Yesterday I called PetSmart and spoke to someone in their pet grooming department. I wanted to find out what it would cost to have our little rascals professionally groomed. I had always groomed Button and Riley myself, certainly not professionally, but doing a fairly creditable job of it. I'd do it in the great outdoors in the summer, spring and early fall, and in the house during the winter months. There'd be silky hair everywhere.

At PetSmart I was informed the cost for bath and brush is $33, the price to have that done, plus hair cutting is $57. Which strikes me as rather absurd, since it's the cutting that takes professional skill and patience, far less a bath and brushing. I've been brushing our little hellions daily anyway, and although we haven't yet bathed them, because it's much too cold, that won't be much of a chore when we do get around to doing it.

I was, in fact, dreading the very thought of attempting to cut Jack and Jill's wild, unruly, albeit beautiful, glossy-black hair. But then, I decided this morning to just do it. I don't want to use electric shears or a shaver, because very small dogs are frightened by that kind of sound, and I'm more familiar, in any event, using a range of scissors, one specialized type for the hair in their ears, and a pair of quite small shears, along with a larger pair. That combination seems to work very well.

But it's the puppy-restive nature of our two little fellows that had me nervous about attempting to groom them for the first time. They did resist, particularly at first, but soon calmed down, wedged securely between my upper legs, as I set about trimming first the hair in, around and over their little paws, then their bodies, leaving their leg-hair fairly well intact. Reams of hair was trimmed away and both of them thought eating the hair might be a good idea, so we had to clean up as we went along.

They don't look spectacularly well groomed, but their hair is somewhat tidier looking; they've lost about half their visual bulk. For a first-time effort it's good enough, and we're pleased with the result. The objective is not to have them end up with that ridiculous poodle-trim with puffs here and there, but more of an overall look of a well-defined little dog that just happens to be a poodle.

As I finished writing this, I wondered why it was so quiet. Jack was lying in a little bed beside my computer station and Jill was nowhere to be seen. I realized she was stuck upstairs. She races upstairs to run about on the second floor then she's stumped, fearful of descending on her own, awaiting rescue.

At last, another snowfall, to cover up the diminishing snowpack that was beginning to look rather dispirited. Fresh snow for Jack and Jill to riot about in. The day before we had a nice long ravine walk with them. The first one-third of the walk is difficult, but then they begin to get the idea and start behaving nicely enough. Jill is more prepared to accept the leash than Jack, he needs more work than she does.

On Tuesday we'd gone off to Byward Market for a shopping trip, and had the opportunity to use the carry bags for the second time. They're just what we had wanted, comfortable for them and for us. At the magazine shop the Somali cashier looked a little uncomfortable at the presence of dogs, and perhaps puzzled that a couple had bags slung over their shoulders with quiet, well-behaved puppies on board. And they were well-behaved; the only time that they tend to be.

In the car on the way driving to the market they thought their place should be at the front of the car, in my lap, but I have other ideas. We've got a bed for them on the back seat, and that's where they're supposed to become accustomed to staying during our drives. Jack accommodated himself to the idea well enough but Jill continuously tried to jump into my lap, and I had to remonstrate with her, returning her to the back repeatedly.

They continue to go off on wild jags of wresting-in-motion, like a small cloud of energy drifting along on the floor, wildly manic like a pair of apprentice black devils. When they're tussling like that on the tile of the kitchen floor they almost seem to melt into the floor, given their colouration and that of the tiles.

I did find the opportunity and the time aside from the usual housekeeping, complicated by their presence to bake a batch of coconut-pecan cookies yesterday. And today, we decided would be an appropriate day for a birthday cake, a few days ahead of schedule, but the oncoming week-end when we splurge on calories seems more fitting in a sense than mid-week.

Our feeding stations have continued to be busy. In the early morning hours, the mourning doves tend to come around regularly, about a half-dozen or so. We've been seeing the occasional downy or hairy woodpecker, usually busy at the suet, but going as well to the tall bird feeder. And then there are crowds of slate-back juncoes, and chickadees, occasional nuthatches and little groups of goldfinches. Once in awhile various sparrows come by, and redpolls as well. The cardinals come along regularly, so our daily visitors continue apace.

