Our Internet service is anything but reliable. Yesterday countless times it failed and I was unable to access the web. Usually when it happens I shut off connectivity myself at the power bar, and connection is restored. Yesterday, however, that restoration lasted no more than five minutes before it lapsed again. More usually I rely on Microsoft functions to launch an internal investigation to suss out the problem and the search concludes with a restoration of connectivity.

That expedient failed to work yesterday. So the next step was the modem. Shutting it off completely, waiting five minutes, then turning it back on again, watching the lights blink from red to orange to green and in fifteen minutes, voila! service restored. But it's a nuisance and it's time-consuming. The modem isn't easy to reach, for one thing, it sits about eight feet in height atop a work station that holds my desktop.

Last year Bell responded to my reports of intermittent shut-offs by sending technicians around. Their search concluded with the admission that the underground cable running to the house had somehow sustained damage of some kind . A temporary solution of the problem was arranged, to run a cable with permission of our neighbours from their cable to ours, looping it up and around the back gate. That was two years ago. In the dead of winter they sent a crew around to dig down about six feet through snow and ice and frozen soil with a little monster of a machine to repair the cable. In the process ruining our lawn.

So when spring arrived another crew came by, dumped some hard lumpy soil to fill the excavation, scattered grass seed over the uneven surface they left and departed. My husband worked at the soil to make it more friable and level, then put down seed of his own. Grass grew sporadically and the result was nothing like the perfect lawn my husband had worked at producing the year before when he laid down a thick layer of clean soil, amended it and seeded it. It was the best lawn we'd ever had.

This spring the grass slowly began to disintegrate. The soil full of fat maggots eating the grass roots until little was left. Then they went to work on our neighbour's lawn. He applied a bio-insecticide to try to stop the ravaging. At the same time suddenly his cable went, too. And Bell reversed the situation, running a temporary cable from ours to his. Now they're scheduled at some point to dig up the lawns once more to repair the damaged cables.

It's been a good summer for all growing things, a summer where no one had to be concerned over watering their lawns because there's been so much rain of all kinds from constant thunderstorms to other heavy rain events. And finally a pattern emerged of late afternoon, early evening, all-night and early morning rain. Like clockwork. When we set out for our daily ravine ramble with Jackie and Jillie early this morning, rain had just stopped.

As we made our way through the sodden forest, rain dripped from the canopy above, and we felt it would be certain that while we were out rain would begin anew. We all wore rainjackets, but the rain held off. A cold morning, at 13C, with light wind, but we were all dressed against the cold. A beautiful large hound we've seen on a few other occasions came by, and eventually its human, as we rested atop the first of the hills we clambered up.

Jackie and Jillie introduced themselves, and this was only the second time we saw Jillie inviting a much larger dog to a play-tussle. She exhibited the kind of inviting crouch that she usually directs only at her brother. So that's progress. She's finally intuited that she can play with other dogs, not only Jackie. She did the same thing a few days earlier with a little schnauzer, more her size.

The forest interior always looks dim, all the more so on a heavily overcast, humid day with rain in the offing. But the dusky atmosphere seems to lend a focus in colour contrasts. It was easy to see at a distance how the mushrooms rampant on the forest floor stand out, illuminated and irresistible, just arguing to be photographed.

When we completed our circuit and arrived back home, there was a technician from the gas company parked in front of the driveway, preparing to put down the little colourful flags that identify the areas that anyone digging must avoid to ensure nothing amiss occurs with the gas-delivery pipes. Hydro had already been by days earlier with their avoidance-identifying flags. The grass-absent lawn is ablaze with red and yellow flags.

After breakfast we went out to do the grocery shopping. By some strange alchemy of doggy sixth-sense Jackie and Jillie always know when we're about to leave, long before there's evidence before them that this is what is being planned. They become quiet and trot closely after us. When we enter the laundry room to put on our shoes and exit into the garage, they stand there, disconsolately and begin to voice their unhappiness.

Evening and overnight rain events have been seemingly ceaseless this summer. Although, truth to tell we've had other summers where we can recall that no weekend was without its overcast, dull and thoroughly drizzled days. And another truth is that we've not only come to accept this steady theatre of rain, but appreciate it as well. At night, in bed, the sound of rain is soothing. And when there's also thunder it 's also dramatic in a pleasing way.

