On the bridges of the ravine in the forested area close to where we live the accumulated snowpack is beginning to show signs that spring is arriving. Not 'has arrived', but 'is arriving'. Typically, spring takes its own sweet time in this area because winter is never agreeable to moving over and making room for the next season.

Even though there are signs of melt, since the creek itself is running fairly wide and deep, the ice-snowpack on the bridges are at least a foot and a half in depth. Around the trees in the woods, though, the signs are there of spring's tardy arrival since the usual wells in the snow that appear at this time of year around the base of tree trunks are in evidence.

During yesterday's ramble in the woods the atmosphere was perfect. The temperature had risen to plus-five, the sun was out and the breeze was lovely. This morning's forecast dashed our hopes, however, that this benevolent weather is here to stay. We're forecasted by Environment Canada to receive five centimetres of snow in the afternoon and another five to ten in the evening, falling on into the nighttime hours.

We came across quite a few other woodland walkers yesterday with their dogs, so our two, Jackie and Jillie, had ample opportunity to socialize. At one juncture we came across the lovely woman with her year-old female husky that tends to wander into the woods where she cannot be seen, but that the woman controls with one of those electronic collars. Her husband takes the husky out on weekends, and she does during the week

Her husband dispenses with the collar, in fact he dispenses entirely walking with the dog. When her husband takes the dog out to the ravine they walk separate trajectories, occasionally meeting up from time to time. Given free rein, which the woman never does, it's anyone's guess what the dog gets up to. On Sunday we were informed that the dog had managed to catch a fox and was ravaging it when the woman who told us about the incident got involved, trying to make the husky drop the struggling fox.

It did, eventually, and in that brief instant the fox made directly for its den, the husky pursuing it and attempting to dig it out of the den, located in a bit of a bared-earth bluff close to one of the bridges. Amazing that the husky managed to snare the fox to begin with. Atrocious that she did. When the man finally caught up, having heard all the commotion, the woman gave him a piece of her mind and he literally shrugged.

The woman who walks the husky told us that she had noticed its muzzle was bloody when her husband returned with their dog. My husband wanted to know whether she was fully aware of what had occurred; it transpired that her husband had informed her. While it is unpleasant to confront or to criticize people, particularly people who are genial and likeable, there are times when your concerns should be conveyed, not aggressively or belligerently but meaningfully.

It's painful to think of the fox's trauma and condition. We can only hope it will survive its ordeal and nurse itself back to health. The woods are, after all, its natural element. The constant presence of dogs should logically have instilled an existential caution in all of the area wildlife, but there are times, obviously, when there is a violent collision.

We do have an obligation to other creatures whose rightful habitat it is, to keep those collisions to a minimum, however, and everyone should be mindful of that.

We all have our prejudices. The very word, however, is such a pejorative, I prefer to substitute it with the word 'biases'. And I certainly have mine. Chief among them is that I cannot take people who don't find it within themselves to be moved toward reading, seriously.

Seriously, if someone blithely states they have no interest in reading, I interpret that to mean they have no deep interest in life itself. They, on the other hand, would expostulate otherwise. And invariably if it's someone of the male gender, their interests revolve around sports and mechanics; more specifically, cars. Which needn't necessarily preclude reading.

Women, for their part, tend to gravitate around fashion, marketing and celebrity. Whoever it happens to be expressing a total disinterest in reading, my estimation of their intelligence does a fairly swift plummet.

There has been no time in my life when I was not deeply invested in reading, and any reading material would suffice. It took many years for reading preferences to develop as I indulged in all manner of reading genres through the years. My husband and I met when we were both fourteen, and we were both equally fascinated with books and both of us were omnivorous readers.

When our children were small; three children with 1-1/2 years separating each; quite a bit of the reading I indulged in throughout their growing and impressionable years was my reading to them. Beginning with the early childhood classics like Babar the Elephant, which both their parents recalled with fondness, on to the novels of Mark Twain. I stopped reading to them when they became old enough to do their own reading.

