Routine, reflecting the familiar the expected and a reassurance that all is well, was somewhat upset for us yesterday. We had to cram a lot of things into the morning hours in light of an appointment downtown for the afternoon, so instead of taking our leisure time throughout the morning, we were infinitely more efficient about things. Almost reminiscent of that time before our retirement from the active paid workforce.

Of primary importance to us always is to ensure that Jackie and Jillie have the opportunity to get out into nearby natural surroundings to amble about and frolic to their hearts' content; an integral part of our quotidian routine for us as well, for the enjoyment it provides us.

And since we set out for our ravine hike on a relatively mild penultimate February day with full sun in a gloriously blue sky, our pleasure was multiplied yesterday. Puzzlingly, though we know that many people prefer their recreational time hiking through the forest in the morning hours, throughout our lengthy circuit of over an hour we briefly came across only two other people with their dogs, besides ourselves.

It makes sense that everything looks a little different at various times of the day. Since we're accustomed to going out in the afternoon for our woodland rambles, the sun is in a far different place in the sky in the morning, and radiates through the forest canopy quite differently, creating a picturesque variant on the landscape we know so well.

There's much to be said for scheduling a block of time in the morning for leisure hours tramping through the woods in all seasons. It begins the day beautifully, adding to mood and optimism that the hours to follow will be just as interesting and useful, though engaged differently. Habit too is a powerful motivator, however, and as it happens we've accustomed ourselves to finishing up each day's chores whatever they happen to be, before venturing out with our little companions to engage in the pure, unadulterated pleasure hiking through a natural setting affords us, that never fails to surprise and delight.

In actual fact, it hardly makes much difference which part of the day is set aside for something so important to our well being, as long as we're able to continue to enrich our lives making the most of our good fortune to be living so close to such a wonderful gift of nature.

When they were out first thing yesterday morning in the backyard, Jackie and Jillie were suddenly surprised to hear a dog barking at them from behind the side-fence of our next door neighbours who have never in the 27 years we've known them, had companion pets. The paterfamilias of the household would never permit his two children when they were young to have a household pet. Now that they're grown and away from the house on their own, it's their choice. Our neighbour, averse for as long as we've known him, to any kind of neighbourly contact with any of his neighbours has since his retirement become even more of a hermit. He is congenitally social-averse.

His wife, on the other hand, is the personality-reverse, an outgoing, friendly woman who has, over the years, obediently done her husband's bidding, fearful of angering him. For the past three years we've seen the gradual disintegration of their backyard fence behind which is a cedar hedge planted by his back-yard neighbour on the street behind ours. The fence has fallen into decay, kept in place only by the steadying effect of the cedar hedge. It's an eyesore, but one that doesn't appear to bother our neighbour whose wife, before his retirement, made a credible stab at maintaining a garden, which he took pains to destroy, and it is now abandoned.

It was through that wreck of a fence that the little Sheltie that lives on the street behind ours whose house backs onto our neighbour's, made its way through boredom or curiosity or both into our neighbour's backyard. After conveying his barking story to our two, the lovely little Sheltie vacated our neighbour's backyard to make her way back into her own -- just as well, since the sight of her contaminating his backyard would have made our neighbour furious.

Just another little neighbourhood adventure. Glad to say, an unusual one, certainly not reflective of the neighbourly attitude of most of the people who inhabit the street we live on.

After which episode of no great moment, we made our way up the street to access the ravined forest for our daily walk with our two little dogs. This most unusual February has taken a decided turn toward spring -- possibly short-lived, but while we're exposed to it, we're also enjoying its rarity. The temperature above freezing under a vast blue sky with the sun pouring its warmth and light through the atmosphere.

As though Jackie and Jillie require any enticement to cavort off the trails onto the snow-packed forest floor, activities their young years and mischievous temperament lend themselves to nicely. The top layer of snow has undergone its usual transformation on the cusp of early spring, by becoming pearly on top, giving in readily to our boot steps, but not to an uncomfortable depth.

Chickadees and nuthatches, woodpeckers and cardinals, and squirrels are all out, busily preparing themselves for spring.

