They are impressively stoic and patient, those two impulsive little black imps sharing our household. Not when it's time to eat, mind, but when we're preparing ourselves to venture out for our daily ravine ramble. We ask them if they're ready to set out, and Jackie picks up his ears in anticipation, while Jillie runs for cover, hiding from easy reach. Why she does that remains a puzzle to us, since she enjoys being out and all the more so on a woodland trail.

We're stuck in a spate of cold, windy days. Days when it often snows in a desultory manner; not enough to cause havoc, but just enough to ensure that driveways and walkways must be shovelled. Windy enough that the excesses of snow are blown off rooftops and tree boughs. And certainly sufficiently windy to make the already-frigid air exceedingly uncomfortable. It takes no time at all for unprotected flesh to begin the process of being frost-bitten in moderately prolonged exposure.

I regretted not wearing a scarf when we ventured out this early afternoon, and a light second sweater under my down-filled jacket. Irving is far more sensible in extreme cold, layering himself adequately to prevent the discomfort of cold and wind creeping beneath inadequate layers of clothing. When he recommends that I follow suit, he usually comes up against my insisting that I'm adequately prepared. Today I certainly was not. We've certainly been out in much colder weather, but the wind chill quotient is what made the minus-12-degree Celsius feel utterly miserable.

Today we needed to put boots on Jack and Jill. Otherwise they wouldn't have lasted five minutes out in that icy atmosphere. Even in the backyard if they're out too long, the exposure swiftly chills them and we can see them lifting their delicate legs, puzzled at the discomfort, and speedily racing up the deck stairs for the haven of the house interior. When Irving carefully fits each boot onto each little leg, ensuring the paws are snugly ensconced before tightening the boot strap, they patiently lend themselves to the ordeal.

And then, when we're out on the trails they can be as happily engaged in racing about as they wish, protected against the elements, coated and booted. They're in fact, even more inclined to buffoonish antics with boots on than without them, propelling themselves at breakneck speed, their long, wiry legs comically splayed in an exercise of speed and carefree propulsion, giving us the opportunity to both laugh and admire their puppyish pleasure in life.