It was on a very cold, snowy winter day last year that we'd first come across the tiny dog. We'd been plodding along over trodden-down snow-packed trails in the ravine when a tiny dark hurricane of motion suddenly accosted us loudly. Barking furiously, skittering about on its four tiny legs, it was outraged at our presence. Close behind was a large young man who called the little Chihuahua to him, and it obeyed instantly, still regarding us with baleful eyes and snarling.

Apologizing, the young man explained the little creature was a rescue, his parents' dog, and they were trying to help it into a mindset of trust of people, but it was tough slogging. The little dog was aptly named: "Taz". He tore through the trails like a literal Tasmanian devil, everywhere at once, alert to the oncoming presence of danger in the persona of a human being. Clear evidence, hard to believe, that the minuscule animal had been a victim of violence.

We've seen the little dog since then on a number of occasions, and most often being walked along with an older man perhaps in his mid- to late-sixties. He's a man who obviously values nature, since despite a physical handicap, he makes an effort to get out with little Taz to exercise them both, when feasible. He's overweight, and walks with the aid of a walking stick, carefully but with determination; his stolid style in stark contrast to the perpetual-motion little dog.

They'd previously had a large, family dog but the Labrador Retriever had grown old and eventually left them. To fill the vacuum in their lives he and his wife agreed to try for another dog. But since the husband, who mostly took care of the dog was now limited by a diagnosis of advanced osteo-arthritis, depending hugely on medication to keep himself ambulatory and capable of functioning, they agreed it would have to be a small dog, this time.

And when they saw an advertisement for little Taz at a nearby humane society, across the border in Quebec, they took instant action to secure him for themselves. And their companionship is the result of that. Taz clearly adores the large gentle giant that is his human companion. He is quick to express his rage over the presence of others presuming to walk the same trials they do, and becomes so absorbed in his sense of outrage that he will follow people, barking furiously at them, while they look back both bemused and amused.

He's becoming familiar with us, though we too are initially treated to a barking session on meeting. But as we stand and talk with the man whom Taz finds comfort with, he allows our presence to ruffle him less and less. Looking for validation constantly at the man whose quick action brought him back to the possibility of a life worth living.