We hadn't seem him in quite a long time. And then, there he was, walking down the street, a little Jack Russell at the other end of a leash he held. He's always had two dogs as long as we've known him. And we only ever came across him walking his dogs in the ravined forest adjacent our street. We were glad to see him, knowing a back story was in the offing, explaining his long absence.

His two dogs were both rescues, and neither was an attractive dog, both shambolic and overweight tending to waddle rather than trot along. The larger of the two would bark furiously non-stop on encountering anyone. It had been severely traumatized before he had taken it into his care. This is a man who is a dedicated animal lover. Originally from Sri Lanka, we imagine he must have been more familiar with large animals than domesticated pets, but his credentials as an authentic animal lover couldn't be argued.

Two years ago we discovered to our amazement, goldfish swimming in a part of the creek over in an extended area of the ravine. We saw them in the late fall, and were amazed they would find enough to eat in this very unproductive stream with its clay base. Clearly someone had disposed of them from a  home fish tank, or even a commercial one. Our friend had patiently netted them all, taken them home to place them in a large tank he had in his basement, and was actively looking to find homes for them all, experiencing some degree of success.

This creek is not very deep, and it drains quickly. It is also used as part of a sewage disposal in a sense, since being located in the midst of an urban centre, a bit of wild nature preserved by its very geology unsuitable for 'development', given the deep valleys and steep rises that comprise it, obviously runoff of pesticides and herbicides and whatever else, including fertilizers people put on their lawns, environmentally legal and illegal, runs into the creek. Should it freeze overwinter to a respectable depth it might preserve their lives though goldfish are not native to this cold northern region.

Of the two dogs, the larger one is fearful and reactive, so our friend always walks it on leash for its comfort. The dog most often balks at going into the ravine, however, so his appearance with it is fairly rare. If thunderstorms happened to have rolled through the area at any given time, the large dog becomes a writhing nest of tangled nerves. The second, smaller dog enjoyed being taken to the ravine and agitated for that treat because it loved the creek and wading down into it, all the while barking fervent little expressions of pure, unalloyed joyful pleasure.

We would often hear it a long way off, and knew it was Ruby. Our friend would wait patiently for as long as that little dog wanted to remain in the creek, pawing up the water and digging into the streambed, smiling and taking pleasure in the small dog's satisfaction with its outing. We hadn't heard that bark, however, in over a year. And deduced that something awful had happened which didn't take too much of a stretch of imagination. And so, we haven't seen our friend either for a prolonged period of time.

But there he was, walking a new little six-year-old rescue with whom his other, large dog with the shot nerves was getting on just fine. Ruby, he had lost her, he said repeatedly, his face crumpling every time he said her name.