He came upon us well before the arrival of the two women walking with him, the young woman whose dog he was and her mother, who was visiting, we were later informed, and staying with her daughter for a few days. The dog was only seven months old and true to her breed, friendly and sweet-tempered from her antics and her approach, her submissiveness and eagerness to be noticed and praised. Riley, of course, indulged in his usual mode of greeting toward other dogs, emitting distinct snarls and growls, but the golden retriever ignored him and ingratiated herself with us.

Though she would have been happy enough to play with our little dog, had he been willing. At the age of thirteen, he is long, long over that kind of spontaneous invitation to socialize; the frantic antics of young dogs happy with life and eager to express their buoyant extremes of joy and friendliness are not to his liking.

When the two women caught up to where we were, as I was depositing peanuts inside the many convenient crevices of a very old spruce tree, and the dog was cavorting about us, they focused their attention on Riley, while we observed the shenanigans of their dog, expressing itself as very young dogs are wont to do, and delighting people with their acrobatic curiosity. The older woman, walking with a cane, thought Riley was beyond adorable. Poor Riley, it was so bitterly cold yesterday that he had to wear his boots and we had snuggled him into no fewer than three layer, two sweaters and a waterproof coat.

Snow was gently falling, so light you might hardly notice it. There was a blustery wind, however, picking up snow from laden boughs and tossing it about. The sun had gone in and the temperature was minus 11-Centigrade, cold enough that we had wrapped ourselves in layers as well. I struggled to pluck peanuts out of the bag and deposit them where they were usually cached, knowing if I removed even one of the layers of gloves-and-mittens amounting to three layers, I'd suffer for it, and it would take my fingers hours to cast off the feeling of being frozen.

The two women decided to walk alongside us as we strode along our usual circuit. The young woman partially familiar with the ravine and its trails and happy to show her mother around. My husband gallantly assisted the young woman's mother in a gradual descent, but as we moved on further into the ravine, we came to a junction where there was a choice of turning left or right, but each choice led to long uphill climbs and I suggested to the young woman that now would be a good time to turn back, retrace her steps to where she had parked her vehicle, because her mother would experience great difficulty ascending those hills.

She called her dog to her, and I was once again struck by the name she had given that lovely little female bundle of curious adventuring spirit. The name was Luka. An unusual name. One that I associated with the only person I'd ever known to have that name. And he was a psychopath, in the news only a few years earlier. Luka Magnotta who had murdered a young university student, then dismembered him, videoing the entire episode, and sending the severed limbs through the mail system to the attention of federal and provincial politicians.

Making a statement, to be sure. I wondered if it were at all possible that the young woman had no inkling of the burden she had placed upon her lovely dog of carrying a name that reminded one of gruesome wretchedness in human behaviour.