This past Sunday just happened to be an extremely frigid day. It was minus 7C, with a brisk wind and very damp, so that the cold truly penetrated, something that those whom we came across in the ravine that day mentioned with some element of discomfort and surprise that the wind was so evident even in the ravine where we're usually protected from its excesses. It wasn't quite as emphatically uncomfortable as at the street level, but noticeable nonetheless.

Still, the creek was not frozen, only parts of it here and there. Its current seems a challenge to the ice. And despite the frigidity we saw a number of robins flitting about, looking for live food in the freezing water. It's quite amazing that despite robins' traditional natural flight in late fall to the south where they will overwinter, the last decade or so has resulted in the phenomenon of some robins remaining in the frozen north rather than responding to their natural instincts to fly to more clement regions avoiding winter's excesses.

We did come across quite a few people walking their dogs, all of them known to us, both as passing acquaintances and those with whom we have warm relations because we've got to know one another over the years. Jackie and Jillie were wearing their boots because of the extreme cold; their tiny paws freeze after prolonged exposure, and the boots allow them the opportunity to enjoy the forested ravine without freezing up. The boots, for some strange reason, seem to encourage them to engage in even wackier behaviour than they usually display; they seem somehow to be electrified with energy.

The problem is they're too full of enthusiasm, and when they see another dog approaching they become extremely excited, barking greetings, and racing to greet them. When it's a dog they're not familiar with the tone of the barking changes, its friendly joyful greeting alters toward a canine 'who are you in my ravine?', and we call them back. Jackie always responds, but Jillie continues her course usually, approaching the other dog at a gallop. When she feels too close for comfort, that's when she decides to race back to us, but doesn't stay, simply repeats the performance, despite hearing us tell her to stay. Sometimes a quick treat will do the trick.

On Sunday, this little drama repeated itself, the oncoming dogs familiar with our two's routine ending with all of them cavorting a bit; the larger dogs tend to try to sidestep our two, alternating with trying to play with them and if they're too energetic about it, our two find it alarming and swiftly retreat. Usually the other owners chide their large dogs to be more gentle around smaller ones.

When we approaching the last long uphill climb to the street at the completion of our daily woodland jaunt, Jillie heard and then saw a dog in the distance before us and ran off, Jackie following her. The routine is that they'll return to us when we call, but only so far, and then race off again. This time where Jillie was racing to happened to be a very narrow path sitting astride the point where the bank is highest over the creek. When she got close enough to the Golden Retriever she was barking at, she backed off, but Jackie moved in. Two young people, unknown to us, were standing beside the Golden, and they just watched.

They just watched as the Golden kept forcing Jackie further and further down the bank which is straight and perpendicular and packed with snow, the creek below free of both ice and snow. We were running from quite a distance to catch up, hoping Jackie wouldn't end up in the creek. He has no extra fat on him whatever, and weighs about 10 pounds. He's a timid, skinny little fellow, actually, and sometimes his enthusiasm runs away with him, as it did on this occasion.

The young couple stood, watching, not calling off their dog to allow Jackie to clamber up the bank, until he was about a foot from the creek, when Irving reached the scene, scrambled down to retrieve Jackie, then struggled to make his way back through the deep snow up the steep bank. The fellow of the pair offered Irving a hand to help to haul him up to the  trail, but like a pissed-off dog, he got a "shove off!" rumble for his paltry effort, and I tossed a broken branch down to my husband to help him gain some purchase.