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As winter drew on, Mollie became more and more troublesome. She was late for work every morning and excused herself by saying that she had overslept, and she complained of mysterious pains, although her appetite was excellent. On every kind of pretext she would run away from work and go to the drinking pool, where she would stand foolishly gazing at her own reflection in the water (5.1).
You know what they say: you can lead a bourgeoisie mare to water, but you can't make her stop staring at her reflection to drink.
Instead– she did not know why– they had come to a time when no one dared speak his mind, when fierce, growling dogs roamed everywhere, and when you had to watch your comrades torn to pieces after confessing to shocking crimes. There was no thought of rebellion or disobedience in her mind. She knew that, even as things were, they were far better off than they had been in the days of Jones, and that before all else it was needful to prevent the return of the human beings. Whatever happened she would remain faithful, work hard, carry out the orders that were given to her, and accept the leadership of Napoleon. (7.30)
We feel bad calling Clover foolish, because she's not empty-headed and vain like Mollie—but she really is just as dumb. If it weren't for her stubborn, foolish loyalty, would Napoleon have been able to get away with all his blood-thirsty rebellion? (In other words: do the rejects actually enable the mean girls?)
Napoleon was now never spoken of simply as "Napoleon." He was always referred to in formal style as "our Leader, Comrade Napoleon," and this pigs liked to invent for him such titles as Father of All Animals, Terror of Mankind, Protector of the Sheep-fold, Ducklings' Friend, and the like. In his speeches, Squealer would talk with the tears rolling down his cheeks of Napoleon's wisdom the goodness of his heart, and the deep love he bore to all animals everywhere, even and especially the unhappy animals who still lived in ignorance and slavery on other farms. It had become usual to give Napoleon the credit for every successful achievement and every stroke of good fortune. You would often hear one hen remark to another, "Under the guidance of our Leader, Comrade Napoleon, I have laid five eggs in six days"; or two cows, enjoying a drink at the pool, would exclaim, "Thanks to the leadership of Comrade Napoleon, how excellent this water tastes!" (8.4)
"Thanks to Shmoop, how excellent Animal Farm is! Thanks to Shmoop, how well I have scored on my exam!" (Okay, maybe we'll keep credit for the last one.) But you get the point. The animals are so taken in by Napoleon's self-congratulations that they actually praise him for how the water tastes and how many eggs they lay. And, unless he's secretly become a rooster, we're pretty sure he has nothing to do with eggs.