Jack and Jill haven't yet noticed any of our visitors. Though there's plentiful squirrel activity at the feeders. They haven't yet acquired a curiosity of what goes on outside the house, perhaps because there's so much to explore in the interior. I have tried to alert them from time to time, and on at least one occasion Jill was suddenly arrested in her frantic run-abouts in the backyard, watching a squirrel making its way along the back fence. Unfamiliar things tend to startle and frighten her; not so with Jack.

Twice this week so far we've seen a cottontail on the porch, nibbling at the feeding station there. It doesn't look as large as the rabbit we used to see last winter; this one looks smaller, and its ears look longer, but that could be illusory, the product of faulty memory. The raccoons haven't been seen at the feeders for more than a month. They're likely in hibernation mode.

Somewhat like us, in fact, since our daily excursions into the ravine for vigorous winter hikes have been curtailed with the presence of two small puppies when the daytime high temperature dips well below minus-ten degrees Celsius. Although we could very well just leave them secure within their playpen -- which they enter for rest periods on their own frequently, and don't seem to mind when we leave them at least once weekly to do the grocery shopping -- we don't.

They've gained a pound each in the short time they've been with us. A staggering amount of added weight for a toy breed, although they're definitely on the large side of the sliding scale size and weight for toy poodles. I've stopped giving them their kibble three times daily. I've added small amounts of home-cooked chicken in the evening to their dinner meal.

And instead of the mid-day meal I've given them salads, so far consisting of chopped broccoli, green and red bell pepper. They're so voracious they'll eat anything that's put before them. But at least with the salads, they eat far more slowly, taking the time to actually chew the small-size bits I've cut finely and placed in their bowls.

We enjoyed a pleasant enough drive in the countryside yesterday afternoon. On our way to Russell, Ontario, about a half-hour drive from where we live in Ottawa. Mostly farm country, not much in the way of forested areas. Again a dearth of snow, given this unusual winter for this region. We were on our way to the rural veterinarian clinic that the breeder from whom we adopted Jack and Jill uses. It's those vets that gave them their first shots. And, interestingly enough we discovered, by travelling to the breeder's establishment to do so.

The clinic is an all-female enterprise; three veterinarians and the office staff as well including the veterinarian technologists, all women. When we arrived there was no car other than ours in the small parking lot, but that soon changed as there began a regular stream of clients after our arrival. The clinic itself surprised me, it was larger than I had expected, and obviously sturdily and attractively purpose-built.

The young woman vet who looked after our two scamps was very amiable, and most amenable to responding to all our questions. Yet, she like all the other veterinarians with whom we've come in contact (most, in any event with rare exceptions) spoke encouragingly of all manner of shots we could choose to submit our two little charges to, from leptosporosis to ticks to guardia and beyond.

We're averse to pumping them full of drugs and chemicals if they don't need them, and beyond using the annual heartworm/intestinal parasites medication, and the requisite rabies shots, we're not all that given to other drugs.

Jill behaved quite nervously while we were there, struggling to get free, though where she meant to take herself is anyone's guess; back home, one supposes. Jack was more calm, but even he became puppyishly restless. Both, however, submitted meekly enough to the physical examination, and the following puppy booster shot. The veterinarian had distracted them with a treat she had mashed on the examination table, and while they were busy scooping it up, she administered the shot to each. In a leg, oddly enough; previously our experience had been that the shot would be given in the backside.

Unsurprisingly the caption on the little blue shirts reads "Spoiled"

Later, at home, Jill kept licking the site, and occasionally whimpered in pain or annoyance. They were both much quieter than is their norm last evening, quite unlike their usual selves. In one sense it was pleasurable, in another it was worrying. Same thing first thing this morning, very quiet little puppies. But the mood-lethargy that had assailed them as after-effects of their inoculation seemed to have worn off a few hours later, and they were right back in the acting-out business.

A week or so ago Jack and Jill happened to be upstairs when I was busy cleaning our bathroom off the master bedroom. I make my own cleaning solution, simply a mixture of dishwashing detergent, vinegar and water. The fumes from the vinegar, as Jill approached the shower stall that I was spraying with the solution, appeared to really upset her and she swiftly retreated back into the bedroom.

