Snowballs’ Revenge

Somewhere, not far from here, they had finally won. Manor Farm was run by the
animals, who had rid themselves of their human oppressors. Now fairness would
prevail. A blissful society of mutual respect and cooperation. Snowball, the
brilliant pig with his plan for equality, would guide the farm to a new and
bright future. However, darkness loomed, as Napoleon, with his seething brain,
schemed to overthrow the beloved new leader.

He poisoned the air with stories of Snowball’s betrayal of
the animals to the humans. The animals’ minds were racing with doubt and fear.
The farm pulsed with poisonous rumors, and then Napoleon set the dogs loose on
Snowball who fled, vowing in his heart to return.

Dejected but with resolve, Snowball found refuge in a
garbage dump. The months passed, and although he had scraps to eat, gloom and
boredom intensified. Upon rummaging through the hills of refuse he found, to
his delight, books to pass the time. Superbly informative, Snowball read them
voraciously, learning the ways of men and of the innovations in farming methods.
He discovered that to prevail, sometimes one must adopt the ways of the enemy.

On a cold evening, Snowball returned. Covertly meeting with
his friends, he learned that the grain was not being ground and was instead rotting.
The glory of the farm, the windmill, didn’t work. With its straight sails, unsecured
base, and too heavy fan, it was not only useless, but also dangerous. The news
about Napoleon’s shoddy construction travelled. No wonder the grain was going
to waste! The atmosphere beat with rage and the animals refused to work.

Napoleon’s double chin wobbled with fury as he was
confronted by his disillusioned and hungry workers. With mounting paranoia, he imputed
the failures on his followers, growing their resentment.

It was now time to smite the final blow and on the night of a
full moon, Snowball launched his plan.

Since Napoleon had not switched the tractors over to the
new, more efficient diesel, there were barrels of gasoline stored on the floor
of the mill. Snowball upended them, bathing it in an oily and glistening sea. He
struck a match and dove headlong out the door.

It was spectacular. As the flames roared up the sails of the
mill, the animals woke. Napoleon, stumbling out of the manor house, screamed
with horror at the sight. Through the swirling smoke, Snowball, whom he had
thought dead, emerged, pitchfork clenched in his hooves.

“You!” Napolean spat. “What are you doing
here?”

‘Napoleon,’ he roared, ‘Your reign is over, and so too, is
your abuse of the farm.’ At that, the mill collapsed in a shower of sparks, and
all that could be heard was the hissing of the burnt timbers as they sunk to
the bottom of the pond.

Napoleon’s reputation was decimated. With blazing eyes, the
animals drove him from the farm, and jubilantly welcomed Snowball back.

Manor Farm proved a wonderful success. Managed with equality
and fairness, it prospered. The new windmill hummed efficiently, and the
animals lived contently, with the ones they loved.

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