Moreover, it was the biggest harvest that the farm had ever seen.
There was no wastage whatever; the hens and ducks with their sharp eyes had gathered up the very last stalk.
And not an animal on the farm had stolen so much as a mouthful.
All through that summer the work of the farm went like clockwork.
The animals were happy as they had never conceived it possible to be.
Every mouthful of food was an acute positive pleasure, now that it was truly their own food, produced by themselves and for themselves, not doled out to them by a grudging master.
With the worthless parasitical human beings gone, there was more for everyone to eat.
There was more leisure too, inexperienced though the animals were.
They met with many difficulties - for instance, later in the year, when they harvested the corn, they had to tread it out in the ancient style and blow away the chaff with their breath, since the farm possessed no threshing machine - but the pigs with their cleverness and Boxer with his tremendous muscles always pulled them through.
Boxer was the admiration of everybody.