Dear Diary,
I stood still as Napoleon tied pieces of heavy rope around my belly, pulling them so tight that I could barely let out a breath. The familiar chant of “four legs good, two legs bad” were said repetitively as they work.
I may not be the smartest, but I am certainly the strongest. I know that, everyone knows that. So it’s only right that I help a lot right? To respond to every command of heavy lifting that they instructed for me to do. It’s my responsibility.
However, at times, it gets hard. Sometimes it gets so hard that all I want to do is curl up into a little ball and bury my face in the dirt. The continuing expectation that the animals all hold for me would raise everyday and sometimes it’s difficult to keep up.
Many times a day I would be the one to drag enormous boulders up the steepest of hills, every muscle of my body, aching and trembling. Sometimes it just gets too hard. In spite of this, I know that it is not only my job, but also my duty, this is how I need to serve this animal far.
So there I was, sweat spilling down my face, my chest heaving unsteadily, my hooves slipping and sliding against the dampness of the dirt, the ropes against me digging in deeply to my skin. Napoleon commanding me to heave faster, to pull harder. Even though all I wanted to do was fall to the dirt and close my eyes, I still muttered under my breath, “Napoleon is always right.”