We're in calendar spring, and now approaching April, it's hard to believe, since winter surrounds us everywhere we look; it envelopes us with its icy fingers reaching deep into our winter clothing, and mean winds whip snow at us unrelentingly. On Thursday, our quite cold ravine walk gifted us with large swirling snowflakes. Yesterday nature had changed her mind enough to transform snow into rain, and it was in a steady drizzle that we set off for our daily ravine ramble. We were glad to be out regardless of the rain that picked up noticeably as we neared the conclusion of our circuit. Appreciating that milder temperature that day allowed for rain, though we'd prefer snow.

And then we were entertained as well, not only by the changing landscape and the woodland denizens, but by the happenstance of coming across two sets of trail familiars. One, a young woman whose mother usually walks her elderly dog, and this time she was walking her mother's dog and her own, a rambunctious young dog she and her husband had named Lucy, and whom they occasionally refer to as Lucifer reflective of her manic antics.

Lucy, like the older dog, was permitted to run free while in the ravine, dragging her leash. She always stayed on the trail, assured her owner, so the leash wouldn't really be a problem, getting caught. Large as she is, Lucy is charmingly friendly, anxious to ensure that everyone she meets becomes her admiring friend. It's not a difficult achievement to respond in kind to such overt sweetness. Although Riley always responds with a snarl as though to say 'keep your distance, bud', Lucy appealed to his better instincts, not knowing in her innocence, he had none.

And then, along came Taz, whose hostility to other dogs is manifested well in advance of sighting the tiny creature, by the issuance of high-pitched barks informing all other dogs and humans as well that it is their duty to keep a respectful distance from the little Chihuahua. Taz is a rescue dog who idolizes the man who brought him into his home and taught him a modicum of trust: all others must keep their distance.

Lucy was intrigued by Taz, so small a creature, yet obviously canine. She wanted to play and crouched appealingly before him, but he was having none of it. He leapt effortlessly in a pirouette to distance himself and kept us the fusillade of sharp, warning barks. And finally, Taz scored large when Lucy and Jack were taken by leash down the hill upon whose top we all stood. He had prevailed; his courage and steadfastness had banished the two large dogs from the prominence he considered his own.

Taz, the conqueror of all he surveys. Unless Riley has anything to say about it.