Three months later on a Saturday night, while the pigs were distracted with card games and alcohol, a solitary figure entered the barn. The young animals were asleep and the older animals were getting ready to settle.

Clover did a double take in shock as she recognised the visitor.

"Mollie!" she cried. "Is that really you?"

Mollie dipped her head to Clover. "Hello Clover. I've missed you."

The animals crowded around Mollie, vying to get up close.

"You've put on weight," said one of the oldest goats, prodding Mollie's expanded stomach. "You look so different."

It was undeniable that Mollie did look different. Her mane was no longer silky, her coat was slightly matted and her teeth were browning with age.

Benjamin stood by watching the reunion unfold without saying a word. But he hadn't walked away either. Clover sensed he was curious.

"Did your owner kick you out?" she asked Mollie. "Is that why you're here – do you want to move back?"

Mollie looked at Clover. "That's the last thing I want … and I don't have an owner any more. I'm here to -"

"Wait!" interrupted one of the younger sheep. "Don't have an owner? What do you mean?"

Another sheep shushed her with a hard push. "Don't ask stupid questions," she said. "Let's find out what she wants."

"It's not a stupid question," Mollie looked at the first sheep with a smile. "I don't have an owner any more, I have a friend. We give and take from each other with equal gratitude."

The second sheep clucked her lips and muttered that it sounded no different than an owner to her.

"I'll explain further what I mean," said Mollie. "But first, do you mind if I sit and tell you about what happened to me?"

The animals shuffled back and made way for her to sit with them. It took a while to settle as Mollie's legs were quite obviously swollen and stiff. Benjamin hesitated to join the group, struck by the memory of a night long ago.

"I hope you're not here to talk about a dream," he muttered.

"Major had a dream, but I'm here to tell you about reality. If you don't want to hear it, you don't have to," Mollie replied, nodding her head toward the door.

All of the animals hesitated a moment and looked toward the door. But curiosity won out and they all stayed, including Benjamin.

"Where did you go after you left here?" prompted Clover. "Did you move to an enemy farm?"

"Yes, I did. Call me a coward, but I didn't believe in the dream that Major, Snowball or Napoleon created for us. They didn't deserve my loyalty or the assumption that I would work and fight for them."

"Too interested in sugar lumps and ribbons for your mane is more like it," mumbled one of the young horses that had heard stories of Mollie in her younger days.

Mollie overheard him and looked him in the eye.

"I don't wear ribbons much anymore. But, if I feel like it, sometimes I will. And no-one can stop me."

"But why did you think they would treat you any better?" Clover asked.

"At the start they gave me sugar lumps and ribbons - but they didn't treat me any better. I was whipped and forced to work hard for years. They said I was in a union to protect the animals ... but they took everything for themselves. When my arthritis started, they decided they had no further use for me and that's when they sent me to the knackers."

The animal's hearts skipped a beat.

"To Alfred Simmonds?" gasped Clover. "That's where Boxer was sent!"

A single tear ran down Mollie's nose. "I know. That's why I'm here. I have a message from Boxer for you all."

This sent the animals into a frenzy and the barn erupted. Even the youngest of the animals had heard stories of Boxer. Questions flew in from every direction.

"What did he say?" echoed around and around the barn until Benjamin roared "ENOUGH!"

The noise trickled to a silence.

"I'll get to his message," Mollie said. "But first let me tell you what happened before that."

Captivated, the animals strained to hear every word.

"I was due to be shot the day after I got to the knackers," Mollie continued, "and they put me into a holding paddock out the back until it was time."

Unable to contain themselves, immediately questions flew in again from two of the horses.

"Did you try to talk to them and tell them not to shoot you?" asked one.

"Did you try to escape?" breathed another.

"Only the pigs have learnt to talk with a human voice, so far. The rest of us can understand the humans, but not respond to them, yet." Mollie looked at the second horse. "And yes, I did try to escape, but the fences were too high and there was no way out."

Mollie continued.

