Sundays together in the small paddock beyond the orchard, grazing side by side and never speaking. The two horses had just lain down when a brood of ducklings, which had lost their mother, filed into the barn, cheeping feebly and wandering from side to side to find someplace where they would not be trodden on. Clover made a sort of wall round them with her great foreleg, and the ducklings nestled down inside it and promptly fell asleep. At the last moment First Annual WKRP Turkey Drop Shirt, the foolish, pretty white mare who drew Mr. Jones’s trap, came mincing daintily in, chewing at a lump of sugar.
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She took a place near the front and began flirting her white mane, hoping to draw attention to the red ribbons it was plaited with. Last of all came the cat, who looked round, as usual, for the warmest place, and finally squeezed herself in between Boxer and Clover; there she purred contentedly throughout Major’s speech without listening to a word of what he was saying. All the animals were now present except Moses, the tame raven, who slept on a perch behind the First Annual WKRP Turkey Drop Shirt door. When Major saw that they had all made themselves comfortable and were waiting attentively, he cleared his throat and began: “Comrades, you have heard already about the strange dream that I had last night. But I will come to the dream later.