Benjamin's letter
My dear friend Boxer,
I have no idea where you are or what you're thinking , but I wish that place is somewhere like Sugar Candy Mountain, for you deserve it my friend. Despite your cluelessness and oblivious mind, you were my only friend in the thirty human years of my life so far. Never have I ever had a friend like you. Our relationship was not showy or too intimate. Heck, the closest thing we did together was munch on the scrumptious hedges quietly. But I believe that our friendship was a friendship, nonetheless. And that might not look much to you for you have many admirers, but that was my only friendship. Remember when we exchanged locks of our mane? I still have yours and have buried it near the skull of Old Major. I guess the rest of your body has disintegrated into glue or in the stomachs of some hounds. Once I finish this letter I shall burn it at your grave in fear that the pigs will find out and hope you will somehow get my message from above. There are little animals left that know even a tidbit of the rebellion. Old Major, Mr. Jones, and you are just forgotten legends of the past. It is only I and Clover that carry on the memoirs of the past. The pigs have replaced you with two new horses, but I doubt one hundred more would not be worth yourself, old friend. Napoleon only buys animals that accepts their future in any way or are very easy to manipulate. If only you can see the horrors of the farm nowadays, old buddy. It seems that the pigs are now to lazy to even go to the fields and work us to the bone now. They have employed human workers to whip our bony bodies to work. I should've warned you more; I told you the day you lose your usefulness the pigs would sell you to the knackers. But you just had to quote one of your most treasured maxims, "Napoleon is always right." Oh well, being mad at the dead won't raise them. I guess I am back to my old self. I do not have a care for anything since you left this world. I wish you are up there enjoying the linseed cake and clover to your fullest.
Your friend,
Benjamin
I have no idea where you are or what you're thinking , but I wish that place is somewhere like Sugar Candy Mountain, for you deserve it my friend. Despite your cluelessness and oblivious mind, you were my only friend in the thirty human years of my life so far. Never have I ever had a friend like you. Our relationship was not showy or too intimate. Heck, the closest thing we did together was munch on the scrumptious hedges quietly. But I believe that our friendship was a friendship, nonetheless. And that might not look much to you for you have many admirers, but that was my only friendship. Remember when we exchanged locks of our mane? I still have yours and have buried it near the skull of Old Major. I guess the rest of your body has disintegrated into glue or in the stomachs of some hounds. Once I finish this letter I shall burn it at your grave in fear that the pigs will find out and hope you will somehow get my message from above. There are little animals left that know even a tidbit of the rebellion. Old Major, Mr. Jones, and you are just forgotten legends of the past. It is only I and Clover that carry on the memoirs of the past. The pigs have replaced you with two new horses, but I doubt one hundred more would not be worth yourself, old friend. Napoleon only buys animals that accepts their future in any way or are very easy to manipulate. If only you can see the horrors of the farm nowadays, old buddy. It seems that the pigs are now to lazy to even go to the fields and work us to the bone now. They have employed human workers to whip our bony bodies to work. I should've warned you more; I told you the day you lose your usefulness the pigs would sell you to the knackers. But you just had to quote one of your most treasured maxims, "Napoleon is always right." Oh well, being mad at the dead won't raise them. I guess I am back to my old self. I do not have a care for anything since you left this world. I wish you are up there enjoying the linseed cake and clover to your fullest.
Your friend,
Benjamin