Boots was just a pup when he first came to us - a lively young mongrel who'd been dumped outside the engineering plant where we worked and left to fend for himself. Luckily, the shop floor was a soft-hearted environment for a small puppy, and in no time at all Boots was being fed copious amounts of smoko snacks and lunch food, and chewing all the workers' footwear (hence the name).

The plant was large and spacious and Boots made the whole complex his home. He spent his days being petted by shopfloor personnel as well as by the office staff. He was grossly overfed but managed to control his weight by patrolling every square centimetre of the site. He knew every member of the staff - approximately 400 - who worked at the plant each day. Everyone, from first-year apprentices to the general manager, was filed away in Boots's memory; anybody not in this file was quickly rounded up and subjected to ferocious growling at close proximity until the stranger was OK'd by an employee. Boots then backed off.

As my office commanded a good view of the main gate and the visitors' parking area, many a time I would save some poor visitor from the wrath of Boots by introducing them to our sentinel. Once he had sniffed their boots he never forgot them and, if and when they returned, be it six months later or the next day, instead of being attacked they were welcomed with slobbering tongue and wagging tail.

Needless to say, Boots quickly became the best security guard one could imagine and was a source of delight to all and sundry as he carried out his sentry duties. Then one day, it all changed.

Boots had been with us for about three years when his zealous behaviour got him into deep, deep water. A Japanese company, a very good client of ours, had sent over half a dozen senior executives to visit the plant. They were given the grand tour by our general manager and me, and were suitably impressed by the set-up. However, as we swung around into the entry of the machine shop, I noticed the head of the delegation was missing. Perplexed, I retraced my steps and soon enough I found him. Unfortunately, though, he wasn't alone.

Our esteemed visitor was backed against the edge of the building, palms flattened on the wall, eyes filled with fear, and shaking uncontrollably - with Boots holding him prisoner. I quickly told Boots that everything was OK and he slunk away, leaving the bedraggled executive spitting chips about how he feared for his personal safety.

He stormed into the general manager's office, where the rest of his delegation were waiting, and angrily whisked them away - never to be seen again.

Naturally, our general manager was furious and demanded Boots be taken to the local vet to be put down. As one, the office staff emitted a dejected sigh. Then, unexpectedly, one of the secretaries, a quiet, soft-hearted young woman who was very friendly with Boots, loudly registered her disapproval. Completely out of character, she threatened the general manager with "the RSPCA" and "TV exposure".

Unmoved, the boss explained that Boots was too much trouble, an embarrassment, and now the cause of probable economic downturn. That was the end of the matter, he said.

Later, as Boots was being put into one of the company utilities in readiness to meet his maker, the "boys" heard the story and immediately downed tools and marched to the office, blocking the exit. The general manager, not wanting industrial strife, quickly came down to meet with them in an effort to resolve the issue.

Boots waited in the back of the ute while his case was being heard by judge and jury in the hastily convened industrial court. The boys were strict unionists, and Boots, they said, was a fellow member. His "dismissal" would not be tolerated and industrial action would follow if any harm befell him.

The general manager was oddly quiet as he surveyed the situation. It was clear they had his measure and he had no choice but to relent. He reluctantly granted Boots a reprieve on the condition that his aggressive behaviour was curtailed. His initial introduction to strangers was to be watered down by a rigorous training programme to be undertaken by our gentle, compassionate secretary. Satisfied, the boys returned to work and industrial harmony prevailed. Boots was appropriately trained and soon softened in his sentry duties.

As for the Japanese executive, well, he was never heard from again. His company placed new shipping orders soon afterwards and did remain one of our biggest clients, so I suspect he may have left his job.

And what of Boots? As far as I know, he never created another scene. Instead, he faithfully carried on his security work for another 12 years until he eventually passed away peacefully on the job. But he was never forgotten. Even now, the boys still fondly recall the day that a lively young pup single-handedly threatened to bring the plant to a standstill. Rest in peace, Boots.

Bernie Bristow, 64, lives with his wife Mary-Anne on a hobby farm in Queensland's Sunshine Coast hinterland. His hobbies include solving crosswords and puzzles, and the occasional flutter at the TAB.