At the culmination of winter it always seems, looking back at the previous few months, that it's been a difficult winter to get through. Made all the more passable for us, however, with our good fortune in living adjacent to our beloved wooded ravine.

Still, it's precipitate to think that spring is definitely close to introducing itself at this juncture. We have yet a good solid month of snowfall potential throughout the coming month of March, always an uncertain transition month.

Birds are returning from their winter perches in the boreal forests. The spring call of the Pileated woodpecker echoed through the woods yesterday and we soon came across a shattered pile of bark littering the snowpack. We did see a hairy woodpecker hard at work, and heard cardinals and pine siskins on our hike through the woods. Chickadees and nuthatches as well. We haven't seen any robis in the ravine this year, unlike those encounters of years previous and we feel that the extreme cold snaps we had experienced earlier in the winter took its toll.

It is milder than usual for the month of February in our geographical location, the result being that instead of snow falling we have had an excess of freezing rain followed by rain as the afternoons warm up, making for slippery, icy trails through the forest. We were surprised to be able to get out for our daily woodland ramble yesterday since it appeared as though the rain meant to hang over us for the entire day. But by two in the afternoon it slacked off and by three it stopped altogether.

So off we went for our jaunt, our two little rascals wearing raincoats. An excess of rain dripped steadily from trees overhanging the trails, but the rain was over for the day. And before we emerged from our circuit the sun came out blazing bright and warm, making its vivid presence felt through the leaf-free forest canopy.

We came across an old ravine-walking acquaintance whom we hadn't seen in months, walking his dog and a neighbour's, as he usually does. He lives quite a distance from us, in an entirely different neighbourhood abutting the ravine in its own location. Decades ago we used to traipse through there regularly, but we no longer venture quite that distance. It's an area that has changed quite a bit over the years and when we do get over there we're always surprised by the natural environmental degradation that has taken place with the hills slumping into the ravine below, and trails we had been so familiar with, albeit little travelled but by us, disappearing.

This man now goes to great lengths to make those areas more accessible to area residents, however. He has, over the last few years, constructed a few utilitarian bridges over some of the creek tributaries enabling people to advance further, making it more convenient for himself, among others, to access 'our part' of the ravine. In the time when we regularly used to take our trips over to that portion of the ravine we managed to overcome obstacles to going further than it seemed reasonable to do without a bridge, but having them there certainly makes things easier.

We always commend him for his enterprise. He's a pleasant, jovial giant of a man, not so much height-wise, but that too. He is entirely enamoured of the gifts that nature has given the residents of our far-flung community, an invaluable gift we cannot appreciate too much.

Looks as though our days while February comes to a close are being sandwiched between miserable and awful. We're experiencing uncharacteristically 'mild' atmospheric temperatures and ricocheting between days of snow, freezing rain and plain old winter rain. The latter is an anomaly in this geography, actually. But if and when copious rain comes pouring down in an ambient cold one has little wish to venture out of doors for any length of time.

The outdoors for prolonged exposure in snowfalls or freezing rain is fine; you don't get soaked through and nor do your companion dogs. Yesterday was a raw day, just on the cusp of freezing but with a whipping wind that made it seem much colder. Still, it was compatible with getting out into the forest for a nice long walk on woodland trails. It's beginning to look as though we won't get that opportunity today.

Yesterday the trails were negotiable, though some of them were pretty icy and required care. The snowpack is beginning to melt in places and in some areas the melt is pretty visible. Jackie and Jillie slide around nonchalantly for the most part, though our boot-clad-cleats keep us fairly secure. Even so, my lesser weight means I don't have quite the heft to indent the snow and ice that my husband does, so I try to sidestep if possible the really icy portions.

When we miss even one day getting out into the woods we feel slightly out of sorts. Our two puppies appear to adjust more philosophically than we do. They take to cavorting about the house, indulging in some pretty physical acrobatics with one another, with challenges to wrestling thrown in for good measure. Their antics serve nicely to lighten our spirits.

By noon yesterday we were in the full throes of a winter storm that brought us unrelenting freezing rain. The area was trapped in a full-blown rainstorm, heavy enough at times that all surface areas were swiftly steeped in glassy ice. Treacherous enough that even before the Friday rush hour began, there were forty reported collisions, a number of vehicle roll-overs, and people trapped in their vehicles. There were serious hospital admissions and a shaken public.