Since that time she's been loathe to enter the bathroom, but if impelled to by something too irresistible to deny, she'll overcome her reluctance. As, for example, when I step out of the shower, towelling my upper torso, leaving my legs lathered with water droplets until I can attend to my bottom half. Those wet legs represent an attraction they both wait for, to pounce on me as soon as I exit the shower, lapping the water from my legs, totally ignoring a water bowl set beside the bathtub.

When I enter the powder room adjacent our kitchen to brush my teeth, they're instantly alert to recognition that this is the place where the daily ritual of cleansing their eyes takes place, and they're anxious for the routine to begin, as they silently and expectantly watch my every move. The hair brushing takes place immediately afterward, when for a brief period they look almost presentable.

Whatever pains are taken to tame their unruly hair to make them less unkempt looking lasts as long as their manic assaults against one another, chasing each other through the house, stopping to wrestle and tussle, with snarls and baby barks accompanying the process. When we hear a particularly loud 'bump' and 'thump' we know someone has been toppled in the fury of their tussling. Though the family room is littered with toys and chewies, when one of them selects a chewing object the other finds it so desirable that none other will do, than to challenge the right of their twin to its ownership and then they tumble and race about as one or the other momentarily takes possession, teasing the other to mount an attack.

We no longer carry Jack downstairs in the morning, since he has gained the supreme confidence of full independence, while Jill still cowers at the top of the steps, running back up when we place her on a lower tread, speaking softly to entice her to follow us. For the time being we haul her downstairs, though she never hesitates to romp back upstairs when the mood takes her. Jack, no more than a few days ago, also feared the descent on his own and would wait for us to take him down.

That's progress, along with their recognition of what 'No!' means. They both used to chase the dry mop I use to dust the porcelain floors with, after breakfast. They no longer do that, though they're drawn to the spectacle of me moving the loopy mop around, as though enticing them with a game of tug-of-war. Now, they content themselves with scampering in front of the swooping mop, knowing they are not permitted to lunge at it and begin pulling the mop away from my control in all directions.

Well, we can forget about blocking the steps from the first floor to the second. We have secured the steps leading from the first floor to the basement, however, because those stair treads are shining bare oak veneer, not carpeted. Riley detested those stairs and it was the rare occasion that he would venture on his own down into the rooms there, while Button wasn't the least bit fazed. These two puppies will eventually decide on their own whether that part of the house will comprise part of their territory.

For now, since the oak treads on the main staircase leading to the second floor has a firm carpet grip, they're just fine trotting upstairs on their own. And as of today, Jack is comfortably making his way back down them; he leaps the penultimate step directly onto the foyer floor below. As for Jill, she's not quite ready yet. She's fine on the ascent, fearful to try to descend on her own, despite encouragement. So there's the gender reversal from our original experience.

Jack seems far bolder than Jill, yet she's the one who engages primarily in the rough play, so go figure. She taunts Jack and Jack responds with alacrity, and it's either her on top or on occasion, snarling from under a triumphant Jack. When they're taken out to the backyard, if she doesn't feel like performing her bathroom duty, she takes off like a streak of light with Jack following close behind and they rip around the walkways at dizzying speed.

Oddly, she's the independent one, while Jack is the emotionally dependent of the two. Mind, they're both equally lavish with kisses. He's simply got to know where we are at all times. Yet, when it comes time to nap and if our laps are available, Jill prefers to snuggle close, while Jack doesn't mind curling up by himself close by, but not necessarily snuggling into us, although there are occasions when he prefers to be a snoozing lap dog.

At night, when they're in their bedroom crate upstairs and we glance in it's really hard to tell that there are two little dogs in there; what our eyes see is really deceiving; no more than one quite small little dog is discernible, since they seem to melt into one another, so close do they sleep. Because they're black, definition is almost absent and from time to time they assume odd angles from one another, which is when they become a black chimera.

They're ferocious little devils always up to mischief of one kind or another. On the other hand, when they're quietly checking out what we're doing during down-time, butter wouldn't melt proverbially in their prim little mouths.

Each of our rambles in the forested ravine close to our house represents another adventure in gradually teaching our two puppies how to navigate the world around them. As we walk up the street toward the ravine entrance, we carry Jack and Jill. This is to avoid their tender paws coming in contact with the salt that is liberally sprinkled on our roads during the winter. That salt combined with the icy cold plays havoc with dogs' paws.

