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.