This, in an area of the world where people are accustomed to dangerous winter driving conditions and generally drive accordingly. The sheer ice and the difficulties manoeuvring a vehicle safely from point A to point B was an exercise in both judgement born of experience and fear of accidents, and pure luck to get through what in other circumstances is a routine drive.

In our backyard, our little dogs slithered about on the newly-formed ice. And it wasn't for the first time this winter, by any means. We would much more appreciate snow than ice, since it's manageable, whereas ice is not. Our driveway, like all others in the region was a sheer, slick coat of ice. And even with cleats strapped securely over our winter boots, it's difficult to get stable purchase.

So it was with regret that we admitted we were in one of those rare circumstances when it would be wiser to remain at home rather than venture as is usual out into the forest to stalk the trails on a circuit through the woods. All the hills that need negotiating would present a challenge to remaining upright. And, as has happened before, Jackie and Jillie would be risking sliding downhill over ice-sheeted thick layers of accumulated snow, where they could end up in the swiftly flowing and very icy creek at the bottom of the ravine.

Reluctantly, we turned our attention inward and off my husband went to his workshop to continue the demanding work of his newly designed stained glass window, a notional replication of a small part of our front garden. Most of the windows of this house of ours are now covered with stained glass. It is only the two bedrooms at the front of the second floor that haven't yet been landscaped in this manner. My husband built shutters to open into the rooms, fitted on the window frames and it is within these shutters that the landscapes will be installed.

As for me, I had plenty to do as well, and set about baking. To prepare a berry pie at this time of year the convenience of frozen packs of berries is invaluable. A frozen envelope-pack containing three cups of blueberries, for example, makes for an excellent blueberry pie, so that's just what I did. Berry pies are so colourful they cry out for lattice tops and that too is what I did.

Thank heavens for a full freezer out of which I selected chicken breasts to be baked with garlic cloves and fresh ginger grated over them, and over that, sliced tomatoes, soya sauce, and olive oil; the main course of Friday dinner. I like to set a chicken soup on to simmer early in the day, filling the house with the aroma characteristic of that iconic Friday night dinner starter. Into the soup goes a thigh and a leg, an onion, garlic clove, celery, parsnip, carrot, and bay leaf. Several grated potatoes, an onion, salt, pepper, an egg and a scant quarter-cup whole-wheat flour make for a potato pudding to accompany the chicken, and cauliflower florets sprinkled with olive oil and roasted completed yesterday's dinner.

Giving me ample time to putter about after cleaning up the kitchen, the powder room, setting our bedroom to rights, and a cursory vacuuming there and in the family room, to do whatever else I fancied; giving myself a manicure, reading, writing. Bliss.

Approaching the final week of this winter's February we've been treated to a real array of weather conditions. But then, forecasting weather in this part of the world is a mug's game; sometimes weather forecasters are right on the button and at other times they wobble on the edge of confused uncertainty. Plenty to be uncertain about this year.

But yesterday brought us a mix of just about everything minus precipitation in any form, unlike today where freezing rain will take up a good part of the day. There was heavy overcast interspersed with sunny intervals yesterday, some wind and relatively mild temperatures hovering around -2C, so nothing whatever to complain about.

And because of those conditions we came across far more of our ravine-walking friends than we normally do. Since they're accompanied by canine companions our two had frequent social opportunities come their way. At one point there was about six people standing around talking in a group with their dogs carousing all about in the snow. Dogs from the size of Benjie a Bernese mountain dog; though still a puppy his heft is twice or more that of the two Irish setters, and a Portuguese water dog, three Border collies and our two pipsqueak Poodles.

As some departed others kept coming along to excite those remaining. sporting about in a wide circle where their people stood together in conversation bringing one another up to date on community news.

Trying to photograph them grappling with one another, chasing about and having a playfully good time is more than my camera is capable of, unfortunately, but it does comprise a sight that is hugely entertaining and good for the soul.

