Animal Barn Revisited

The elderly pig walked through the sagging doors of the old barn that had been his home as a youth - when he was first called Snezhok. No animals lived there now. The feed bins were empty. The sharded glass of broken liquor bottles laid buried, mixed with bones, in dust-clad, desiccated straw. Traces of animality remained in the hoof and trotter tracks pressed long ago into the hardened dirt of the barn’s floor. But the debates and philosophical discussions of how the community would grow and prosper existed only as memories.

The other animals had trusted the pigs. They were the smartest of the beasts and took the reins when the old farmer succumbed to the demons he fought at the bottom of his glass. Alcohol was his opponent and it vanquished him. His wound was self-inflicted but was just as fatal as if the blow had been struck by a Hessian.

The pig wandered deeper into the gloom and saw the wall that isolated the pigs’ platform. Through an empty door-frame - the door with its ornate lock lay cast to one side - he could see it still elevated above the rest of the barn’s floor. The pigs had eaten, slept, and conducted the farm’s business from that platform.

Although covered in debris, the oak planks, cut from the ancient trees growing on the farm, showed little sign of the rot that had caused the roof to collapse in places. The chairs were still there but shattered. As was the table where the pigs ate their special food - or ‘brain rations’ as they called it. They claimed it was necessary to maintain the mental vigor needed to meet the responsibilities of leadership.

The other animals accepted this situation. The sheep were satisfied. They lacked imagination and with enough to eat, contentedly gossiped amongst themselves. The horses like to work. The big stallion was proud of his muscular physique and enjoyed giving the mares a show. He would push and pull the largest pieces of wood and heaviest tools under the pigs’ direction. It tired him out and he slept well. Besides, he wasn’t that intelligent. As the cat scathingly remarked, “if his brain were wired to the lamp he wouldn’t have lit the bulb”.

Snezhok smiled remembering that cynical feline. In the early days, after the farmer died, the animals had agreed an equitable enterprise would give all animals a say. There were elections and it was common knowledge that the cat would vote for everyone. Not that it mattered. Because it was the pigs who volunteered to count the votes, and it was always the pigs that won.

It was soon agreed that there wasn’t much point in having elections as the result was always the same. So the pigs were permanently appointed to leadership and that worked well - at first. There was plenty of food. The animals’ barn was well maintained. Each species was assigned a task. The goats for instance, because no one climbed as well as they, were given the responsibility of keeping the roof ship-shape.

The chickens picked up trash and kept the floors clean. The ducks caught fish which the animals ate on Fridays. The geese were given guard duty and patrolled the farm’s perimeter with orders to call out if they spotted a threat. It was generally agreed that the pigs were wise in giving the geese this distant duty as they were constantly honking at each other and getting on everyone’s nerves.

The farmer had been in constant strife with his counterpart next door. But when he died, the pigs had met the neighbor and negotiated a stop to the conflict. They left each other alone. And it was rare to see any humans on the animal’s farm. If one visited, the pigs entertained with milk and eggs, which the cows and chickens were forced to give up, even though the pigs had promised they could keep all they had produced by their own labor.

One of the original seven commandments had forbidden the consumption of alcohol. But somehow there was always a bottle on the table when humans visited. And then there was always a bottle on the table regardless of whether there was company or not. And then it became the custom on Liberation Day (as the day the farmer died was called) for all the animals to have a tot. And soon the other original six commandments were similarly corrupted.

When the animals first took over the farm, the sheepdog had been expecting. Soon she gave birth to eight tiny blind pups. Within a month they were weaned. Freed from mother’s milk they gamboled around, chasing each other, breaking things. And then their mother was found dead, her head crushed under a block that had fallen off the ladder under which she slept.

The pigs took charge of the puppies. And soon had them trained and marching in lockstep. The adolescent dogs followed the pigs around when the pigs inspected the premises. And they would lie quietly at the bottom of the pigs’ elevated platform when the pigs lolled around drinking whisky and smoking the cigars no other animal had access to.

Soon, if any animal came close to the pigs without an appointment, the dogs would show the visitor their teeth while enquiring what their business was. The animals came to realize that harmony was preserved if they stayed distant from the pigs until invited to come chat.

As time passed the ‘brain rations’ the pigs enjoyed increased. But as there was no change in the overall amount of food produced by the farm, the other animals’ share got smaller. In the dead of winter, the pigs always had a roaring fire in the barn’s hearth, but everyone else huddled together as they had nothing to burn.

One day, after the animals had come back from a long day at work they found the pigs had erected walls around their platform and had installed a door with a heavy lock. Whatever they did was now hidden.