Once into the ravine they're set down, their leashes attached to their harnesses and off we go. Until they get their final booster shot on Tuesday we've got to be alert to ensure they don't sniff the usual doggy meeting posts; the smell of urine is irresistible for the canine community messages it sends to neighbourhood dogs.

And nor are we able to allow them yet to be sociable with other dogs we come across, much as we'd like to. Until next week, that is, when they'll be able to, once their final shot has been administered. Meanwhile, we have to resort to briefly lifting them out of harm's potential way, their heads swivelling, trying to take everything in; the presence of other dogs, people, a strange, unfamiliar landscape that will eventually become very familiar to them.

When we returned from our walk yesterday there was a large cardboard rectangle left between the inner door and the storm door at the front of the house. A package from Amazon, and I had an idea who might have sent it. That idea crystallized into fact once we opened the box to reveal gifts sent to us by our older son. For our birthdays, a bare two months apart. I'm older, my husband has just caught up to me, or will in two weeks' time.

What lay within the package was a large hard-cover coffee table picture book titled Cosmigraphics - Picturing Space Through Time, by Michael Benson a lavish production with wonderful colourful plates, and absorbing text. There are several references in the book, as it happens, to the scholarship and helpfulness in the production of the book of someone we know very well, listed within its pages as a medievalist and astronomical historian; our son Randall.

He also sent along a video for our viewing pleasure, The Grand Budapest Hotel. So we'll look forward to reading the tome and viewing the film, gifted to us in honour of our 78th birthdays.

Fortunate that the past few days have given us moderate temperatures, enabling us to enjoy our ravine walks with Jack and Jill, able to walk along without freezing their tiny paws. It isn't yet all that difficult for us to carry them for periods of time before letting them down again to forge on with their amble on the forested trails, now nicely groomed and easy to navigate. But it's a bonus when they are able to do the walking on their own; good for them, good for us.

And that's also the thing of it, a strange absence of snowfall this winter. There is a nice covering of snow on the forest floor, but nothing like the usual accumulation that this area usually has gained over January. Still, the lack of fresh snow and the fact that the trails have been well tamped down has made it easier for our little puppies to get along.

What hasn't yet become easier for them is becoming accustomed to collar, coat, harness and leash. They're most awfully agitated by these new constraints to their total freedom of movement. But as with most other things, time will accustom them to what is a necessary control of their spontaneity. Otherwise we'd be contemplating the horror of a tiny dog lost, or one hit by a passing vehicle.

We've by now come across most of our usual ravine-walking acquaintances and friends, although some have yet to be apprised of our loss of little Riley. All have been surprised and gladdened at the sight of two new puppies, professing their happiness on our behalf. Most had urged us to ameliorate our mourning by the expedient of another puppy in our lives. All of them had experienced the profound grief that accompanies that sudden loss of a beloved pet.

They are skilled at commiserating with other pet lovers, feelingly recalling their own anguish at the sudden bleak void in their lives. We appreciate their candour and their emotionally feeling support. Nothing will completely extinguish that sense of loss, but we are finding ourselves engrossed in the puppy-antics of our two little devils, and marvelling at the miracle of life, even in the shadow of death.

The first barrier we placed on the stairs leading to the second floor was of wood, but Jack was easily able to leap over it. That was replaced with a higher barrier, of stiff cardboard which he soon discovered was a literal pushover, so I became accustomed, when upstairs, to suddenly being confronted by a little black shadow. A little shadow that dogged my every footstep but was fearful of descending the stairs on his own.

We can teach them not to be afraid, and we will. Jill, for her part, takes a running leap at the stairs from the backyard where we take them to race about and evacuate when the time requires, so that she leaps the first step, landing on the second and then bounds onto the deck, circling it in a frenzy of new discovery. It's impossible to halt them in the execution of one of these acrobatic frenzies, they move at the speed of light and when they sense they might be in danger of being caught, they twist and turn like experienced combatants on the field of independence.

