This is the true story of a unique animal. Dog came into my life in the 1970s.

He wasn't much to look at - a street dog, black, lean, probably a cross between a Kelpie and a Doberman. Very smart, and if he decided he didn't like you, then you found out quickly.

A handbag dog he was not. Neither was he an extrovert, or a seeker of pats. He was a loner, but he chose me and my hubby to spend his life with. So that made the relationship special.

It was 1971 and I was in my first year at the UNSW, fresh out of high school. Naive and filled with excitement and optimism. The times worldwide were shifting and changing.

The Vietnam War was still on, and students like myself were voicing opinions and spasmodically demonstrating against just about everything. UNSW was an exciting place to be, and to my youthful self, every day presented something new and interesting - more often than not totally unrelated to the pursuit of academic excellence.

Including a scrawny black dog that I saw wandering around the campus regularly.

This dog appeared to have freedom to roam the uni grounds. There were security guards, colloquially known as Grey Men - due to the colour of their uniforms.

They were stationed everywhere on campus but collectively turned a blind eye to this animal, who was a regular, curled up outside lecture halls, waiting patiently for his owner.

Or following said hippy-looking owner around the campus. I was enthralled, then captivated. Nature took its course, and the dog owner became my boyfriend.

Meeting this dog up close for the very first time was something I'll never forget.

I attempted to get into my new boyfriend's car, where Dog was relaxing, languidly stretched out on the back seat.

I had no idea he was in the car.

Loyal companions - Boyfriend with Dog. Photo: Carol Goddard

Boyfriend knew what was about to happen, he'd seen it before and was chortling inwardly. It was a baptism of fire for our infant relationship.

Boyfriend knew Dog was harmless, and I was safe. I, however, did not.

I was greeted by the dog's red gummed, bared fangs at the car window, accompanied soon after by a bloodcurdling growl. Followed by a full-on, theatrical display of canine savagery for my benefit. How dare I try and enter that car!

Thankfully, it proved to be all show, because after my initial shock, and full-bellied laughter from Boyfriend, along with pats and an ear scratch for the perpetrator, all was well. I was accepted. I had permission to be the girlfriend, and share the car.

Dog had actually come into Boyfriend's life a few months before, by arriving at the front gate of the family home, then staying overnight. No such thing as microchips in those days, and the animal wasn't wearing a tag or collar.

Boyfriend saw he was a bit scrawny, gave him some food and water, and then went off to Uni for the day. Dog stayed, was still there that night, which was a problem as boyfriend already had a Labrador living in the backyard. The two dogs had eyed each other off at a gate down the side of the house, and took an instant, hostile and hair-raisingly noisy dislike to one another. It was an irreconcilable situation.

And so there was only one thing to do. Dog had to go.

Boyfriend, nagged by his now unhappy parents, drove Dog to another suburb, gave him a last feed, and regretfully drove off.

A day later, this intrepid animal was back at the front gate. Fate had intervened. It was obvious the hound, now named Dog, was in need of a family to love him. And he'd chosen Boyfriend. Dog had won.

Boyfriend kept him in the frontyard and Whiskers the fat Lab still resided in the backyard, and the parents conceded. Dog could stay. There was one condition though: he had to go with Boyfriend in the daylight hours. Which meant taking him to Uni.

And this is how we three became an item.

Dog lived with us for 10 years and we had many adventures together. He loved us unconditionally, and went to great lengths to protect us from the world. In his doggy mind everyone was a prospective enemy, and his shows of fake savagery were enigmatic.

Boyfriend became Hubby, and Dog slept in our garage of an evening, and in the car with Hubby during the day. Woe betide anyone walking past the garage or the car.

Dog was responsible for us getting our first house, because a neighbour in our apartment building complained of the savage dog being kept in the garage. The RSPCA paid us a courtesy visit, and discovered we were model dog lovers. But we had to get a backyard for Dog, and so we did.

I was still a student, and Dog went to work with Hubby, who in those days had a fruit juice delivery job.

On one memorable occasion, Hubby left his van with Dog inside, while in a queue at factory juice pick-up. One of the other drivers went to move the van, as Hubby was holding the line up. Dog did his thing. That poor driver went white as a sheet. It was the stuff of legend and laughter for many a long day.

And then there were the camping holidays.

Still owning our van, we would take Dog everywhere. Three incidents remain etched in my memory.

Potato Point camping area on the NSW South Coast was pretty isolated and rough in those days, with the only facility a drop toilet, and cold showers. We slept in the van, used a canvas lean-to for shade, and when we went off fishing or surfing, Gog would stay at the tent, chained by a long lead to a spare tyre.

Imagine our dismay when we turned to see him dragging the tyre behind him down the beach towards us. With a southerly change about to hit, we scurried back to the camp to discover he'd also chewed through three of the four ropes and the tent was flapping wildly by one flimsy rope in the increasing wind.

On that same trip, when we'd left him a little too long in the van, he'd chewed through a seatbelt. That'd teach us not to leave him.

A trip to Burrowa to visit country relatives, this time in the parents’ station wagon, saw Dog run off into the night when we let him out for a comfort stop. He was investigating the howling of possums. That one took a while to resolve. Hours in fact. But he finally returned, I'm sure much to the disappointment of the parents.

Visiting the Snow Country in winter was also challenging. Dog found himself enjoying this wet white stuff he'd never seen before. Returning soaked to the back of our vehicle which we were all sleeping in didn't endear him to us that night, and oh, the wet dog smell!

By far the best punishment Dog ever meted out to us as wayward dog owners was after we had taken him with us on a trip to Canberra, and I unwittingly chose the wrong road from Braidwood, miles of dirt, winding and bumping mercilessly in our little van.

By the time we got to Canberra we needed to eat, so we gave Dog a break in a carpark, then left him in the vehicle while we quickly found a pizza. On returning I opened the passenger door to an odour like no other. Poor Dog had been momentously, gloriously carsick. And rolled in it, all over the floor and front seat. Oh joy.

Fortunately, we had a bucket with us, found a tap, then started the very unpleasant, long, tiring clean-up.

Writing this story, the memories of this amazing animal, and how much he meant to us, has been joyous.

Our life together was immensely rewarding. Dog was the smartest, most affectionate, most interesting of all my life pets, a streetwise mutt who chose his own humans, and guarded us with his life.

In return he got our total love, care and companionship, and to this day, he is remembered by us with reverence, and also a lot of laughter.