The pigs gave chase to the white creature streaking away from the farm, but it was too late. Hindered by the alcohol they had been drinking they couldn't catch up. The dogs valiantly gave chase, too. But, lazy from a lack of exercise, they fell in a heaving heap at the top of the driveway.
Squealer, fat and bloated, finally reached the pile of gasping dogs and, with every ounce of his last energy, he raised his whip to them.
"Run you lazy imbeciles, run!"
But the dogs were spent and couldn't move.
Napoleon, who had more whisky to drink than any other pig, had gotten himself lost in the chase and was entangled in a fence. One of the other pigs, who had followed him, managed to get him out.
"I command you to carry me," ordered Napoleon.
So the pig half carried, half dragged Napoleon up to Squealer.
"Napoleon," cried Squealer, "the dogs refuse to follow my orders and, for their treason, they must be shot!"
"Anyone who refuses our orders must be shot," slurred Napoleon in agreement.
On hearing this, the dogs struggled to their feet and attempted to run away.
"Shoot!" yelled Squealer and Napoleon in unison.
It was a bewildering sight. Dogs were limping and trying to run in the darkness and the drunk pigs were aiming their guns in all directions trying to shoot them.
Bullets were flying everywhere. One bullet even hit the barn wall in the distance, sending the animals into another frenzy, as they scrambled to hide.
When the bullets ran out one of the more sober pigs took stock of the damage. After half an hour he reported back to Napoleon, who was vomiting against a fence.
"I regret to inform you that one of our own has died in the crossfire," he said solemnly, "however, we have managed to slay three of the treacherous dogs."
"And where is Snowball?" demanded Squealer.
"We have searched … but it appears he has escaped again."
The dogs were gone. The pigs were spent. The animals in the barn were cowering with fear. Napoleon ordered four young porkers to patrol the property throughout the night.
While no-one was looking Napoleon had wiped blood from one of the dying dogs and smeared it onto his chest.
"I command you now to carry me back to the house," he told the pig who had carried him into the battle zone, "for I have been gravely injured."
The other pigs looked at this chest in shock and one rushed forward to stem the blood with his trotter.
"Great Leader, you cannot die!" he cried in despair.
"A great leader will take a bullet for what he believes in," said Napoleon. "Now just take me back."
Fortunately, many of the pigs were now sobering up and they scrambled to hoist Napoleon onto their shoulders. Squealer led the solemn march home, cracking his whip as he went, although for no particular purpose as there was no-one left around to hear it.
The morning after the battle the animals awoke to a grey, gloomy day, which matched their emotions perfectly.
One of the horses crept from the barn and reported back that the pigs were removing the bodies of three dogs from the driveway. Before they could discuss it further Napoleon appeared in the barn's doorway in a wheelchair, a bandage around his chest, flanked by the pigs and pushed in by a somewhat disheveled Squealer.
"Animals, it appears we have traitors in our midst! We have reason to believe that Snowball is back to reclaim the farm."
The animals looked at each other in disbelief. Before anyone could say anything, Clover stepped forward.
"You are correct Great Leader. We saw him through the window last night as we were settling for the night. He called out to talk to us and, when we told him to go away, he threw a rock at the window."
She pointed to the shards of glass still lying on the barn floor.
Squealer's eyes darted around all of the animals.
"I saw him, too," said Benjamin stepping forward to stand next to Clover.
"The brave dogs gave chase, but alas he has killed three of them, as well as one of our senior ranking officials." Napoleon straightened his shoulders. "Rest assured our dogs will find and torture Snowball for what he has done."
At mention of the dogs, Squealer gave Napoleon a sideways glance.
"The dogs are still out looking for Snowball on neighboring properties, but I have faith they will come back soon with him, dead or alive. Now go about your work – we will ensure your safety at all times."
Squealer dipped his head at this and said, "Thank you Great Leader."
"Yes, thank you Great Leader," echoed Clover as though it were a prayer.
With that the meeting was over and the pigs filed out of the barn.
Later that day, as the animals went about their work, a truck arrived in the driveway. A neighboring farmer had found the remaining dogs cowering on his property and because they had collars and tags he was able to promptly return them to the pigs.
As the animals watched from a distance they sensed the dogs were not returning triumphant. Indeed their tails were firmly between their legs as they were led back into the house. Within minutes of their return the animals could hear raised voices and whips cracking - and what sounded like howls of pain from the dogs.
That night one of the young male horses crept to the main house to peer in the windows. The pigs were reclining on couches reading the Telegraph, with the dogs nowhere to be seen. He crept around to the back window of the laundry and saw the dogs were huddled, bags over their heads, whimpering with fright. Their backs were devoid of fur, as though they had been whipped repeatedly.