul rest in peace. A dear old sheep was taken yesterday. We grieve her so. The battle came upon us when Pilkington’s men, Fredrick’s men, and our own Jones and his men came marching up to the farm sticks in hand. The poor soul that called himself the master of the farm wanted to take it back. What a joke. He thinks that with a gun he can scare us. We, The Beasts of England? No, we fought. The birds and geese were first. I shouted commands every which way. Then we went in again with the sheep. Of course the simply batted us off with their stick but it was enough to get them woozy. It was then that the attack I had been working on for days was going to commence. At the sound of my squeal horses and cows ambushed the lot from their hidden spot in the cowshed. Oh how they ran back!! The animals recollected and poor old Boxer thought he had taken a stable boy’s life. Turned out he was just stunned. We rejoiced. I was even rewarded “Animal Hero, First Class” along with Boxer. Our dead sheep was given the same award except “Second Class”. What a wonderful day it was yesterday. Today shall be even greater. The Battle of Cowshed is never to be forgotten. Fitting name correct?