Now Billy the BreakerHad a way with horses,Kind hands, gentle touchPatient but firm voices.His yard rails were a place to leanAnd yarn about chestnuts, duns and greys,The bone of the leg, the carriage of headOf fillys and colts and bays.And always a few young blokesWould be draped about the fence,Dead keen students of breakingWho listened little, and learned even less.But they knew how the wear horseman’s gearBelts, pouches, plaited this ‘n that,Boots and white moleskinsAnd mostly a brand new hat.And it could be noted that Billy’s hatWas a little battered and far from new,A sweatband stain, a bushman’s bashAnd a few holes where the dog had a chew.There was one who never left Billy’s sideA true apprentice of the trade,A young bloke who listened wide eyed,From dawn to dusk in that dusty yard.Observation was this student’s keyAnd one thing he knew before the rest,Was that the man in battered hatKnew his horses by far the best.So he figured to be a horsemanOf skill and some renown,You’d have to have your hatAll knocked about and leaky in the crown.So from that moment of sparkling wisdomThe dog knew his trade and job,Was to catch and break those stiff new hatsOf the yard rail expert mob.It took some skill and a well placed nipTo catch the bronco hat.First a bite on the heel and footof the bloke as he leant to pat.With a yelp and curse of “Bloody Hell!”The strapling snapped up straight,and off his head with a wild duck flightFlew his untrained bucking hat.It was man and hat and dog in flightIn the dusty yard and shute,And the dog was far to quickTo be caught by the flying boot.He ducked and rolled as he eyed the hatIn its mad and spinning flight.And with a fearless leap he sprangTo bring down its furry might.With his paw upon the trembling brimHe tore at the dome and crownFor if he let this young hat winHis chances of breaking it were gone.He felt his teeth sink deep and hardInto something soft and frail,Just as an angry bootFair caught him under the tail.He was torn from his taskWith a reeling spin,With bulging eyes and throbbing tongueWhere his own teeth had sunken in.He landed in a dusty heapand heard an angry yell,From that he knew his task was lostAnd it was time to take a spell.Slinking under the peppercorn treeHe reflected on his haste,And the quiet manner of his master’s waysAnd he dumbly knew his mistake.While all the while the top rail mobLaughed at their mate’s misfortune,But not a one caught the driftOf the hat breaker’s excursion.