If ever we feel any doubts about how fortunate we are to live where we do, we have only to look at the news. There but for the grace of geography.... In the civilized West where democratic rule of law and order, guarantees of human rights and freedoms and equality under the law order our every day we are protected from the excesses of cruelty to which tyrannical dictatorships are a given for those who experience persecutions on a daily basis.

It is hard to fathom when you have lived all your life in an environment whose protection of society and the individual has grown exponentially over all the years of your life, if you are advanced in age, to imagine how horribly miserable it would be to live in a society whose government doesn't hesitate to name critics of its abysmal social/political record as a police state, as "terrorists", according them the same military reaction usually reserved for terrorists or foreign invasions.

The plight of ordinary citizens who have been plunged from the comfort of an ordinary life into the hellstorm of regime siege, experiencing the bombing of their schools, mosques, hospitals and apartment buildings, with deadly artillery fire directed on civilian gatherings such as bread line-ups or briefly perfunctory funerals is unimaginable to those of us whose most frightful nightmares could not begin to conjure up the existential threats that these poor unfortunates face.

We, on the other hand, live our pleasantly routine lives, enjoying the experiences of daily going about our business and though we do indeed appreciate our good fortune, a style of life so unlike what others in the news are experiencing that it boggles our mind to read of the atrocities that nations considering themselves well-ordered and civilized are capable of perpetrating upon the defenceless, claiming they are merely protecting their version of law and order but throwing in the vicissitudes related to radical ideologies, sectarian religious animosities and political gain.

We have the right and the freedom to criticize our government. That freedom extends to selecting the political candidates we feel best exemplify at any given time our values, who will extend themselves on behalf of advancing those values during their allotted time in public office. Those who fail to prove their worth, who inspire ridicule or loathing or simply disappointment can be removed with the ease of the ballot box.

In the realm of a cautionary tale: The virtues inherent in using our bodies to their full physical potential appropriate to age and opportunities and condition of health are self-evident in healthier outcomes. But people should be guided by good common sense, and not push themselves beyond their physical endurance. My husband had for years in his late 60s and early 70s taken to running through the forested ravine. I could never have done that, nor did I. Eventually he realized his knees and ankles were being affected, and he stopped.

Yet there are many who do just that only to discover there are consequences inimical to their well-being, and that realization usually arrives when they find themselves in severe health challenges. The warning symptoms may have been there, but habit and devotion to a certain kind of repetitive and dearly held activities keep people from realizing there is a time to reassess.

One of our acquaintances whom we've known for many years through leisure encounters on the trails in the forest in our community, is one such example. Formerly with an emergency response unit of the RCMP, this very physical, fit man with an overload of nervous energy has been plagued in the past five years with a multitude of ills. And they're serious health problems. He was an avid extreme sport aficionado, and challenged his body continually to perform episodic extremes when he would participate in organized runs, bicycle competitions, and often enough combinations of various competitive sports.

Years ago he began suffering from lassitude, dizziness, faint spells and general lack of well being. Diagnosed with congenital water on the brain, he underwent a series of operations resulting in a shunt implant that drained the water from his brain into his abdominal cavity. The tiny implanted pump had to be recalibrated time and again until it was adequately fine-tuned and each time meant invasive surgery. His problem was solved, however, with the help of the implant.

That problem, in any event. He resumed running and bicycling and events-participation to challenge his store of energy and endurance. One bicycling collision and fall resulted in surgery on his clavicle and a shoulder. Discomfort continued requiring a second, more successful surgery. Convinced he was fully recovered he travelled out of country to take part in other competitions and the last one saw him in excruciating back pain. He had emergency disc surgery but the pain never quite subsided, leaving him unable to perform anything moderately physical in nature.

Restless by nature, pursuing opportunities to exert himself physically, he has been forced into early retirement, and forced by the circumstances of his failing physical properties to become close to a recluse, living with constant pain. Another surgery is scheduled, with the hope that he will be enabled to recover some of his former satisfaction in life. He's just a young man comparatively, in his mid-50s, after all. His wife gives us regular updates on his condition. She remains physically active, taking their three high-energy sheep-herding-breed dogs out for their energy-consuming daily forest hikes. Her continual remonstrations with her husband came to nought.

