He was a tiny creature, smaller even than our Riley who hadn't yet made it up the long hill to where I was standing at its crest, coming face to face with two women during this morning's ravine ramble. The children accompanying the women had already passed by me and were standing on the bridge we had just crossed over. We'd never seen them before; clearly this was a new outing for them, and the children were enthused with their green surroundings.

The little dog could barely be seen. He was hiding from view. Obviously shy and uncertain of the intentions of this human whom he'd never before encountered. His owner laughed at my interest in her little dog and her little dog's interest in playing invisible. He was a rescue dog whom she'd found at the local Humane Society when she was volunteering there. She adopted him, took him home and has spent the last year and a half trying to instill some self-confidence in the little creature. He's not stupid, just a slow learner, unwilling to surrender his ultra sense of caution.

One that seemed sufficiently validated when my husband came abreast of where we were standing, holding Riley whom he had picked up to avoid a confrontation between an aggressive little dog and an obviously timid one. The tiny rescue was a mix, his owner thought, between a Chihuahua and some kind of terrier; from the look of its little shoved-in face I would have ventured a pug.

He had improved, his owner said, transitioning finally to the point where he would make tentative sniffing contact with another dog without rushing to shelter behind her. He would sniff, stand beside the other dog, she related, laughing, and then look up at her for approval. He was born old, she said, preferring not to go for walks, looking wistfully at her as though to beg to be carried. Characteristics, in fact, similar to Riley's.

Who was energetic and playful enough until he reached his first birthday and then lapsed into old-man mode. He doesn't quite resist going for walks but displays little enthusiasm for them. In the first ten minutes he's reluctant to move along and needs encouragement, even though he accompanies us daily on long ravine walks. Once we're down the first hill, up the next one and moving along, he brightens up, invariably.

Perhaps this woman fairly new to the ravine, will decide she and her little furry charge would gain much by visiting it regularly, as well.