BOXER'S split hoof was a long time in healing. They had started the rebuilding of the windmill the
day after the victory celebrations were ended Boxer refused to take even a day off work, and made it
a point of honour not to let it be seen that he was in pain. In the evenings he would admit privately to
Clover that the hoof troubled him a great deal. Clover treated the hoof with poultices of herbs which
she prepared by chewing them, and both she and Benjamin urged Boxer to work less hard. "A horse's
lungs do not last for ever," she said to him. But Boxer would not listen. He had, he said, only one real
ambition left−to see the windmill well under way before he reached the age for retirement.
At the beginning, when the laws of Animal Farm were first formulated, the retiring age had been
fixed for horses and pigs at twelve, for cows at fourteen, for dogs at nine, for sheep at seven, and for
Animal Farm
Animal Farm 30
hens and geese at five. Liberal old−age pensions had been agreed upon. As yet no animal had
actually retired on pension, but of late the subject had been discussed more and more. Now that the
small field beyond the orchard had been set aside for barley, it was rumoured that a corner of the
large pasture was to be fenced off and turned into a grazing−ground for superannuated animals. For a
horse, it was said, the pension would be five pounds of corn a day and, in winter, fifteen pounds of
hay, with a carrot or possibly an apple on public holidays. Boxer's twelfth birthday was due in the
late summer of the following year.
Meanwhile life was hard. The winter was as cold as the last one had been, and food was even shorter.
Once again all rations were reduced, except those of the pigs and the dogs. A too rigid equality in
rations, Squealer explained, would have been contrary to the principles of Animalism. In any case he
had no difficulty in proving to the other animals that they were not in reality short of food, whatever
the appearances might be. For the time being, certainly, it had been found necessary to make a
readjustment of rations (Squealer always spoke of it as a "readjustment," never as a "reduction"), but
in comparison with the days of Jones, the improvement was enormous. Reading out the figures in a
shrill, rapid voice, he proved to them in detail that they had more oats, more hay, more turnips than
they had had in Jones's day, that they worked shorter hours, that their drinking water was of better
quality, that they lived longer, that a larger proportion of their young ones survived infancy, and that
they had more straw in their stalls and suffered less from fleas. The animals believed every word of
it. Truth to tell, Jones and all he stood for had almost faded out of their memories. They knew that
life nowadays was harsh and bare, that they were often hungry and often cold, and that they were
usually working when they were not asleep. But doubtless it had been worse in the old days. They