Jack knows now, how to behave civilly when they're being fed, and he's cleaned out his bowl, waiting for the second portion (I divide their portions to try to get them to slow down) patiently, no longer whisking himself over to Jill's bowl, because she is somewhat slower in wolfing it all down. So that's progress.

Jack makes no fuss when I'm grooming him, though to be honest when I'm cleaning their eyes, both are quiet and patient. Jill, though when I'm combing her long, black glossy hair, squiggles and squirms, not like Jack who is more docile about the daily routine.

How do I know the difference between them? It isn't Jill who sniffs my leg ardently then mounts it.

Sometimes their play-wrestling seems so gratuitously vicious that I worry one or the other will get hurt. I'm always on the lookout to try to determine which of them is the more aggressive of the two, but it's a tossup. Do they love one another? Does cinnamon complement apple pie?

These mornings, when we take them out for the first time to do their business, they certainly settle down to do that business, on all accounts. Which, despite our attempts to time things just so, doesn't exempt them from business in the house, as well throughout the day.

It's impressive how accurate they are even while racing madly about, in avoiding hitting objects that stand in their way, even at sharp curves. We're impressed with their level of intelligence, we can almost see it in their bright little eyes, observing, evaluating, drawing conclusions...

Riley, Button and me...exploring life

We're looking ahead to whether or not we want to remain with our long-time health care providers for our two puppies, Jack and Jill. In the 23 years since we first used their services the clinic and its owners have prospered mightily. That prosperity can be seen in the broader roster of veterinarians associated with the animal hospital, and the new building they erected after buying up the lots with houses on them on either side of the old structure, standing on the corner of two local main streets.

The major shareholder-veterinarian whom we've known for many years informed us years ago that one of the lot-owners was holding out for a really whopping sum, knowing how badly the land was wanted for a hugely enlarged, modern facility and adequate client parking space. The real estate tussle went back and forth for years before it was finalized, the result being the grand structure now in place.

Services were expanded, and now include a large area dedicated to commercial products for pet care; everything from food, dry and wet, vitamin concoctions and fish oils to grooming supplies, clothing, harnesses, leashes, toys and any other associated products certain to draw the attention of their large client-base. Prices, needless to say, are fairly stiff. But they don't carry the premium-quality Canadian-ingredients-sourced product made in Alberta that we prefer for our little dogs.

While waiting in the large and gracious waiting room for one's appointment, a steady stream of customers for the food products goes in and out. The 'associate' hired to operate the store comes around to the waiting room next door to it from time to time, to place a water bowl out for waiting dogs, and to ask their owners if anyone is interested in a hot cup of coffee. Service orientation is obviously heightened.

But the cost is immense in veterinarian fees for everything from basic health checks to needed inoculations and the dispensing of things like Heartworm pills in season. No appointment for a check-up is complete without the veterinarian in attendance urging additional services like blood tests because 'you never know'.

We placed our trust in the senior veterinarian whom we always asked to see when making an appointment, but on occasion were serviced by other associate-veterinarians of which there must be eight or ten on staff, along with numerous veterinarian technicians, not to mention front-desk staff.

The last time we were there was a week after we'd taken Riley after-hours to one of the two emergency veterinarian clinics in town open 24 hours a day, because we were very concerned that he was feeling unwell. We had been treating him for diarrhoea, a common enough affliction for him when he was younger because he had a delicate stomach, and we used the conventional treatment of boiled rice-and-beef augmented by packets of gut-inciting bacteria obtained over the counter from the vet's. The examining veterinarian hazarded a few guesses, but said tests were required, and she dispensed a drug that she said would help his diarrhoea.

Those tests, bloodwork and X-rays, were done at our usual clinic. The bill for both places ran up to $1000 altogether. But that was nothing compared to the cost of emergency treatment when we drove him that same day to another emergency hospital, this one equipped with all the latest equipment one might see in any human-care hospital.

He was there for three days; (one each bookending his surgery), his condition deteriorating, and diagnostic tests determining finally that his gall bladder was the source of his illness, surgery urgently required. It was all too sudden, his collapse and our fears for him, and we authorized that surgery, since the surgeon urged it was the only hope for survival open to us.

The resulting surgery was declared by the surgeon to have been a complete success. The only thorn in that ointment to our fears was that he was placed immediately thereafter on life support. And though everything was being done to prolong his life, he never regained consciousness.