Life has many pleasures, some taken for granted, some guilty ones, but few match the anticipatory expectation of a new book waiting to be read. Those people who have no interest in reading, it seems to me, betray through that disinterest a lack of curiosity, intelligence and solid values.

A day ago my Twitter account reflected the presence of a new follower. As I usually do, I perused her site, assessing her tweets to determine whether they had anything in common with my own interests. The second tweet reflected on a sentence that immediately caught my eye: "When people ask me what I'm reading I get really embarrassed because I just don't have tim…" 

Informing me succinctly that we had nothing in common, which a continued perusal of following tweets affirmed, since they were all fashion, celebrity and marketing oriented observations and postings. She is not unique in her focus and orientation. I see many such accounts, some with an astonishing number of followers, and all of which reflect the same shallow values.

So that's a summary of my biases. For the record.

Finally we've embarked into the long journey leading from late-late winter into early spring. In Ottawa, early spring resembles nothing like the early spring experienced in other parts of the world, even those surrounded by mountains which have already long shed their winter mantles of snow and ice descending to the valleys below, releasing them from their long winter slumber, nourishing the landscape into vibrant greens with the pop-up surprise of spring-blooming flowers of exquisite beauty.

In this region of the world we wait a lot longer for those welcome surprises convincing us that winter has begrudgingly been persuaded to wave us goodbye for another season. But yesterday's morning rain following the all-day rain of the day before has begun the serious snowmelt, and the prevailing temperatures for the coming week are all above freezing. Even some sun muscled through the grey clouds of yesterday afternoon.

Our way to the ravine entrance was punctuated by a few smiling neighbourly faces, outdoors for a change. Jean-Guy seemed ecstatic that he could once again begin washing his car in the driveway, a constant preoccupation with him, churlishly interrupted by winter.

And in the ravine the creek is swollen and running tempestuously down to the Ottawa River on its long, releasing journey from freezeup to thaw. The sound and sight of birds, absent for much of the winter, has now resumed. Not that we don't see and hear them during the winter months, but then it is more a random, episodic appearance; now it will become constant as our feathered neighbours celebrate incoming spring.

A pair of pileated woodpeckers was heard calling raucously through the ravine, hammering on trees in search of the beetle larvae they harbour, and crows were mobbing somewhere; possibly surrounding an owl impervious to their exhibition of silly nonsense, not disposed to move from his perch, while the crows shriek hysterically around him. Chickadees are flocking and flickering among tree branches, followed as usual by a nuthatch. And streaks of crimson are seen swifting across the trails as cardinals resume their usual sighted activities with blissful paeans to spring.

Habits, we become slaves to them. We need not necessarily, but there is always that inner urge to repeat endlessly what we have convinced ourselves to do. Spring cleaning is one of those habits some people still cling to, while others breezily dismiss the entire ritual.

It's a relief to ignore the 'imperative' to clean out the cupboards of your home. It does make sense, of course, if one considers that a year may have gone by without some kind of tidy order having taken place in those cupboards. Let alone the removal of any detritus or dust that might have accumulated during that time. And if it's a busy household with plenty of people that's an additional thing to consider, since more people usually equals more clutter.

But for us, our children long gone off on their own, there's just two of us, and our puppies. Our little dogs have never been known to select things from the kitchen cupboards with a mind to preparing meals. They have the luxury of expectation, that everything will be done on their behalf and nicely presented to them.

I, of course, am the chief cook, but there are occasions when my husband likes to dabble at the art as well, and there are times when we may prepare things to eat as a tandem. Since we're both adult and responsible, we seldom leave behind any kind of mess. But the inclination, come March, is to debate with myself where I will start the process this year. Sometimes it's the dining room, sometimes the kitchen. Since not only do the house cupboards get cleared out and re-arranged, but the sheers over the windows get washed, and so does windows and woodwork, and so too do the heavier winter jackets, to be put away for another year.