This morning we discovered more poplar leaves had drifted down to the forest floor. In deference to the just-stopped rain, fallen foliage has a habit of holding captured rain, cuplike and if you look closely and carefully enough, you can see the landscape mirrored in that minuscule puddle. The poplars are most definitely stepping up the tempo in turning pleasing colours and releasing those multi-coloured leaves to find new homes under their trunks on the forest floor instead of being perched high on the branches.

Our puppies were hungry this morning, so they were given some extra cheese treats before we made off for the ravine. Jackie had been under the weather and had missed his meals two days back, then his appetite revived and he left no doubt whatever that  he had fully recovered. Their messages can be pretty clear and to the point and it's not hard to figure out when hunger pangs stir.

Once we were on the forest outskirts among the soft-fruit-bearing shrubs, Jackie and Jillie hesitate before going on to descend into the ravine, given the routine that developed a month or so earlier, when they know my husband will begin plucking ripe berries for their delectation, and they await those treats with great expectation. Now, there are far fewer thimbleberries to be had, and the blackberries have taken over production.

It's always intriguing walking along a trail, looking right, left, ahead to ground level because you never know what you'll come across. Something unusual may be just beyond the trail but you hadn't spotted it before, and suddenly you do. Like the fallen  log that was playing host to a beautifully scalloped colony of fungi laid out over the decaying bark and hastening its decomposition.

Today turned out to be a busy morning. We left soon after cleaning up from breakfast to leave our puppies at the groomer's. Thanks to the warm and welcoming attitude of the experienced young women who work there at the spa attached to the veterinary hospital where we take our puppies, the stress they experience in separating from us appears manageable. They were left for an hour and a half, and we took that time to do our food shopping.

When we returned to pick them up we could hear their distinctive (to us) barks as we exited the vehicle, and as we walked alongside the little building housing the spa and passed one of the floor-to-ceiling windows  of what used to be a small examining room before conversion to a spa when a larger hospital was built beside it, there they were, excitedly watching us approach, barking welcome, and let's go home!

We did just that, ambling about the garden on our return, admiring the svelte appearance of two little black rascals, glad to be home again on a beautiful day, actually a Goldilocks type of day, not too hot, just comfortable, with a cooling breeze, absolutely perfect. And in consulting with the muse of the garden there was complete agreement, pointing us in the direction of one of the hibiscus shrubs that was blooming in full glory, a perfect metaphor for the day itself.

Last night, before bed when my husband took Jackie and Jillie out to the backyard, he called me out to have a look at the moon. The month's new moon, no less. The sky was almost clear after a rare no-rain day yesterday, there were some skimpy strings of white cloud, and there was the moon in all the grandeur it displays fully dressed. Above and to the right of the moon a bright star. Not a star, a planet, said he. Indeed, it's Saturn, the closest of the planets to be seen beside the August moon.

We knew that there would be rain the following day. Lots of it, since the 'chance' of rain was listed at 90%. So we weren't surprised to wake to a grey morning, unable to dispel the darkness of night thanks to a dense cloud cover. Which was steadily unleashing a light rain, leaving us to consider whether or not to launch ourselves into a ravine walk before breakfast, as usual.

We reasoned that the full  forest canopy would help keep us fairly dry, and we'd all wear rainjackets. Better early than making an attempt in the afternoon when the rain was destined to pick up strength and volume. So, suitably attired, off we went. Up our dusk-entrenched street, over to the ravine entrance where, looking into the forest interior the resemblance to a dark tunnel couldn't have been more apt.

But in there the patter of rain was notably reduced, so on we went, down the hillside into the ravine proper where we were surprised to see the low level of the water flowing through the creek, despite the rain. An odd little anomaly that we knew would be turned about by the end of the day. We were fairly surprised to see that a few others were out with their dogs. Larger dogs for the most part, and not geared out in rain gear since these are the rough-and-ready breeds more likely to head straight for the cooling waters of the creek even in winter before the freeze-up.

No one is inclined to stand around and talk. to everyone's relief, on such weather days. Waves and wry smiles more than suffice, as we pass, or see one another in the distance and continue on our way. Gayle, a long-time hiking companion who lives at the foot of our street came trundling by, umbrella in hand, shouting that she wished she'd gone out a tad earlier when the rain had been marginally lighter.