At the supermarket earlier today where we do our usual weekly shopping, there was navel oranges from South Africa and Egypt, dates from Iran, figs from Turkey, grapes from South Africa and clementines from Morocco. We usually enjoy oranges, clementines, grapes, dates, and figs. Today, we bought none of them, no dates, no figs, no navel oranges, no grapes, no clementines. These are all produce-exporting countries that express their avowed hostility to Israel, the Jewish state, and some of them threaten its existence as well.

As Jews, we have the freedom in Canada to express our own personal hostility to those who feel the Holocaust, which according to them didn't really exist, and if it did, it didn't kill as many Jews as evidence and history state, and in any event however many Jews were exterminated it simply wasn't enough. So we indulge in our own very personal boycott; one that obviously does no damage to the countries that produce the fruits that we will not eat, but which salves our sense of conscious justice.

It rained throughout the day yesterday, and when we awoke this morning it was still raining. No walk for us and our puppies in the ravine, alas. But by the time I put away all the groceries on our return home from shopping, and pre-prepared a casserole of macaroni, chopped green onions, green peas, canned salmon and a cheese choux for dinner, the rain had petered out.

So off we went into the forest, down into the ravine, for a mind-calming walk-about. A somewhat physically difficult one as it happens, since the snowpack has been both melting and softening, so that every step taken sinks deeply into the snow tamped down on the trails through the forest, and it takes far more energy to hike along under those circumstances. The creek at the bottom of the ravine is full and running furiously; two days of rain will do that.

There was a light foggy mist rising from the creek, giving a somewhat opaque albeit sheer look to the atmosphere. Jackie and Jillie were happy as always to be out in the forest, gorging themselves on newly-released aromas, some innocent enough and others quite, quite rude. One important thing we are guaranteed when we ramble through the forest, is peace of mind and scenic vistas to revel in, throughout our wonderful natural surroundings.

The amusing thing is that our street is habitually so poorly plowed by the municipality following snow storms that it is relatively more comfortable and easier making our way through the forest trails than it is wading up our street to access the entrance to the ravine. Whether driving or walking on the street one is forced to wallow in thick layers of ice and snow interspersed with rain-freed areas now presenting themselves as akin to little lakes.

Daisy may be a mere sprite of a dog as a Maltese, but she has the confidence in self assurance shared by many tiny dogs. She is never intimidated in the presence of larger dogs -- and all and any dogs are larger than she is. The very sight of her trotting confidently along the forest trails is a refreshing vision of minuscule sweetness.

She has no hesitation whatever in approaching a gaggle of dogs, excitable and physical; she just simply and calmly enters their orbit and they seem to place a temporary spur on their antics. She is so tiny that when Jackie  -- a small dog himself, stands in front of her, you can barely see Daisy. You get the true picture when one as large as a Portuguese Water Dog or even a 7-month-old Australian Shepherd pup stands beside her.

It seems that we are to expect a spate of unusual temperature moderation, much milder than we have any right to expect at this time of year; far too early for spring to begin arriving yet. We can begin musing about spring's arrival in mid- to late-March.

The past several days appear to have approached the initial stages of a forecasted spell of double-digit-plus, however. That, plus that this is a holiday week-end, appears to have brought quite a few people and their companion animals out to the forest for enjoyable treks along the trails.

As for the trails themselves, in days previous treacherously icy, we note with some measure of relief that they're nowhere near as slippery though it's never a good idea to let down your guard since invariably there will be patches where microclimates even within the ravine -- particularly within the low-lying areas -- where temperatures are inclined to remain more frigid, translate to icy patches.

Irrespective of which, we chalked up another perfect Sunday stroll for us and for our two little charges, Jackie and Jillie. Plenty of other dogs to come across and socialize with before moving on to complete our circuit along the network of trails throughout the ravine for the day.

We had a pleasant Saturday that included our usual daily ravine walk in the forest with our two little dogs, yesterday.

Our oldest son, one quarter part of a Medieval music ensemble along with his wife, told us last night that they had performed earlier in the day at a Toronto church where they have given performances over the years. We had a pleasant evening including a half-hour of dancing, thanks to Radio Canada airing a regular Saturday night program of music dating from the 1940s, 50s and 60s. Much later in the evening we watched a Russian film, Leviathan. We much prefer, if we can get them at the public library, just about any films that haven't been produced in Hollywood.

