We're right royally fed up with being shut out of our daily ravine walks. We miss the forest trails, the look of the forest, the trees marbled with snow that no amount of wind can shake down, the appearance of old stumps well padded in snow, like fat little gnomes of the forest, the deepening snowpack on the forest floor and the sheer exuberance we feel being out in the cold, crisp air, the most breathable, clean air possible.

We know our two little dogs miss their daily jaunts in the ravine, as well. When they're out in the backyard they go a little berserk, loving the snow, the bracing cold, the urge to romp about, the challenges one brings to the other to run after, jump higher, box and wrestle better. Unfortunately, in this hugely unusual, prolonged deep-freeze we've been undergoing, they aren't out for too long before they begin to feel the icy-cold biting their paws, cooling down their bodies to an uncomfortable degree. Then their happiness turns to puzzlement and they make a beeline up the stairs to the deck and shiver at the patio doors. We, of course, are right behind them.

We vowed that today we'd no longer hesitate to take them out. Inclement weather or not. Those -20C days never kept us out of the ravine in years past. So on with their sweaters, winter coat over the sweaters, broad leather halter over the coat, and last, their boots. We reasoned that if we kept them on the leash while we went along the forest trails they wouldn't exert themselves in a display of their usual bouncy attitudes and the boots would remain in place. So, we set out, ourselves well insulated against the cold, in the -17C temperature that is today's high. It felt tolerable.

We felt confident we'd be able to do a circuit -- at least a relatively short one -- with little discomfort to them or to us. The wind that cut through layers of clothing out on the street abated once we dipped out way into the forest. But before we even got that far, the first boot came off. Two minutes later, another boot, one for each of them. So the boots had to be manoeuvred back on.

We'd gone barely  1/15th of the way that a short circuit would take us when we realized it was a futile venture. Boots came off either of them at least ten times, necessitating that gloves be taken off, bare hands exposed to the cold, and cold, stiff fingers used to negotiate the boots back onto reluctant little feet. Finally, we just gave up, returned home and called it a day.

Disappointing. There's a lesson there. The old boots I used to make for our little dogs decades ago, of my own design, might not have appeared anything near as professional in appearance as the Muttluks well-advertised brand we now use, but they worked a whole lot better. On rare occasions one boot might come off; nothing to resemble the experience we've had with these professionally-designed and manufactured boots with such an undeserved reputation for dependable practical use.