Even at that juncture, even though he was hanging on by a slender thread, the attending veterinarians tried to have us continue 'treatment', arguing there might yet be a chance he could survive. As we looked at our little dog hooked up to intravenous and breathing apparatus, while monitoring diagnostic machinery was describing his swift decline, the veterinarian with us deciphering the messages for us; we had no option left to us but to euthanize Riley, at fourteen and a half years.

And we were left wracked with pain at the thought that our hoped-for intervention only served to prolong his agony. The cost for us to achieve that mode of thought came to $6500. Just as well we had sold an unneeded vehicle a month previously.

Just the very same horribly difficult decision we'd had to make two and a half years earlier when Button at age 19 and four months suffered her catastrophic stroke.

So, do we have an awful lot of trust in services offered to pet owners for their beloved companion animals, given our experience? Not an lot, and that's an understatement.

So we decided to make an appointment for next week at the rural veterinarian service that had given Jack and Jill their initial puppy inoculations, to have the third and concluding one done. And we'll see how that goes, evaluating that experience after the fact.

Jack and Jill, learning to explore....

It was sunny yesterday, sunny today too. But even though the temperature dropped last night to minus-26 degrees and this morning rose to minus-21 when we took Jack and Jill out first thing before breakfast, with the absence of wind that yesterday made it a truly cruel weather day, today seems downright balmy.

By the time we took them out to the ravine after they'd had their lunchtime meal, the thermometer read minus-17, and rising, so we all dressed nice and warm, and made our way into the ravine. Cold, yes, but exceedingly beautiful, the sun full out in a wide blue sky and the trees laden with snow. What could appear more beautiful than such a winter landscape?

But since it was so cold and we planned to have them walk as long as they could without their little paws freezing, we ended up carrying them for the most part. They're too little and too young yet for mukluks, since they're having to cope enough as it is with the irritating unfamiliarity of collar, leash, coat and harness. So they trotted along a little bit on the snow-surfaced trails, until it became evident they really were suffering from the cold, and we ended up carrying them for the most part. Just as well they weigh so little.

We came across a ravine acquaintance walking her six-month-old, hugely excitable and energetic Irish setter, who leaping at us, wanting to make the immediate acquaintance of our two, gave us a few chuckles. Our friend kept ordering her charge down, and that worked for a moment until a split second later, up she came again. She's so rambunctious that she actually pushed our friend down a slope adjacent the trail, and that was good for a few more laughs, until we helped her regain her footing.

Our two, so new to life and the prevailing landscape, are extremely quiet in those circumstances. Curious as hell about all the activity, the other dogs they come across, and the necessity of learning to handle these new experiences. Their heads swivel back and forth, trying to take it all in. An observer might conclude these are sweet, innocent little creatures, and they certainly are, but they are also imp-driven madcaps, a side of their characters completely hidden on these outings. For the time being, at any rate.

Jack isn't as immune to the effect of the cold on his paws as Jill is. He's the one to whom the cold gets to first. And it is Jill who softly whines when she's being carried, because she wants to be let down, not Jack. And nor have they intuited yet that when they're in the ravine it's perfectly all right to perform their evacuations, but that will eventually occur.

When they're in our backyard, it's as though they're in a bit of an atmospheric anomaly. It is so protected from the wind, and the sun seems to shine brighter and hotter in our backyard with its micro-climate. There, they go berserk, and it is there that Jill takes the lead, rushing madly about in all directions, daring Jack to follow her, which he does with great gusto as they race about and we hop out of their way.

Because the temperature was set to plunge yet again from the morning's minus-2 degrees we thought it a good idea to go straight out to the ravine with Jack and Jill for an earlier walk than usual, particularly on a Monday when I set about cleaning the house. Yesterday the house-cleaning took place a little later, after a leisurely walk in the forest, taking advantage of the still-reasonable atmosphere, though truth to tell it was also damp and there was an icy wind, both of which conditions were ameliorated as soon as we descended into the ravine.

This, their third time on the leash and walking along a forest trail, was not yet an improvement on their earlier forays when they balked at being on leash, confused by the sudden appearance of constraints on their freedom of movement. But we took our time, allowing them to sniff about and grab the occasional irresistible stick, while we later brought their attention back to the matter at hand and proceeded. Eventually they'll get the idea.

