The first full day (yesterday) of official calendar spring was a lovely day. The temperature hovered at the freezing mark, and the sun shone brilliantly in a wonderfully clear sky. Our ambulating trailwalk in the ravine was a leisurely one, fully appreciative of the balmy pleasure of our surroundings.

It would take, we knew, quite a while for the snowpack to melt this year, unlike last year, when we received less snow than usual over the winter months. This year's winter began in November and never quite relented in the severity of the cold and the frequency of snowfalls. By this time last year all the snow had disappeared from the landscape, both from our lawns and gardens, and from the ravined woodland that sits adjacent to our homes.

But the creek was open and running, though layers of thick ice bordered the creek. Soon, we knew, we would see returning ducks and even great blue herons passing through, take a rest in the creek and foraging for food before setting off again for their final destinations where they would spend the spring and summer months.

We came across no one other than a few squirrels rummaging about looking for peanuts. And of course crows, following our progress as we deposited peanuts here and there in the interstices of old pine bark and the crevices in boughs. No one out walking their pets.

Oh, there was one person we had come across. As we were entering the ravine, she was exiting it with a little Shih Tzu on leash. This was Suzanne, our neighbour from far down the street. She and her husband had lost their own Golden Retriever Della, about fifteen years ago. Because Suzanne likes to travel frequently and her husband is elderly and not in the best of health they decided that continued dog ownership was out for them. Instead, Suzanne walks the dogs of neighbours who work during the day, giving their dogs the opportunity to romp in the woods they would not otherwise enjoy.

She had just returned from a trip to Paris and an additional several weeks in Florida. She was effusive in praise of Paris and sourly noncommittal about Florida; a shrug of dismissal.

She asked if we'd heard about Bentley. Those words were enough to inform us that something dreadful had occurred to the little dog we'd known for thirteen years, living right beside where we stood, talking. We'd seen him only the day before, a bundle of energy, lively and inquisitive, a sweet little dog.

Bentley

He had arrived at his home the very same time we received our own little Riley; they were coevals although they never did get along very well. As puppies, Bentley was permitted by his humans to roam about the street on his own, whereas Riley was taught to remain where he was, on our front lawn and to go no further without us. Bentley had once assaulted Riley, pulling him by one of his long flappy ears, on his back, onto the road, as though to say he was teaching him independence and the courage to explore. Riley never forgave him.

Riley

We would often wonder at Bentley's energetic antics, and compare him in that sense to Riley, whose laidback disinterest in expending energy unnecessarily represented quite the contrast.

And Suzanne reported that Bentley had died, of a heart attack yesterday. He will be missed.