As Snezhok looked around he remembered the grumbling. It was very quiet and only expressed out of earshot as the animals worked in the fields. There they could chat sotto voce as the pigs rarely ventured out anymore. They claimed managing the farm was too strenuous to permit manual labor.

Snezhok had not been like the other pigs. He stayed an idealist. And he didn’t drink. He remembered clearly the hope of a bright future that had buoyed the animals in the early times after the original Liberation Day. He still believed in equal rights for all beasts. He was sickened by his species’ disregard of the principles on which they had founded the community. And he came to understand that if there was something to be done, he had to do it.

The pigs had gotten fat and indolent and relied entirely on the dogs to enforce their orders. As younger swine, they were ready to knock heads and break teeth if any human had dared encroach. But now that humans had been reduced to bogeymen designed only to keep the other species fearful, the pigs had given the dogs the duty of maintaining domestic tranquility.

But the pigs hadn’t reckoned on a sheepdog’s inherent decency. Some breeds could be brainwashed into performing barbaric acts. Or trained to rip other animals apart for a kind word and a pat on the head. But sheepdogs had, for generations, been trained to protect the weak and keep their charges safe. There was unhappiness in the canine ranks.

And then the day came when everything changed. Owl spoke. And Owl never spoke. And what she had to say shocked her audience. The boss pig had finally gone too far. By now he was fat and mottled from the huge quantities of whisky he drank. He was increasingly belligerent, even with his own kind.

He took particular pleasure in letting off steam, as he called it, by throwing things. And he liked to throw things at Owl. She remained serene and dodged his missiles until one day he hit her with a heavy stone. It had visibly stunned her and caused her to flap to the ridge beam of the barn where she perched for hours deep in thought.

And then, mind made up, she flew down to the dogs.

“It was the pigs that killed your mother,” she told them. “Boss Pig knew that as long as she was alive you would do as she said. And she was a kind-hearted dog that would never have allowed you to threaten, let alone hurt, another animal.”

“Dogs are almost as smart as pigs,” she added. “And Boss Pig knew that he had to have you on his side or he risked losing control. So one night he climbed the ladder. Your mother looked up and seeing it was him laid her head back down. It was then that he dropped the block on her. She died looking into her murderer’s eyes. And he laughed at the deed.”

The dogs stared at Owl, Snezhok knew he had to speak quickly or they would die. Frenzied and rash the dogs would stand no chance in a battle against the pigs. The dogs may have speed, teeth, and motivation on their side. But the pigs outweighed them by hundreds of pounds. They were tusked and padded. It would be a bloodbath.

“Stay. Listen to me.” He commanded the dogs. So used were they to taking orders from the pigs that they hesitated. Snezhok quickly added, “Attack now and you won’t avenge your mother. You’ll die pointlessly. Listen to me and you will get your revenge.” And they did.

Snezhok led the dogs out to the fields and called all the animals to him. He told them the hard truth of their existence. He made clear their exploitation. And how it would only get worse. He talked to the horses, who had the size to hurt the pigs. He talked to the goats, who could attack the pigs from above. He talked to the geese, whose noisy racquet could confuse the pigs. And as for the sheep, the chickens, and the ducks he just asked them to stay out of the barn so the field of battle would remain clear.

The animals agreed to Snezhok’s plan and he wasted no time. Snezhok couldn’t risk them losing their nerve or saying something in earshot of the pigs.

The attack came after lunch. The pigs were dozing in an alcoholic daze when the stallion kicked their door down. In charged the mares, hooves slashing. They ran back out followed by the surprised and now furious pigs. The geese surrounded the pigs with a honking whirlwind, further befuddling the beasts. And then the goats flung full bottles of liquor from the rafters cracking skulls and slicing flesh.

When the goats stopped. The horses charged again, snorting, rearing, and raining devastating blows on the pigs who slashed back weakly. Some damage was done but a second volley by the goats and another charge by the horses rendered the pigs too weak to defend themselves against a slavering assault by the now crazed dogs. The end came soon. The pigs lay dead. The Battle of the Barn was over.

Standing where it had been fought Snezhok remembered the triumph. The animals had abandoned the barn. They had built a new structure on the other side of the farm. And the old barn stood there as a testament to the corruption of power. It remained closed, unvisited. Time decayed the evidence of the struggle. And all that remained were the bones of the dead and broken glass. Behind Snezhok stood other elderly survivors of the struggle, along with their children and grandchildren. Including Snezhok’s own grandchild, Wilbur, who was staring at a spider in her web.