He was wild when I met him. Free. Happy as the wind on a gentle spring day. Stunning looks, an athletic physique and thankfully, blessed with intelligence. Quite a package. My mother was completely taken with him. And that's no small thing. Dad too. But that was later.

I met him in Alice Springs near the end of a seven year drought. Why the end? Coz it rained. Not just a little shower either. It rained and rained and when it wasn't doing that, it simply poured. So much in fact, that the annual boat races in the Todd River were cancelled. Rendered unworkable, because of water, which in normal circumstances works well for boats. Things are often quite different in Alice . Nothing but dust, sweat and flies for years and suddenly we are cut off from the world on all sides by a desert pregnant with water. The sweat persisted as did the flies. Eventually the Army got planes in.

To our delight, the first Hercules relief plane to arrive was full to the brim. With beer. We saw ‘em fly in. Rode out there on our bikes. He sat on the back of my Norton and thought it cool. As did I. There were others too. Big bikes mostly. Must have terrified him at times. Poor bastard. Anyone who can endure a barking Kawasaki 1000, its lean angle fully engaged, peg scraping at 140 kilometres per hour, has got my vote. No box, hand rail or safety net for him. At most he would glance at me in the mirror, look down at the rushing road and back to me as if to say “You're a bit bloody close, mate.” And I was. Apart from that he never complained. A good mate.

We rode trail bikes too. In fact, I taught him to ride on a trailie. We'd go blatting along somewhere out of Alice Springs till we found a small mountain upon which to sit and reflect a while. An enormous sense of nothingness pervades out there. The silence roars and the sheer overwhelming expanse of it shrinks you a little closer to the microbe that you probably are. Once, whilst dangling feet over a rocky precipice, the up drafted breeze licking at our hair, we saw a pigeon, soaring, far below. It grew into a hawk right before our eyes and some moments later became a fully grown Wedge Tail eagle. Surfing the thermals. Floating on updrafts till he was right beside us. Effortless. Even George was impressed. Mr Majestic, for he indeed was, gave us a cursory glance, then, with no more than a feathered twitch, was gone. Away, across infinity. The enormity of both the moment and the expanse surrounding us was not lost on me. We shared many such wondrous gifts. A good mate.

He came home in a Taxi once. All on his own. Quite happy. We were out by the pool and saw the whole thing. The driver opened the door for him and even waved good bye. A mystery still and he wouldn't tell. Up till then he'd been missing for three or four days, but that was kind of normal. He always turned up. Sometimes where you least expected it. He appeared live on the radio one day. Interviewed by the great Warren Payne, Darwin 's then talkback radio legend. Live to air. Set the whole thing up himself apparently. We were across town and by chance heard the broadcast. Twas said that he responded to Warren with a subtle intelligence commensurate with the questions asked of him. A remarkable character. A good mate.

He'd been on the concert stage with big rock bands and out bush with desert Aborigines. Hunted alley cats in the slums of Melbourne and kangaroos out of Alice Springs . It was all the same to him. He'd go in hard. Scared of nothing. Which helps, when you grow up an orphan in a remote place like ‘The Alice'. Fighting was a sport. He took on about seven or eight one day. Beat the lot of ‘em. He was so fast. Astounding. Strong too. A good balance to him, all round. A fine head and fortunately, a heart of gold. A good mate. I miss him. Everyone did.

Caught him having it off with one of my old girlfriends once. In my bed! I'd appeared home unexpectedly and heard noises coming from my room. He materializes looking well pleased with himself and comes over to greet me. I could smell her, strong upon him. For, she was indeed, a girl of fragrance. Another noise from the bedroom precedes her guilt which, along with her, oozes from the room. She offers no explanation but appears extremely awkward. He is close to me and I can tell. I just know! My head swivels between the two in jaw dropping disbelief. “You've been having it off with my…..? er…, Hmmm.” I am rendered speechless and stutter my bewildered way to the door. He smiles cheekily and I manage to congratulate him briefly with a “Good on ya, mate” and a quick slap on the shoulder as I stumble out and away without whatever it was I had gone there for in the first place. After that, he never mentioned it and she became understandably weird and departed a few weeks later.

George. A good mate.and legend throughout parts of urban Australia . A bush myth elsewhere. Though he never ventured overseas I heard tales of him in London and Rome . He was known to both heads of state and homeless vagabonds. A noble champion, philanderer and charming rogue.

He once turned up at my mum's house, Sunday morning, with a whole leg of lamb. On the plate! Some poor woman had presumably put it outside to thaw and he's home with it, in a flash, making a big presentation to my mortified mother, now passing furtive glances up and down the street while fielding thoughts of criminal prosecution, did anyone see and what will the neighbours think? She loved him, nonetheless. Claimed that he was telepathic and understood her regardless of language or inflection. Big wrap from her. She was a tough woman and had seen plenty in her day. But none like him. He was special. One of a kind. A good mate. I mourn my inattention.

Sometimes you ignore the ones you love. Get so caught up in your own psycho dramas and questing that you fail to really see, often at the expense of the ones who mean most. Such was the case with he and I. I left him to stay with our old friend Mal and went ‘south' in search of fame and fortune. Oh, I had plenty of excuses as to why he should remain behind. Can't remember any of them now though. What does that tell you? He died there eventually. Peacefully, in his sleep. Not quite alone, but without his best mate. Sometimes I kick myself for such things. He deserved better.

A forgiving soul. He forgave me my moods, idiosyncratic behaviour, fast riding and dubious cooking. He was always faithful, yet always his own entity.

Free to come and go. An adventurer. A character.

Good dog. Great mate.

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