This year I began with the kitchen cupboards, a gradual process, since there's plenty of them, but they're almost done with, and then I will tackle the laundry room cupboards and the vanities in the powder room and our bathroom, before taking down the sheers, washing and re-hanging them. It's a tedious business to be sure, and my husband tries to persuade me to just let it go. How many people nowadays even bother with that antiquated habit? he asks reasonably enough. It's like my doing some ironing on laundry day; same question, same shrug.

In any event, once it's all done, I feel a sense of purpose has been satisfied. Good enough.

It was a shock to hear and left a bad taste in my mouth. Yesterday during our ravine walk we had come across a couple whom we'd never seen before, in the company of their five-month-old standard poodle, a beautiful animal whose exuberance, given its age, was little surprise. This was not an aggressive dog, but a mild-mannered, and joyful personality demonstrating no difficulty whatever getting along well with other dogs that happened to come along while we were in deep conversation with other people as they arrived at the spot where we had stopped to talk for a considerable length of time.

One of our long-time acquaintances with a beautifully mannered dog of his own had come across us, stopped briefly and then carried on, and we were still in conversation when he returned, surprisingly after a relatively brief hiatus, having obviously not gone far from where he had seen us. Again he stopped to speak with the group that we represented, in a fairly jocular manner. What I hadn't seen, consumed with talk alongside two other women, was what my husband relayed to me, that our friend had bent down as the young poodle made to leap up at him and violently fisted it, knocking the puppy into a tumble. The puppy's owner, a man proud and affectionate of his charge, saw what  had happened, but obviously felt constrained to say anything in protest, and our friend made his farewells and continued on.

This wasn't the first time we had seen him behaving in this manner; previously it had been our two little dogs whom he had swatted away from him, not as violently, but disturbingly, nonetheless; no one else we know has ever reacted in this manner and for quite a period of time we distanced ourselves from this man, though lately, our relations had become warmer. Now I'm left with a nasty taste in my mouth over him. It's not as though the dog might have bowled him over since this man stands a full foot taller than anyone else who ventures into the ravine.

And then, to kind of taint further the experience of yesterday's otherwise-pleasant and invigorating trek in the woods, as we were a short way from exiting the ravine we came across a woman we see on occasion, who related to us another disturbing tale of violence, this one revolving around a year-old husky usually walked by a very personable woman who keeps the dog in control with a device that gives it a brief electric shock when it wanders too far from her presence and she can no longer see it. She walks the dog on weekdays and leaves it to her husband to do so on weekends, and we had noted a half-hour earlier the sight of the dog quite a distance from the man walking it, he paying no attention whatever where it was, giving it completely free reign.

Evidently, later, the man had entirely lost track of the dog. In that interval the woman described what she had seen, a drama unfolding before her eyes, her own dog sitting serenely by her side, a large, hairy breed like a Newfoundland mix that never ventures too far from her. The husky had chased down a red fox that had ventured out of its den, and incredibly, had caught the fox and it was in the husky's jaws. She shouted at the dog, and it ignored her, as she began running through the understory over snow and ice. She approached the two, the fox struggling to be free, the husky holding on, and ignoring her appeals while she was pulling on its back. Until it finally released the fox which streaked away, the husky following it, until the fox managed to slip back into its den, its face peering out at the husky, which finally left it, as the woman berated it loudly.

No idea what condition the fox was left in; whether injured or simply traumatized.

Soon the dog's owner appeared and the woman informed him what had happened. He as good as shrugged offhandedly; it wasn't, he explained, his intention to restrain the dog, he preferred to let it wander where it would, unlike his wife, who maintained tight control of it.

This will not qualify as one of the better days we've ever experienced in our woodland trails.

There was the pandemonium of fun in joyful excess this morning in the ravine. We set out earlier than we normally do, when the temperature was just hovering at freezing and the wind had started to pick up, but there were still some blue patches among the gathering storm clouds and we thought it best to get out sooner rather than later, given the warning of freezing rain and much heftier wind conditions.

