Bilberry Creek ravine welcomed us handsomely this morning, well before the stifling heat of the day could set in. It may be a long-established routine that we're on the trails in the woods every day, but it's one we never tire of, nor fail to look forward to. Regardless of the season, we're out there, with rare exceptions.

And, of course, we're accompanied by our little dogs. It's a shame we can't leave them to wander free off leash, but they're still too disposed to get into trouble. They rush headlong, barking furiously, when we come close to encountering other dogs and it's easy for large dogs to misinterpret their intent, though admittedly the larger dogs tend to be patient with ours as well as far better-behaved. Besides which, Jackie sometimes becomes ferociously aggressive with dogs he doesn't know, to the extent that he'll leap at them, snarling, if given the chance.

Doesn't make much existential sense when a small dog hasn't a prudent appreciation of the imbalance between a little dog and one well muscled and very large coming into conflict with each other, so we have to be alert to this foolish predilection of his. Jillie is hardly better; she has an irritating tendency to bark shrilly and often hysterically, despite our chastising her continually, and she more or less sets Jackie off.

When we come across dogs they know it's never a problem, since then their barking is an excited greeting. Well-disciplined these little dogs are not. Today we came across a few dogs we've never before seen in the ravine, two Golden Retrievers and a small Maltese accompanying two pleasant young women. The usual initial pandemonium ensued with our two; once we freed their leashes all five dogs made each others' acquaintance, and it was a nice social opportunity for Jack and Jill.

The cherry trees are now sporting fully ripened berries and they glow in the sun. Speaking of which sunflowers are now also in full summertime glow. And surprisingly, we came across the first clump of fall asters already in bloom, and that truly is strange; a full month ahead of the usual bloom-time schedule, as far as we can recall.

We came across the young women and their three dogs twice; the first time they hadn't been long in the ravine; the second, a half-hour or so later was after their dogs had discovered the creek, and obviously revelled in its cool, muddy wetness. By the time we re-encountered them, all three were dripping and their legs well encased in mud. The women laughed and said none of them would be sleeping in their beds tonight.