But still, neither pigs nor dogs produced any food by their own labour;
and there were very many of them, and their appetites were always good.
As for the others, their life, so far as they knew, was as it had always been.
They were generally hungry, they slept on straw, they drank from the pool, they laboured in the fields;
in winter they were troubled by the cold, and in summer by the flies.
Sometimes the older ones among them racked their dim memories and tried to determine
whether in the early days of the Rebellion, when Jones's expulsion was still recent, things had been better or worse than now.
They could not remember. There was nothing with which they could compare their present lives:
they had nothing to go upon except Squealer's lists of figures, which invariably demonstrated that everything was getting better and better.
The animals found the problem insoluble; in any case, they had little time for speculating on such things now.
Only old Benjamin professed to remember every detail of his long life
and to know that things never had been, nor ever could be much better or much worse
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