Although we were comfortable, and kept fairly dry given the circumstances, we decided that a shorter circuit would do us all very nicely this morning, rather than continuing on for the usual hour-and-a-half tramp through the trails. All the more so since as time passed the volume and strength of the rain was becoming more robust, though there were no complaints from either Jackie or Jillie, plodding along through small puddles.

The garden welcomed our return, its colours brilliantly lacquered, light from some source bouncing off the vegetation. Everything was getting a good soaking, the rain slanting directly toward the front of the house to penetrate the width of the porch, which doesn't happen very often. And then, in the afternoon, though there hadn't been any decline in the rain, it turned suddenly quite fierce.

The temperature slowly descended as well. In all, a dark, damp day. But the dark aspect and the pouring rain lend an impression of quiet comfort. And we enjoy watching the rain fall, deepening colours of the flowers even in the dusk-like atmosphere that prevails. And when the wind picked up and lashed a much heavier rain against both the back and the front of the house, it becomes hypnotically fascinating to watch such an increased volume lashing the windows, splashing down on the garden.

We pried open one eye to cock it at the clock which didn't quite match the dusky gloom in the bedroom. No, it wasn't four in the morning, but eight. And still raining. So heavily we'd earlier had to close the window. We had hoped to take advantage of a cooling breeze, but what eventuated was a howling wind that hurled the rain into the bedroom. So, sigh, closed window.

Still raining? We turned our heads back comfortably into our pillows. Then Jillie did her whine, and Jackie his sharp bark, reminding us that this was indeed time, past time, to rouse our lazy bones out of bed. So we did. And went downstairs to study the situation. The situation was that the rain was still pounding heavily onto the metal canopy on the deck, there was a definite twilight atmosphere and the rain kept lashing against the glass doors, dripping down the screen door.

Not the very best of times to persuade Jackie and Jillie to go out into the backyard when we had the comfort of the bathroom to empty our bladders. And worse than that, there would be no ravine hike this morning. And given the forecast, it was likely we'd have to bypass any kind of foray into the forest trails today. Gloom settled to make its way into our prospects for the day.

And then, as we began setting the table for breakfast, suddenly the rain dripping off the canopy stopped entirely. Out went the puppies, up came our prospects, and we prepared ourselves to dash out for that forlorn hike through the forest. It was a world resembling an aquarium that greeted us, everything in the landscape completely drenched, the forest canopy steadily dripping, but we were delighted.

That nice breeze we were hoping to entice into our bedroom window for some relief from the heat that has compromised the comfort of the past week and a half, wafted rain-cool air over us, and then the sun discovered a crack in the armour of the cloud cover, and lit up the world, momentarily. Expressing in rather concrete terms exactly how we felt.

And off we went, down the hill into the ravine, into the confines of the dripping, Jade forest. The creek was as wide and full and thrashing, carrying twigs and branches in its sway as it would ever be during spring when the snowpack in the forest was in full melt. There were rapids and eddies and the water gurgled and sang and sped on its way, vacated from the hillsides, driven downstream by the force of its rain-resurgent dual purpose as a local storm-surge capacity raceway.

It soon became evident that we were not the only people in the community watching the skies and taking their cues from an open-window opportunity to get out while the opportunity presented. Others familiar to us out with their dogs passed us at one juncture, only to meet up with us once again at another, mostly because they chose a short circuit on the upper surface of the forest and we're committed to a longer one that encompasses the ravine itself.

Not once did it appear likely that the heavens would once again open up. We hadn't this time taken the precaution of carrying along rainjackets for Jackie and Jillie, much less for ourselves. Truth is when the ambient temperature is so over-heated with such a high degree of humidity, a little rainshower wouldn't be entirely unwelcome as a cooling device.

But that didn't happen, and there were no complaints from us. Back home we trotted, Jackie and Jillie eager for breakfast. And since it's Sunday, breakfast is prolonged and pre-ordained; a half-melon sliced between us, banana each, and French toast and breakfast sausages augmented by tea and coffee. In their kibble, the puppies also get pieces of melon, and chicken left over from Friday night.

What they're really waiting anxiously for, though, is their share of the French toast and sausages. It's Sunday, after all!