Boxer's decline

After the Battle of the Windmill, Boxer limped into the yard, the pellets under his skin smarting painfully. For the first time it occurred to him that he was eleven years old and that his great muscles might not be what they once had. He saw ahead the heavy labour of rebuilding the windmill from the foundations, and in imagination he braced himself for the task, but the seed of his decline had been planted.

When his split hoof healed, Boxer worked harder than ever. He refused to let anyone see he was in pain, but his appearance told another story. His hide grew less shiny, his haunches shrank. The others said he would pick up when the spring grass came, but spring came and Boxer grew no fatter. On the slope to the quarry, when he braced his muscles against a boulder, it seemed that nothing kept him on his feet except the will to continue.

One summer evening, a rumour spread that Boxer had fallen. He had gone out alone to drag a load of stone. The animals found him lying between the shafts of the cart, his neck stretched out, unable even to raise his head. His eyes were glazed, his sides matted with sweat, and a thin stream of blood trickled from his mouth. Clover dropped to her knees at his side.

Boxer spoke weakly, saying it was his lung. He thought he had only a month to go before retirement and had been looking forward to it, hoping that Benjamin might retire with him. But the pigs had already made other arrangements. A large closed van arrived, and Benjamin, reading the lettering, discovered it was from the horse slaughterer and glue boiler. The animals tried to stop it, but the van sped away. Boxer's face appeared briefly at the window, and he tried to kick his way out, but his strength had left him. The drumming of his hoofs faded, and Boxer was never seen again.

Squealer later announced that Boxer had died in the hospital at Willingdon, having received every attention. He claimed that Boxer's last words were a tribute to Napoleon and the Rebellion. The animals were relieved, but the lie underlined the extent to which the pigs had abandoned the principles they once professed. Boxer's body had been exploited until it was no longer useful, then discarded.

Boxer's decline was not merely physical; it represented the betrayal of the revolution's promise. The horse who had given everything—his strength, his loyalty, his slogans of "I will work harder" and "Napoleon is always right"—was reduced to a commodity, sold for glue and bone-meal. His fate foreshadowed the final state of the farm, where the pigs would become indistinguishable from the humans they had overthrown.