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Jacka Hooey’s Team

Edward S. Sorenson

No sturdier cattle trod the road,
    Outside a teamster’s dream,
Nor any pulled a bigger load                               
    Than Jacka Hooey’s team;
‘Twas famed on tracks he called his own,
    From Bourke to Bulloo Downs,
And every bullock’s name was known
    In all the western towns.

The shikker team, ‘twas called. And short
    And sharp the reason showed
When yells at Brandy and at Port
    Were heard along the road.
He called his polers Rum and Gin,
    His leaders Tooth and Toohey;
No other team could raise a grin
    Like that of Jacka Hooey.

His eighteen beasts were brindle stags;
    Their pedigrees were queer,
But for a pull with bales and bags
    He’d bet on Bitter Beer,
He’d stake his boots on Whisky’s power,
    And on old Sherry, too,
Or Muscat, dubbed in shine and shower
    The pride of Tinneroo.

When summer blazed and roads were bad,
    Outbound for Warri Creek,
With grog on board for pubs, he had
    A birthday once a week.
And sometimes, while he roared and railed
    Through midday’s glint and gleam,
A string of pink goannas trailed
    Behind the shikker team.

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