It was nippy indeed, and with the wind, relatively less insistent than we're accustomed to the last week, it felt colder than it has done, of late. Still, people are tired of winter and since it's Sunday we soon discovered that others were eager to get out before the day unleashed the fury of higher winds amid freezing rain.

We met, for the first time, Webster, a rambunctiously happy five-year-old Apricot standard poodle with his humans. And while we stood about talking and enjoying watching our two smaller poodles gambol and chase and play about with Webster, along came another acquaintance with her 14-year-old, small Golden. And then the fun began in earnest, with the two larger dogs challenging one another to serious jousts despite their vast age differential, and Jackie and Jillie picking up the rear, yelping and getting bowled over and barking their happy discomfiture.

Soon enough another friend came along with her much closer-to-the-ground little Angus, a Shih Tzu who also wanted in on the fun, but soon turned grumpy when he got bumped about. And then arrived Lilly, the white German shepherd, to calm the situation down, because she is everyone friend and idol, lending a bit of dignity to the scene, quieting things down.

As we finally tore ourselves away from the group which dissolved with everyone going on their separate routes we continued to come across other walkers and their dogs, each meeting occasioning additional brief doggy interactions, and creating as usual much amusement for the spectators, we also took stock of the conditions in the ravine.

Ravishingly beautiful as usual, although the wind had knocked down the plentiful snow that had nestled fluffily on all branches and limbs of the forest. If yesterday's slightly milder temperature had begun a bit of a snow-melt, today's chill iced it all back into place, but it made for a good solid foundation on the trails, where our boots weren't slushing about in the denaturized snow, and nor were they threatening to slip on the revealed ice.

What a weather roller-coaster yesterday was; snow, wet snow, freezing rain, ice pellets, wet snow, and more snow. A total of 14 cm of snow, to add to the snowpack that had only just begun to diminish from its high point over-winter. Some spring, so far. First thing this morning the backyard looked like the proverbial winter wonderland. Not complaining, how could I, viewing such incomparable beauty?

And then later venturing into the forest, although it was no longer snowing, it still was, in a sense. The slightest of wind, above-freezing temperature by the time we went out, shifted the snow from overhead branches and down it came, plopping everywhere, and of course, on us. The snow is so deep and plushy over everything that it absorbs all sound, and in the ravine it is incredibly still and quiet.

The creek is open and running furiously with the beginning of the snow-melt, and though there's lots to go, it eventually will, though we will be well into April before the monopolistic white has turned to expectant glimpses of green shoots budding everywhere.

Because it's Saturday we came across others out enjoying the scene and the opportunity to stretch legs and lungs. First off it was Harley and Lilly; the former an Australian shepherd with the most wonderful disposition, overjoyed to see us for a romp with Jackie and Jillie, the latter a golden lab, a small and beautiful specimen of her breed, but fairly standoffish.

And then a delightful little Yorkie mix, half the size of our own little raffish runts, who gamely put up with their antics, snuffling and sniffing at her overbearingly; a contrast in size and close to bullying since there's two dogs surrounding one much smaller one. She persevered and gave a good accounting of herself.

After that, we came across Lilly the white German shepherd  whose good nature won't allow her to put our two in their place. She tolerates their presence and even shows us how pleased she is to see us all.

What were we thinking!

Well, perhaps what we were thinking was that this long winter is finally over. We tend to do that. Presumptuously silly, of course, just not thinking carefully enough, obviously. It's not as though, after all, we haven't been through this all the years of our lives, so we've had ample experience. It is that all-too-human syndrome of hope 'springing eternal'.

Spring. It has arrived, by the calendar. The Spring Equinox arrived in this hemisphere several days ago. The temperature has yet to catch up, of course, since we're still struggling to rise above freezing during the day, after night-time plunges, but we're patient, since there are few alternatives. Nature is not known to be moved by reasonable debate. She's indomitable and quite disinterested in engaging in rational debate with the creatures she has designed and dispatched to inhabit her dominion.