So what's going on? It's cold out here!

It also means that we've got to be alert to ensuring they don't sniff around or worse, lick the usually canine meeting posts where urine generally marks each dog's message that he's been there and sorry he missed you but better luck next time. Since our little Jack and Jill haven't yet had their third immunization shots, scheduled toward the end of the month.

We're just tussling, everything cool....

We did come across quite a few of our ravine acquaintances walking their dogs, everyone happy about the temporary lifting of the extreme cold, not wanting to miss the pleasure of just enjoying the sublime sight of trees packed in snow, a landscape of surpassing beauty, while swinging along the trails, grateful to have this marvellous natural area at our disposal.

Again, because we're supposed to keep our two isolated from other dogs until fully immunized we picked them up whenever we and they were around other dogs. The other dogs, needless to say, were interested in what we held aloft in our arms, and eager to smell them, making their neighbourly acquaintance; the curiosity more than reciprocated by our two, and a level of greetings was exchanged.

What ... no walk in the ravine today?

All the dogs walked in the ravine are well-mannered and extremely well socialized. They are tenderly polite, but for the very young specimens, and exuberantly pleased at the opportunity romping through the ravine affords them. Our two will soon enough join them in their daily jaunts, but not quite yet; they're too young, and the return of frigid temperatures auger against it for the time being.

No walk today, however. The temperature did plunge, down to minus-26-degrees last night, the high for today minus-17. The sun is out, though, and it's beautifully bright as well as icily cold.

Our weather seems to be in a perpetual state of uncertainty. Bouncing from extreme cold temperatures to milder ones within the space of a day. We've had fewer snow events, but spates of frigid weather, alternating with milder temperatures and rain.

Yesterday, in the late afternoon the temperature rose to minus-1 C, and snow flurries turned to big fat water drops. Not enough to make any inroads in melting the accumulated snow, but odd. We haven't taken our maddening little imps out for a walk since last week. Not that they're missing out on exercise; ripping through the house gives them plenty of that. Enough so that they turn swiftly from raging hellfire to sweetly behaved, tired little puppies who take themselves into their playpen, cuddle up together in the bed, and sleep off their exhaustion. 

So because of the opportunity open to us with the milder day we decided it was time to take them out again to accustom them to collar, leash, jacket and halter. Let alone the environment of a forested ravine. They aren't keen on wearing collars. We don't ordinarily use collars at home with our little companions. Jack and Jill have become adept at swivelling their skinny little necks sufficiently to allow them to capture the collar in their strong little jaws. These are the smallest collars we could find, used at their narrowest; how they manage to do that is beyond us, but they do.

The collars present as a challenge they're prepared to chew to pieces, if they could, but they can't. And then there's their little winter jackets over which the halters are worn; the halters help guide them without having to do so by attaching the lead to the collar and so straining their little necks. The lead can pull at their back and chest without harm. Attaching the leash presents as another indignity to their sense of autonomy; they want to go where they want to head, not where we presume to take them.

So, it's a stop-and-go affair, at times they're in perfect balance with our need to guide them forward, and at other times they balk and pull back, so we speak volumes of enticements and eventually they come around. It isn't yet one of t heir favourite activities, to say the least. We're unreasonable, they feel, in our insistence that they do what we want, rather than what they want. A simple misunderstanding that will clarify itself and which they will become reconciled to as the days wear on.

We decided we would go on a shopping excursion yesterday. To pet supply places, to see which of them had a small-size dog carrier that would suit our purposes. These puppies, like our brilliantly-lovable Button and lovably-brilliant Riley before them, will become accustomed, over time, to being carried about with us when we're in places that will permit them entry, but only if they're being carried.

Although Button's and Riley's bags are still serviceable, they're quite worn with years of use, and their design could certainly be improved upon. We meant to look for bags that would be comfortable for them to rest in, and comfortable for us to carry them in. A plus would be that they'd be washable and also well ventilated, since the old bags got pretty stuffy in warm weather.

Hey! Wanna play in the playpen?

