As it happens, we missed a few days of our daily ravine rambles. We experienced a return to very cold temperatures accompanied by blustery winds and a fall of snow that was thick and ongoing. That's the kind of formula that makes for real discomfort.

In the sense that we no longer move as swiftly as we once did, generating enough energy and warmth to pay little mind to the cold, wind and presence of falling snow. And under a certain temperature, our little dogs require boots so they are able to trot along in comfort. Without boots we have to pick them up, warm their little paws, then put them down for a short length of trail before picking them up again.

So while boots are required, it's difficult to put them on our older dog who has entered her 20th year, and has little patience for that ritual. Her slower progress, hampered by her blindness and our need to gently guide her along the trails, along with my own slower gait now that I'm 75 and not as springy as I once was, makes for some unpleasantness if we venture out in truly inclement weather which once was never a hindrance to us.

When we were out yesterday the temperature was just on the cusp minus-6-degrees Celsius, of the need of boots for Button and Riley, requiring that we pick them up several times, but not through the entire hour-and-a-half jaunt. Holding Riley while struggling uphill is no longer a picnic for me, so it does detract from our enjoyment.

I was dispensing peanuts in the usual cache places, though we saw few squirrels out, they sensibly enough having decided to bed down cosily in their nests to wait out the weather. What we heard was noisome crows congregating above us, and if I turned to look, I knew they were watching us, being long aware of all those same cache spots that the squirrels are familiar with. I don't begrudge them peanuts at all, they too have to survive the winter.

At one point, I watched as a crow, triumphantly holding a peanut, cleared off a patch of snow from the branch it was standing on so he could pound the peanut shell and unleash the nuts within. Crows are quite intellectually gifted, I've often seen this kind of manoeuvre on their part.

We haven't seen Stumpy - the little male squirrel whom we've fed at close range over the years, he representing the first and boldest little fellow to approach us directly for peanuts - for a little while. We know him to be male having watched him once, the last in a line of squirrels hot in pursuit of a little female.

We did, however, see Stumpette, another little tailless squirrel, although her tail is slightly more than a stump, albeit similar to Stumpy's. Oddly enough Stumpette too approaches us boldly and directly although lacking the extreme confidence that Stumpy exhibits with us. By now, having fed the squirrels in the ravine for such a long period of time, other, normal black squirrels have taken to approaching us, as do some of the grey squirrels.

And while the chipmunks, when they're not hibernating, are also self-confident and they too will confront us for peanuts, stuffing them into their pouches and demanding more. Not so the red squirrels who, like the chipmunks move at lightning speed. They await the deposit of the peanuts in the usual cache places, no trust where they're concerned, and surely that represents a boost to their longevity.