So, no we hardly expected to see a raging snowstorm first thing this morning. Truth to tell, we were taken aback, as the saying goes, glimpsing the new piles accumulating, glancing out the front door. It's no longer morning and it's still raging. We're not raging, just puzzled that Environment Canada gave us no heads-up, not even a subtle hint that more snow was on the way. Though they did play catch-up this morning and solemnly advised that it is, ahem, snowing. That we can expect five to ten centimetres. We reckon that ten has already fallen and it's still going strong.

Yesterday, hiking through the forest trails we could see hints here and there that the sun, despite the prevailing temperature -- which was, to be fair, on the cusp of moderation, just a tad above freezing -- exerting its influence on the snowpack. And we've got quite a considerable snowpack that has accumulated over the course of this winter. And we were silly enough to remark to one one another, gee, it won't be all that long....

So, as I mentioned, what were we thinking? Yesterday, our terrible twins enjoyed themselves loping along on the hard-crusted snow. And when we came across kind and patient Lilly who always permits Jackie and Jillie civil treatment, though it's debatable that they deserve it, she was happily lolling about in the snow, nibbling it from time to time. It's true, dogs of all kinds, shapes and sizes become disconsolate when the snow finally leaves.

However, it is most certainly time that the snow took its leave. More shovelling, piling on of winter gear, trudging about in it.

Ah, and admiring its timeless beauty!

Neither Jackie nor Jillie, our sibling pups, will have been inspired to write in their daily diaries their impressions of a wonderful day they experienced yesterday.

Each of them took turns feeling ill, to introduce the morning. Jillie would never refuse breakfast, irrespective of how she may feel, and she did not this time around. Jackie can be relied upon to reject food when he's feeling under the weather, and that's just what he did yesterday morning. But the sun was out and warming the atmosphere and they were briefly comfortable soaking it up on the deck.

So perhaps that was somewhat helpful in view of the fact that we embarked in the early afternoon on a trip to the west end where we've been taking them to one of the city's veterinarian hospitals that is also on call 24 hours a day and where, over the years, when emergencies have arisen with our pups, we've taken them, as little patients. And because they also operate as a regular veterinary clinic, we decided we'd take them there to be looked after by one of the veterinarians with whom we'd become somewhat familiar.

We found it just too painful to take these newer additions to our family to the veterinarians that had previously been relied upon to help us look after the health of our previous little companions over the years.

Over the winter months we'd taken to infrequently having them with us when we'd go out somewhere where we had to drive and consequently they seem to have become unaccustomed to being in a vehicle. When they were very young they had a tendency to become upset when being driven somewhere, but we'd thought that had been overcome.

Yesterday, because the veterinarian hospital we now frequent (not too frequently; last trip was a year ago for their annual physical) is located some good distance from home, they were driven for a longer period than when we just gad about close to home. And they were distinctly uncomfortable. It was a very cold, windy and sunny day, and because of their black coats the sun shining into the confines of the cab of the truck made them uncomfortable.

Once at the hospital and seated in the waiting room, they were unhappy because they remembered the place, and not the least bit fondly, so they were restless and Jackie was hostile to the presence of other dogs. When we finally left the hospital and headed uptown to drop briefly by Byward Market, I opened the window as we drove to admit fresh air hoping that would help, and Jackie promptly threw up.

Their relief when we finally drove home and arrived in the driveway of our house was palpable. Mirroring the relief we also felt, because the entire enterprise had turned into a real ordeal. Now we're wondering how they'll react when we begin to once again undertake long trips with the entrance of spring and summer. Guess we'll have to begin reintroducing them to the prospect.

