Trumby The Borroloola Brumby



RON KERR – reminiscences of a working drover



Trumby The Borroloola Brumby


He was a little under size. pig-eared and coloured black,
Short barrel and always fat.
He shuffled along at a easy going gait,
Could cover the ground at a surprising rate.


Had a shaggy mane and a rat like tail.
But no better horse ever looked over a rail,
Over fallen logs, and ant beds. scrub, he took them in his stride,
He was always on the bit. a pleasure to ride.


I had run him out of a mob of Borroloola brumbies,
That’s why I called him Trumby.
This little horse that came from brumby stock,
Was like a cat on his feet over rocks.


Was a horse that always hung close to the camp.
Would be the first to be found of the plant
With no problem to catch in the darkest of nights,
Never bucked or ever took fright.


Was smart on his feet, tune in his tracks,
You could jump off and leave him,
He’d be there when you got back.
I broke this brumby when he was just a colt,


This little horse that could run until he dropped.
He was good in the timber, you had no fear of that,
Could get up with the scrubbers, in nothing flat,
On the shoulder blade he’d force the leaders around


The pace he went up the wing, made the scrubbers give him ground.
I rode him all his life, without the use of spurs
At drafting he was a pearl,
This free and easy going horse, could do the job without using force.


This little brumby that worked with a heart of gold,
Went in every muster, marked never to be sold,
When he became too old. was retired from working in the camp.
He became a mascot and never left the plant.


For two more seasons, he travelled with his mates,
Never caused any trouble, was never left behind a gate
Just went along in the plant, when we mustered all about,
On the best of feed and never hobbled out.


When his end came, he was dying on his feet,
I took him to his favourite spot, down by the creek.
With grass, green up to his knee’s.1 loaded the gun with one round.
Never felt so sad, the day I put him down.