"I spent the rest of that night reflecting on my life. I thought about my time here and how silly and vain I was. I thought about how lazy I was and how I expected everyone else to shoulder the responsibilities. I thought about you Clover. I thought about Boxer and how hard he worked. I thought about everyone here, including you Benjamin. I wished I had the chance to say sorry for everything I'd done, and for running away. By the sunrise I was ready to die – I didn't feel I deserved to live by that point.

As the men were loading their guns, a car pulled into the yard. A woman came in and said she needed to speak urgently with the owner. They met in his office and I heard raised voices. As Simmonds came out of the office he was putting a bundle of money into his top pocket and smiling. The woman came over to me with a halter and lead rope and … she told me the story of why she was there. Then she asked if I would go home with her."

"Two legs bad, two legs bad," murmured one of the oldest sheep.

"Humans had brought me nothing but misery – but, when I looked into her eyes, I knew her story was true. Something clicked in my head at that moment and I decided I wanted to go with her."

Mollie twitched as she stirred from the memory back into the present and she looked around the animals.

"Two legs bad, two legs bad," the sheep got louder.

"Major was wrong. Not all humans are our enemy and not all animals are our friends," Mollie said.

"So you went with her? But what about Boxer, where was he?" asked Clover.

"That came later," said Mollie and she continued. "Theresa took me to her farm down the road. The first thing she did was massage my legs and give me pain relief. She nursed me the best she could. But, more than anything … she gave me time to heal. My head and my heart were so damaged that it was difficult to trust again. I wouldn't take her sugar lumps. I wouldn't take her hay or oats either; I just wanted to be left alone. Her young daughter tried to get close to me too but I charged her away every time she came near.

After a while Theresa made me an offer. She asked if I would be interested in eating the grass on her land. She told me she didn't have the money for a slasher, and it would help them if someone would eat it. She also asked if her daughter could pick up my dung to sell for fertiliser. So that's what I did. I ate alone in the paddock and, in return, they left me be.

Her daughter, Amy, made a sign and sold my dung on the side of the road for one pound a bag. And every day Amy would add the money to a tin she kept in the barn."

"They probably used the money to buy alcohol," said one of the goats, "like the pigs did when they sold Boxer."

"No," said Mollie. "They used the money to rescue Boxer."

Everyone sat in stunned silence.

"They … helped Boxer?" asked Clover.

Mollie closed her eyes as she recounted the story of that fateful day.

"It was a day like any other for me to begin with, but at three o'clock everything changed. The daughter, Amy, ran into the farm calling out to her parents. As Theresa and her husband John ran out to see what had happened, I moved in closer to listen. Much as I didn't want to, I had become fond of the young girl and wished her no harm.

Amy's parents put her in their car and drove off with her. An hour later John came back and grabbed the tin of money from the barn and hitched up the horse trailer. Another hour passed and then they all came back again with the car and horse float. In the back of the float was a horse."

"Boxer!" cried Clover.

"Yes, it was Boxer," Mollie said softly.

"But where is he now? Why isn't he here – what did they do to him?"

"Boxer only lived another three months after that," Mollie said. Through her tears she couldn't help but smile at the memory of that time.

Clover struggled to comprehend Mollie's words and reeled backwards at the news.

"That's awful!" cried Clover. "And why are you smiling about it?"

"Because they were the best three months of his life. He got the chance to retire and follow his own dreams," said Mollie as she looked around the barn. "Not all of us will get that chance."

Clover burst into tears, unsure of her feelings. Happy that Boxer had lived through the pig's evil plans, sad he had died, angry he hadn't come back to her, relieved he had a chance to retire. Unable to cope with her emotions she kicked out at the barn wall. The force of the kick shattered a window, which promptly work the sleeping young animals. The barn filled with the noise of crying animals and, as the crescendo reached a deafening chorus, the animals dived to shush them.

But it was too late. The pigs and dogs heard the ruckus and rushed out with their whips and guns. As they ran out of the house they saw a flash of white disappearing out of the front gate of the farm.

Napoleon immediately guessed what had happened and called to the other pigs in alarm.

"Snowball is back!"