That old observation that people so often resemble their dogs is often so true.  I had never before noticed it, but the human companion of Cadbury and Schweppes most certainly resembles those two little pugs.  They're very cute if you like squashed-in muzzles, and their human is a neat, attractive bundle herself.  Generally, we don't come across others in our daily ravine ramble, but on the week-end it's another story altogether.

We prefer, if it all possible, to avoid that trio in particular while rambling in the ravine, however. One of the two pugs, Cadbury, is insistent that I keep feeding him peanuts.  And he has become inordinately skilled at sniffing them out, performing quite extraordinary feats of physical acrobatics to reach them on stumps or crevices or hollows if they are not sufficiently out of his reach.

I prefer that the squirrels, birds and chipmunks avail themselves of the peanuts, rather than a spoiled, overfed little dog.  Besides which, I would find it worrying if one of my dogs ate the number of peanuts that Cadbury does when he manages to get enough of them in his scramble to possess what are to him, obviously, delicacies.  But his human is casual in her dismissal of any concerns.  And seemingly impervious to the very notion that I might not appreciate his constant, close attention, vying for the peanuts, and making possessive, angry dashes at any squirrels audacious enough to try to compete with him.

To further complicate an already vexing situation, she prefers not to move on ahead with her two little dogs.  She, like they, dogs our footsteps, engages us not in conversation but in a situation where we are hostages to her seeming need to reveal her innermost thoughts.  And those thoughts revolve constantly about anything to do with her.  We have been made privy, through her constant, self-absorbed chatter, to far more than we would ever want to know about anyone's private life.

Every time we feel an opportune, albeit very brief lull has set in, and make as though to move on, casually saying we'll see her another time, she hurriedly launches into yet another description of various facets of her life, most of which reveal a level of self-satisfaction that is particularly grating.  When we eventually take advantage of an opportunity, where we come across other ravine walkers, we leave her in their hapless care, a fresh audience for a voracious appetite.

Apart from the physical resemblance, you see, there is a resemblance in habitual self-availment.