"Not all of the dogs had survived the voyage south, and others perished during the first winter. On November 10 [1912], when Mawson, Ninnis, and Mertz set off from the hut, they took seventeen dogs to haul three sledges. The total weight of their impedimenta was 1,723 pounds. Of that, 475 pounds was food for the men, based on a calculation of nine weeks of travel, each man consuming a little less than two and-a-quarter pounds per day. The dog food -- almost entirely seal meat, seal blubber, and pemmican -- added up to 700 pounds, or two-fifths of the team's total supplies. Even so, it was taken for granted that if a dog could not keep up, it would be shot and fed to the other huskies."
"On the 5th, Pavlova gave birth to a litter of pups. They were instantly devoured by the huskies, including their own mother. [Such an event, so shocking to the dog-loving armchair observer, was a norm in the gruelling conditions of Antarctic travel.]"
"Gadget, too, was pregnant. 'A rather miserable animal', in Mawson's view, since she seemed incapable of hauling, Gadget was carried in a box on top of a sledge through the day's march on November 15. When she failed to give birth, she sealed  her fate. 'We leave camp at 10 minutes to 12 [noon]', Mawson wrote dispassionately on November 17, 'after killing and cutting up Gadget as she could not walk nor we carry her. She cut up into 24 rations counting 7 [unborn] pups'. That evening, 'Dogs did not like 'Gadget' tonight, dogs very quarrelsome today'. By the next day, however, hunger trumped the huskies' reluctance. 'They ate 'Gadget' meat voraciously', noted Mertz, 'except 'Shackleton [husky], who turned his nose up."
David Roberts, Alone On The Ice

Sir Douglas Mawson

This is an excerpt from a book detailing the dramatic story of one man. the leader, on a scientific mission to map the Antarctic in the wake of slightly earlier exploratory expeditions launched by Robert Falcon Scott and later Ernest Shackleton, men dedicated to exploration of the farthest reaches of the Globe, where neither extreme atmospheric and geological conditions nor the dangers that lurked in the vast, freezing white landscape of the unknown was a deterrence to their ambition.

It's striking and heart-rending to hear of the expectations of the Eskimo huskies taken along to haul the immensely clumsy and overburdened ice sledges used by these early expeditions. The idea, of course, was not only to use the energy and working instincts of these dogs accustomed to labouring by hauling heavy objects, but also to use them as emergency rations in the case of unforeseen events that left the exploring scientists with no other food source.

It was either lack of oversight or intentional that the huskies were neither spayed nor neutered to prevent pregnancies from occurring in such dismal, distant circumstances, when reliance on the strength and capacity of these working dogs to make the most of their efforts in hauling supplies required for the success of the expedition was seen as a necessity. The dangers that the men faced were also faced by the dogs.

The misfortunes suffered by the men, as when immense, surface-hidden cracks in the ice, either on the immense glaciers they encountered and traversed, or the thickly snow-and-ice-laden plains necessitated the greatest of care and vigilance as they would suddenly swallow man, dogs and sledge. On most occasions swift reaction and quick thinking would save them from the ultimate tragedy, yet on occasion the catastrophe was so immediate and intractable that nothing could be done.

"A moment later the faint indication of a crevasse passed beneath the sledge but it had no appearance of being in any degree specially dangerous. However, as had come to be the custom I called out a warning to Ninnis. The latter, who was close behind walking along by the side of his sledge, heard the warning, for in my backward glance I noticed that he immediately swung the leading dogs so as to cross the crevasse squarely instead of diagonally as my sledge had done. I then resumed my work and dismissed the matter from my thoughts."
"There was no sound from behind except a faint, plaintive whine from one of the dogs which I imagined was in reply to a touch from Ninnis's whip. I remember addressing myself to George, the laziest dog in my own team, saying, 'You will be getting a little of that, too, George, if you are not careful'."
"When next I looked back, it was in response to the anxious gaze of Mertz who had turned round and halted in his tracks. Behind me nothing met the eye except my own sledge tracks running back in t he distance. Where were Ninnis and his sledge?"
"I leaned over and shouted into the dark depths below. No sound came back but the moaning of a dog, caught on a shelf just visible one hundred and fifty feet below The poor creature appeared to have a broken back, for it was attempting to sit up with the front part of its body, while the hinder portion lay limp. Another dog lay motionless by its side. Close by was what appeared in the gloom to be the remains of the tent and a canvas food-tank containing a fortnight's supply."
"We broke back the edge of the hard snow lid and, secured by a rope, took turns leaning over, calling into the darkness in the hope that our companion might be still alive. For three hours we called unceasingly but no answering sound came back. The dog had ceased to moan and lay without a movement. A chill draught rose out of the abyss. We felt that there was no hope."
Australasian Antarctic Expedition

