As far as our two puppies are concerned, our behaviour is downright freakish at times. Not to be compared, needless to say, with their manic race-abouts in the house complete with verbal emphasis of grunts and yipes as they relentlessly chase one another, pause briefly to box and wrestle, then thunder the way about again until exhausted of enthusiasm.

As far as they seem to be concerned, our only rational actions are those when we invite them out for a ravine walk through the trails in the forest adjacent our home, and better still, when we're busy with the serious work of preparing their mealtimes. Even better yet, the delectable treats they anticipate when they smell breakfast sausages and pancakes on the stove and they're presented with their own bowls of same.

Last evening, we interrupted the initial stages of dinner preparation after feeding them, to indulge ourselves. Every Saturday, Radio Canada's French programming features several hours of music dating to our era, the early-to-mid-50s, and we're overwhelmed with the urge to dance. We've realized some progress with Jackie and Jillie for they no longer leap yipping at us, convinced that they're breaking up a puzzling fracas. We're just being a little stupid, they've obviously concluded as they sit regarding us with those bemused expressions on their faces, particularly Jackie.

It's as though we can hear an audible sigh of relief as the program ends and we turn our attention back to our Saturday-night meal preparations; lately it's been pizza pockets; I roll out the dough I'd prepared on Friday and refrigerated, while my husband chops the vegetables (and pepperoni) that will be nestled within the dough, to crustily bake a moist and flavourful interior. It's Saturday night, after all, and that's the prelude to watching a film my husband has judiciously selected from our public library.

Earlier in the day he'd gone out to buy nematodes, determined to rid our lawn -- or what's left of it -- from the grubs of the Japanese beetles that have this summer caused such havoc in our gardens. Speaking of which I was finally able, since Saturday turned out bright and sunny, to get out into the gardens for some tidying.

Ending up with two compost bags full of cuttings and discards, pulling up zinnias that have expired all too soon, cutting back the two weeping mulberries, lilies, thinning out the Morning Glories, snipping water spouts off the Sargenti Crabs, trimming the hydrangeas where they impede access to the garden and ferociously trimming the spireas. Everything looks a lot neater, and the result is some inroads on fall clean-up.

After which we set off for the ravine, finally beginning to dry up a bit from days of incessant rain, having absorbed the puddles that had accumulated on the forest floor and interrupting passage on the trails. I've been on the lookout for colourful fungi erupting where cellulose from tree trunks have been absorbed into the leaf-mass, and instead discover them primarily on dead standing trees.