We've been abandoned by Mother Nature to a bad-tempered old-man Winter who has overstayed his welcome, and just refuses to budge. The unrelenting cold that has clamped us into perpetual frost-bite mode, and the incessant snowfall events have transformed our landscape into a facsimile of an ill-kept refrigerator afflicted with a build-up of frost ice. And although there remains a certain beauty in all of that, it does become tedious when there's no end to it.

Mostly because we're tired of being cold, tired of the unrelieved monochromatic landscape, yearning for the sight of the first spring flowers to pop out of the frost-released earth, and we're certainly fed up with the non-stop (or so it seems) shovelling required after each of those snowfalls.

On the other hand, if that's all we have to grouse about we're in pretty good shape. Consider the alternatives; living elsewhere, for example, than in North America. Although Africa may be warm, its constant clan and religious strife isn't exactly appealing; nor, for that matter is the Middle East, South-East Asia or eastern Europe. So as we were saying about the snow and cold; don't mind us for complaining, we love it.

We especially love those frigid days when the sun is sailing brightly in a clear, blue sky and the wind is hushed to a reasonable extent, and the landscape is breathtaking in the scope of its beauty. What, then, are we complaining about?

On yesterday's trail ramble in our ravine just up the street, we came across two 50ish women walking two dogs. The dogs were female too, and both were just short of a year in age. The women walked, carefully in the snow that tends to be slippery in places where it turns to ice, and the dogs were romping about delighted to be able to boisterously express their happiness to be out and about without leashes and without constant commands constraining their enthusiasm.

I suggested to the women that they'd find negotiating the trails far easier with a pair of crampon sets to pull over their boots. The smaller of the two stopped, smiled and said she had a pair, at home, didn't think to use them. I peered a little closer at that portion of her face that was visible; the lower part covered by a scarf. Recognition hit; I had wondered from time to time what had become of a woman we'd made acquaintance with some years back through coming across her occasionally in the ravine.

"Oh", she responded, to my query, "you're the ones who gave me those crampons", and indeed we had, years back when we'd seen her struggling up an icy incline. We'd invited her to come along home with us because we had an extra pair. Now, she informed us that she'd lost the dog she had back then, a golden retriever; to age and ill health. The little black Labrador mix we saw before her was its replacement.

And the small-for-its-breed Malamute was her companion's pet. I hadn't forgotten her face, and recalled her features even though I wasn't able to see her entirely. A pretty woman with blond hair, she reminded me of the British actress of an era gone by, Julie Christie; I told her how good she looked; young and fresh and engaged. The last time we'd seen her she had looked overwhelmed and exhausted, holding down two jobs trying to make ends meet.

The dogs' antics were mesmerizing. They were friends, just as the two women were friends. The Malamute was hugely competitive, the little Lab more hesitant, but still prepared to play. When the Malamute took possession of a stick the Lab was chewing, the chase was on. Back and forth, one dashing after the other.

The Lab retook the stick, and the Malamute leaped onto the Lab, and they tussled in the snow, the Malamute, larger slightly, muffling the Lab into the snow, splayed out and desperately attempting to retain her stick.

When the Malamute once again prevailed and took the stick, the Lab looked appealingly at us, as though to sigh in resignation over the unfairness of life when a friend turned into a challenging bully, and although they were both having a rip-roaring good time, a little melancholy thrust itself into the scenario when the Malamute settled down in triumph to chew at the stick and the Lab seemed somewhat disconsolate.