We became accustomed many years ago to seeing Leonard walking along the street, ambling aimlessly about. He was then a young boy approaching his teens, always smiling, always looking for someone to chat with. If he'd see you out and about in the garden or on the street he would stop by to engage in conversation. Although you knew, speaking with him that he was developmentally delayed, you'd often be caught by surprise hearing him repeat, as though by rote, very sensible statements. This was, we knew, an echo of something he'd heard from his parents.

We knew his parents albeit slightly, mostly because when they moved in down the street from where we live, we saw Leonard's mother walking a little dog, and soon afterward, two little dogs, sweet-tempered little Lhaso Apsos. Every time I knocked at their door canvassing for one medical charity or another, I would be greeted amiably and a long neighbourly chat would ensue while they made their donation to Heart & Stroke, MS, Cancer, or whichever charity I was volunteering my time as a door-to-door canvasser to at the time.

Yesterday, on our way to the ravine, Leonard's father Abe was on his way back from retrieving his mail at the group mailbox adjacent the ravine entrance. We knew that they had lost their two little dogs, six months apart, and I'd spoken with them proffering condolences. Abe wanted to pet our little Riley and we spoke about the pain involved in losing our little companions. He ventured the opinion that though they're dependent on us they also don't demand all that much of us; their love for us seems unconditional. Unlike, he said, smiling wryly, that of children.

Leonard, living 'independently' now for several years in his mid-20s, in an assisted living apartment, calls his parents continually throughout the day for advice though he sometimes rails that they're trying to 'control' him. His father said that he's capable of doing ordinary everyday things for himself, but that he keeps them busy guiding him with more complicated matters like banking, paying his bills, attending medical appointments. Leonard was adopted as an infant.

Their natural-born son is several years older than Leonard. The two were never close. The older son, a genial, well-mannered and friendly young man attended Algonquin College as a mechanical engineering student. He was employed and seemed to be doing very well for himself for several years. But then things happened, he lost his employment and at age 30 moved back in with his parents. Now, his father said, he's working as a supermarket clerk.

It's the tenor of our times, it seems, ups and downs, lowered expectations, job losses, and unanticipated turns of events. Just as well Abe is philosophical in his outlook and extremely patient. He spoke of his wife wanting to get another dog to join the family, but he's hesitating. They so miss their two little dogs. On the other hand, the pain of losing them is unbearable, and he doesn't want to go through it all again. What did we think about it?