Putting On Harness

Standing tall and proud as Punch, Albert, my Suffolk, softens to receive his collar. I lift the hames across his back, throw over pad and traces, belts and chains, while he stands like a scholar. He has a generosity of spirit that shames me, his human confederate. I buckle up the straps and clip the breast and belly rigs, as in my way inveterate. Albert accepts my preparations to enslave him in horse drawn servitude without complaint. Standing ready, he paws the ground in keen anticipation of the work ahead, like some equine saint. The bridle's next with cold hard bit, yet with lowered head and open mouth he bends in submission. He's ready now to do my bidding, to oblige me with his power, nobly to go about his tasks, without thought of opposition. Our partnership builds daily, like the shy appreciation of coy lovers, growing but barely. His very compliance demands of me an unconscious duty to use him fairly. To trust his judgement, as he does mine, to work as Primus Inter Pares, not overlord. I am certain always was this the bond, even when man sat horse in armour, and with a heavy sword. My sword, put up these four years now, is into a ploughshare turned. My harness is put away, a peaceful, simple, and tranquil life re-learned.