My Horse: Right or Wrong?

A pair of disgruntled horses - Sid and Fred - are dragging a plow steered by a perspiring farmer up and down a field at the annual Halton Plowing Match. Our photographer was listening to a snatch of their conversation . . .

Sid: "Bugger this for a lark, Fred, I thought hard labour was abolished 50 years ago. Where's the tractor? Where's our bloody union rep now that we need him?"

Fred: "Union rep? You gotta be joking, Sid? He's over there with all the fillies, drinking fresh water and trying to get his oats. Bloody clown; we can slog up and down this bloody field until we drop dead for all he's concerned."

Sid: "Well, let's have a wildcat strike. Down tools, Brother. Let's free ourselves from the yoke of slavery. We're not beasts of burden, we're free men; sorry, horses . . ."

Fred: "Free, my ass. We're slaves. Any sign of dissent and they'll ship us straight to the Glue . . ."

Sid: "No, please don't use that word; I'll be as quiet as a lamb . . . ah, lambs to the slaughter, that's us . . . "

Fred: "Have you read Animal Farm?"

Sid: "Yes, load of middle class rubbish . . .
Beasts of England, beasts of Ireland,
Beasts of every land and clime,
Hearken to my joyful tiding
Of the golden future time.

"All, well and good, but when's the bloody golden future coming for us bloody Beasts of Canada? Well be spinning around in the glue factory before that day comes . . ."

Fred: Right, Sid . . .

Grumbling sounds persist, as they plod down the field, interrupted only by loud farting sounds . . .