He is a corpulent man, almost egg-shaped. Where other people walk, he lumbers along, his gait made distinctive by his size. He speaks slowly, deliberately, with the authority of someone who has great confidence in themselves. His smile has a wry twist. He is the kind of man who, if a neighbour is planning to work on something he will be the first and often the only one to offer to help. He is a man bursting with energy, and with the strength of an ox. 

His dog is large too, a part Bernese Mountain dog. A dog that is also quiet and tends to be unobtrusive, despite its size. We see them both from time to time, not often. We first met him and his dog quite a few years ago. He lives in another neighbourhood fairly distant from our own, but also like ours, abutting on the ravine. In the past he has taken pains to haul lumber into the ravine at places where few others tend to take themselves, to build fairly basic but very useful bridges to cross areas that can become swampy at times.

 Invariably someone complains and the municipality responds by sending out a crew to destroy the bridge. He doesn't hesitate to rebuild, and sometimes it becomes a tug-of-war between him and the authorities. He once asked them how many people had complained and the response was, one. He is such a good soul that he will often take a neighbour's dog out his forays into the ravine, an old arthritis-ridden chocolate lab.

His patience with the dog is endless, because he is determined to see that the dog enjoys its elder years, and the dog does, he ambles along the pathways  makes the occasional detour into the forest interior and swiftly reappears when our friend calls. His own dog tolerates the presence of the other, tending to be a little standoffish. As though he's not quite offended by the older dog's presence, but prepared to accept it as long as it is no bother.

So we were a little surprised today when our friend told us that he had been out with his dog earlier in the week and suddenly it disappeared. It's unlike the dog not to respond when he calls. He thought he heard off in the distance a bit of yelping, but it didn't sound like his dog. When the dog eventually reappeared, it was as though nothing had happened. He assumed that his dog had seen a coyote and had  tracked it, and he was right.

It was only later that he came across someone we both know whose backyard is adjacent the ravine walking his own dog. Its known that there is a den nearby this man's backyard and he often sees coyotes around and about it. Did you know, he said, your dog was in a tussle with a pair of coyotes? He'd watched as the dog chased one coyote into the area of the den and then two emerged and began threatening the dog who then trotted off, the two coyotes chasing after it.

A bit later, the same day, he saw two coyotes in the distance, seeming to watch him and the dog. He's often seen them about and knew his dog on occasion would decide to chase them. Some dogs, in fact, are known to briefly join up with a coyote and they run together in a comradely fashion, playing, no harm coming to either. What our friend described seemed more like a vendetta in the making. He's unperturbed about the situation, he feels that his dog can handle anything he embroils himself in.

We enjoyed our time in the ravine this afternoon, a darkly overcast, and snowy day. Snowy, but not heavily snowing, so when it's over it won't have amounted to much, but the snow layer makes a visual difference in the forest, inordinately pleasing to the eye. Moreover, when it's so dusky in the forest the white landscape acts as a lighting source, quite apart from the beautiful spectacle it presents.

When the trees are covered with newfallen and still-falling snow, there's an exquisitely ethereal look to the landscape, intriguing, mysterious, beguiling. Today also there was hardly any wind and the temperature had risen to -2C, so it felt almost balmy as we strode along, the snow of a sticky character, mediating between the icy pathways and our cleated boots.

Just in time, too, since tomorrow marks the winter solstice and the day following the shortest daylight-day of the year.

November's more familiar and usual dark days have finally caught up to us. Hard on the heels of the departing high pressure system that gave us a week of delightful Indian Summer. For that week we had a plenitude of sun and mild temperatures. Just too good to be true, but true it was, and truly appreciated; we revelled in it, enjoyed it, made the most of it, and admired nature's superb judgement informing her elements to take a break from approaching winter.

Then, with little transition, as suddenly as it arrived, Indian Summer departed without so much as a backward glance. Absolutely shattering. But expected. It's one thing to accept the inevitable however, quite another to comfortably adjust to it. Nights are colder now, well into frost territory; last night was -6C, windy which of course has a positive side to it, since one tends to sleep well. So well, that popping an eyelid open first thing in the morning, the instinct is to keep sleeping in one's comfortable bed.

Jackie and Jillie won't hear of it, unfortunately. They're our little alarms and up we get. Puppies have to eat, after all, and get out of the house for they've business to attend to. Not in that order, of course. Once they re-enter the house they're well primed for gobbling up food. It is their habit though before breakfast is served to exact a price for good behaviour; soon as they're back in the house, their expected due must be delivered, an extended bout of playful rub-downs and pettings. 

Yesterday there was no ravine hike. The inclination to get ourselves out in bare nature declines notably when you're faced with  unending rain paired with a cold, windy day. Jackie and Jillie had no wish to challenge that inclement weather, and nor did we. So home we stayed and found plenty to keep us busy. There are often times when Jackie and Jillie will follow our example, but they consistently express disinterest in immersing themselves in a good read, as we do on such days. 

And when we awoke this morning it was once again dark, heavily overcast, and very wet. By mid-afternoon, however, rain had suspended itself even as it appeared as though it would resume at any time. The wind, with less fervour than yesterday's only reached 40 kmh, blowing and blasting the  trees in windbursts, evergreen boughs bending and waving and dancing. We needed not only warm clothing, but waterproof, and then off we went, the wind helpfully shoving us forward.

Jackie disgraced himself today in the ravine. Approaching an older man with a black Lab mix, Jackie suddenly lunged at the dog, and actually attacked it. The dog was at least four times the size Jackie is, but he was certainly startled and no doubt somewhat bemused at this display of abysmal manners. I scolded Jackie but he ignored me, straining at the leash to have another go. Jackie is usually hesitant and easily intimidated, such that he could demonstrate such aggressive behaviour really surprises us.

Later, when we came across a pair of friends with their three border collies there was no such reaction from Jackie. Later still, we spoke awhile with another friend and his large black Lab's presence elicited friendly interest from Jackie and Jillie because they know one another. Jackie's attitude is bewildering; a shy, elusive and fearful little dog suddenly becoming a fearless assailant.

We completed the circuit without any further episode of untoward behaviour. The day that had started out dark became darker yet as dusk set in, but we hosted no further rain. Walking back down the street to our house in the dusky atmosphere, a neighbour's lit-up Christmas decorations guided us gently back to our home, four houses distant from the bright, colourful lights of Christmas. And about six weeks' distant in time, as well.

Today dawned quite similarly to yesterday; dari