The last photo of Mawson's Far Eastern Party, taken when they left the Australasian Antarctic Party's base camp on November 10, 1912. By January 10, 1913, two of the three men would be dead, and expedition leader Douglas Mawson would find himself exhausted, ill and still more than 160 miles from the nearest human being. Photo: State Library of New South Wales via Wikicommons.

We're once again in that state of winter-weariness. It is a time-of-year phenomenon that strikes people living in northern latitudes such as ours. Nature's teasing habit of allowing us one or two days of moderate temperatures, a beaming sun and reduced wind never fails to raise our hopes that winter is finally taking its leave for another year.

And then the true face of nature is revealed once more as moderation is succeeded by ferociously mean winds hurling freezing temperatures at us in the maelstrom of a heavy snowstorm. We are aware that we should know better, but hope springs eternal.

Yesterday the mellow temperature and absent wind that we've been anticipating finally arrived. We have to keep repeating to ourselves; enjoy it while we can and remember this is a one-day event. Sure enough, Environment Canada has given fair heads-up that by Wednesday we'll be plunged back into a daytime high of minus-6 or -7, and accompanied by the usual wind it'll feel much more intemperate than merely the registered temperature.

But yesterday was an entirely other situation. The entire day was an atmospheric delight, one celebrated by cardinals singing their incomparable melodies of grace and beauty. As we entered the ravine for our usual woodland walk we were greeted by the lunatic call of a Pileated woodpecker. Chickadees and nuthatches flitted about everywhere. There were robins down by the creek.

And perhaps unsurprisingly, we kept coming across others out walking the forested trails. In fact there were so many people walking their dogs that we'd never seen before, at times it resembled an urban park groomed to entice local residents to take part in that most civil of enterprises; the habitual stroll-in-the-park. Parts of the trails are deceptively tricky, that people unaccustomed to them soon discovered, requiring care where they trod, as ice at times is covered by a thin layer of snow.

Our two little dogs were beside themselves with excitement at the sight of all those people and the prospect of playing with other dogs. At one point it was a six-month-old black Labrador puppy that consumed their interest, and they jousted with the boisterous puppy for quite a length of time. At one point Jillie retreated and Jackie was left to face off against the puppy, getting bowled over completely more than once, in the process.

We came across the adorable wisp of a three-pound dog, Rosa, out for a stroll with her companion. The tiny dog dressed in a blue coat seems happy enough to trot along over the tamped-down trails. Our two, behaving obstreperously around such a delicate little creature makes me downright nervous but Jackie's fascination with Rosa warrants that caution. Small as he is, he appears gigantic next to Rosa.

The reverse occurred when Benji, the Bernese Mountain dog came tumbling down one of the hills to the lower trail we were on at that time. Benji is close to seven months old, and hefty. He's playful as puppies are, and not quite aware of his immense girth and strength. Jackie is less than thrilled to be tumbling about with Benji and doesn't offer to, while Benji amiably makes himself available for a wrestling match.

We weren't about to ramble on more than a hundred yards yesterday, before coming abreast with others on the trails. It was only on the more extended of the trails, requiring more of a physical effort to reach, that we found ourselves with fewer encounters.

Little wonder people were out and about, responding to nature's invitation to enjoy such a rare treat which will eventually become less rare.

We're completely mystified by the hostile behaviour of our two little sibling poodles to the presence of people or other dogs they're not familiar with. Their instincts appear to drive them toward belligerence and despite being chastised repeatedly they simply continue this embarrassing and potentially dangerous behaviour.