We decided to take Jack and Jill with us, that we would take the risk of imagining that our terrible infants would behave well on this outing. We hand-carried them, and went first to Petsmart, since they have proven to be the most reasonably-priced supplier for people with pets, and also have what may be the widest choice of a variety of products.

We discovered that Martha Stewart-branded products are given quite the display room. They're pricier, needless to say, than other, less celebrity-distinguished brands. We looked at their carrier bags and found them not only more expensive than others by far, but poorly designed; the carry-handles too short, and not adjustable, the frames too stiff and wide and the effort to try them out with our little handfuls trying indeed.

All right, all right, we'll settle down to sleep, but we'd rather not!

It wasn't because Jack and Jill were misbehaving. To their credit, and amazingly so, they were quiet and not the least bit fussy, placid and behaved to the extent we could be forgiven for thinking we had picked up the wrong pair of canine urchins in error. The bag simply wasn't suitable. Too poorly imagined. Not that we found other brands any better; from the cheapest to the more expensive, they all suffered from lack of good design.

You can lead a puppy to water but you can't make him drink...

But then we happened to see one by Petmate, and it had all the characteristics in design that we were looking for, and more. Not cheap by any means, about the same price as the MS brand, but far superior, so they went into our shopping cart. There was also a 50% off sale on doggy coats, and we looked at many, finally discovering one that fit our need. We only needed one; we had another at home that fit the bill, so now we had the requisite two.

Hey, Dad, gonna have a shower?

We looked around at their small-breed puppy food, because we wanted to replace the Canin brand that the breeder was using, eventually changing over to one that we felt had better ingredients (we don't think corn as a filler in dog food represents a good ingredient, for one thing) and a higher protein content. We were using Alberta-sourced Acana kibble for Riley and thought we'd stick with it. It is our idea of a premium food, containing ingredients that should grace any self-respecting nutrient-dense choice for a human's table, so why not for dogs?

For that, we left the huge store teeming with people and their dogs, to drive over to the place that sells Acana, closer to our neighbourhood, a Globo pet store outlet. And that marked the completion of our shopping excursion.

Oh, and we discovered on returning home that we had the 'right' puppies in our care, after all. Their meek demeanour demonstrated while we were out and about dissolved instantly on entering the house as their wildly antic comic act re-commenced.

They are quiet little fellows. Beyond the thumping of their little feet as they race through the house on their mad dashes that overtake them from time to time, we seldom hear any sound emitted from them. Barking is rare, occasioned perhaps once a day in a single yap from one or the other when they're being transported into the realm of high excitement, tussling with one another.

When as sometimes happens outside during one of the bathroom breaks, a neighbourhood dog is heard to bark, they're instantly alert and plainly disturbed by the sound. They tend to stop whatever they're doing and immediately rush over to us, as though for reassurance that all is well.

The temperature has plunged again to minus-22, much too cold to have them out for any great length of time. When, last week we had them in the ravine and came across people, they were curious about the presence of others, but silent.

Oh dear, Jackie can no longer climb the rungs and exit the top; Jillie's content....

They no longer wiggle and waggle themselves into the dry dustmop I use daily on the kitchen floor, biting the strands and trying to drag the mop along, in opposition to my mopping motions. A few "no" occasions appear to have made the difference. Now, they follow me as I mop the floor, but make no effort to capture the alluring whatever-it-is to subdue it, having intuited that I have already subdued the thing and am busy bending it to my will.

Hey, fair's fair; I need some computer-time too!

The dishwasher has become a new source of fascination. Their little bodies are elastic enough to enable them to stretch over the lip of the lid when it's down in the horizontal position from the vertical, and when, as last night, I loaded it with the bakeware from dinner they took to licking what they could barely reach, obviously finding some delectable essence of the oils that remained on them throughout the baking process.

What!?! We're just playing with our toy!

They have become quite attached to their playpen, now in its complete stage. They enter and exit at will, comfortable within, using it as their principal resting place, though it's also a source of play-space. When we left them firmly locked into it yesterday afternoon so we could go off and do the supermarket food shopping we returned to find them waking from a nap, not the least bit offended or excited that they had been left behind.

When I opened the gate to the playpen, they exited without fuss, merely swinging their little tail tufts happily, greeting us.