Our first poodle, Button, was a miniature breed and she exhibited none of this kind of belligerence. She was, in fact, terrified of encounters with other dogs that might betray a character of ill intent. When she was a puppy the sound of a dog barking would send her for cover. But she was happy enough to be friendly with non-threatening dogs, though she remained shy of people.

Riley, our apricot toy poodle who was introduced to Button when he was a puppy and she was already seven, loved people and was suspicious of other dogs. We had hoped they would get along together and become companions with one another. That never happened. Button, despite all of Riley's attempts to endear himself to her, was steadfastly standoffish; she simply ignored his presence. And for the following dozen years that they lived together that was that.

Our current two-and-a-half year-olds are supposed to be toy breeds, even registered with both the American and Canadian Kennel Clubs for all that's worth, and to us, not very much. They're about the size of a miniature poodle, so much for being 'toys'. The thing of it is, toys are notorious for being very unfriendly to other dogs, and these two fit the bill.

They're just fine with dogs they know. They were introduced at an early age to the presence of other dogs, socializing when we come across them on our daily forest walks, but when they come across a dog they're unfamiliar with, their behaviour is decidedly hostile. That's a problem for many reasons, not the least of which is that we like to walk them on the forest trails off leash, and if they see or smell another dog approaching they burst into hostile barking and sprint ahead.

The danger lies in the possibility of coming across a large dog whose reaction could be a vicious one, and that might end in tragedy. We once had something of that nature occur with Riley. It was in the depth of winter, he was wearing several coats, one atop the other, and boots. He accosted a large old Husky in the most belligerent manner, snapping at it. And the Husky simply closed its jaws around Riley and held him while I scrambled to reach them, attempting to loosen the Husky's grip on our then-whimpering little toy dog.

The Husky did relent and Riley was none the worse for wear. The dog's owner apologized, explaining his dog was familiar with small dogs, his mother had one, but he was suffering with cancer in one of his hips/legs. I apologized for Riley's unspeakably miserable behaviour, and was grateful that nothing more had come of the encounter.

Yesterday, walking back down the street after our ravine walk, we saw a neighbour coming toward us with little Munchkin, a long-haired miniature Daschund, a dog both of ours know well, yet Jackie advanced toward the little dog in a threatening snarl, even though both were on leash. It's a puzzle, and a worrisome one.

It always amazes me that people living on the same street for decades haven't made any effort to get to know their neighbours. For some, although they've lived in close proximity for twenty years or more, if confronted by the sight of someone walking down the street, they mightn't bother to glance at them as they pass, and even if they did, mightn't recognize them as someone who lives six houses up the street.

On our way to the ravine for our daily ramble as we went up the street, a couple was walking down the street. We know one another and have for many years. We stopped to chat amiably for awhile, when before too long another figure came walking down the street. We know him too, since he's our next-door neighbour. It occurred to me, as I greeted him that the other neighbours might not know who he is.

So I asked if they'd met one another, feeling a little silly doing so, since they've lived, each family, on the street for well over twenty years and not that distant from one another. Nope, no idea. I introduced them by name, and a light went on so that the couple asked if he was the person who lived right beside us, whose Hallowe'en and Christmas decorations are so delightful. They knew the house, but not the resident. One can only shake one's head in disbelief.

On then, into the ravine, after we'd exhausted topics of mutual interest and parted. And during our walk on the forest trails we came across others who live somewhere in the neighbourhood; we've a vague idea of the streets they live on, and we've known them too for many years, since we come across those outdoor-lovers more frequently than we do the people who live on our street.

Each time, we stop, we discuss things and then move on, the feeling of collegiality and neighbourliness serving to warm us on a cold, windy winter day. True, the sun was out and brightly warm but the wind blew the chill air as deep as it could into the folds of our garments. Still, the landscape itself is worth the effort to stroll through and admire, and we do so. As do the other regulars that we so often see doing the very same thing. Very few of whom are among the people who live on the same street as us, whose access to the forest trails is so convenient.