This was a grim film which included some typical Hollywood fare of human degradation, violence, corruption and societal dysfunction, but did so from the perspective of a more mature lens. Taking place in northern Russia, present-day Russia, its revelations do nothing to promote respect for a society mired in hypocrisy, helplessness against the state, the grip of religious sanctimony, institutionalized graft and corruption rife in all arms of government including a corrupted judiciary and police forces aiding politicians in their immoral fraudulence.

It is spiked with the drama of interpersonal relations that become more complex as the film progresses. Beautifully filmed, both under- and overstated in one way or another, it amply demonstrates the hopelessness of ordinary civilians fighting for their rights against a nefarious bureaucracy established to benefit ideologues and base establishment figures irrespective of their crimes who manage instead of themselves facing due justice, to skilfully and without an iota of conscience, twist events to establish false evidence against the innocent, ultimately incarcerated to sweep the way clean for evil to prevail.

Morning brought an infinitely more cheerful attitude to our sensibilities with a bright, sunny day. And since it's Sunday, we had a nice, long breakfast of melons, bananas, tea/coffee, and pancakes and tiny sausages. Jillie was feeling under the weather and missed having the usual Sunday morning treats which Jackie was more than happy to gobble up. We had some leftover pancakes and because we'd watched out the patio doors during breakfast while a resident red squirrel sauntered onto the deck this morning, two of the pancakes were left out for it, while another several were placed on a chair sitting on the porch at the front of the house.

It seems our local raccoons have taken a break from hibernation. They have been ransacking the compost bins for anything edible, but everything there is clumped and fast frozen, so last night my husband put out an assortment of bread pieces and this morning none were left. As for the pancakes on the porch, I watched as a tiny red squirrel turned one of the pancakes, about a quarter its own size, over repeatedly in its clever little paws, licking the butter off it, then racing off with it.

The tiny creature returned and made an effort to take both remaining pancakes with it, but couldn't handle more than one at a time. 

My husband and I are both devoted readers. We always have been. From the time we were children together, at age fourteen we would go along to the local library, among other destinations of mutual interest. We did a lot of walking together, we went to area greenspaces whenever we could. When we were first married sixty-three years ago we began to collect books; not many, however, since we hadn't much of an income to spare back then.

Our children and our grandchild have a love of reading, none of the four more so than our granddaughter who venerates books, cannot tolerate mishandling them, like her uncle, our oldest son. At the present time I am reading a book whose physical condition would make her shudder; an old paperback that has seen much better days long before we acquired it, and I've no idea when it joined our collection. My husband now and again browses through our books looking for 'something to read'. I never have any problems like that, there are so many books I intend to read that reside within our extensive collection, many of which were acquired second-hand.

Both our night tables are stacked with books. Mine tend to be historical, biographical and white-adventure books in Arctic exploration and Himalayan mountain-climbing, interests my husband shares, though his night-time reading is mostly confined to detective novels alongside French and British classic literature. We've bookshelves all over the house. I believe that the weight of the books in our house would easily balance against the weight of our household furniture.

After he finished reading My Childhood by Maxim Gorky, my husband informed me of some details and recommended I not read it, because he found the brutality in it experienced by the child that Gorky was, so upsetting. But I'm reading it and am glad about that, because it's a fascinating read, one that combines moments of tenderness as a spark of humanity within the larger context of uncivil violence.

The mature and introspective Gorky wrote from the child's lens in his then-adult eye of his experiences growing up in his grandfather's household when his widowed mother left him there, going off herself to live elsewhere because her paternal home was anathema to her spirit and her humanity. Gorky never appears to blame his mother for abandoning him and possibly this is because her mother, his grandmother, became his spiritual angel.

The child's-eye remembrance and account of a dysfunctional family where the inheritance of psychotic violence endowed the psychopathy of his two uncles is stark and  horribly disturbing in the context of everyday life in mid-19th Century Russia. Gorky's family did not live in abject poverty; his grandfather and his two uncles were artisans, dyers of cloth, living in a then-moderate-income enclave of others producing goods required by society. They had reasonable accommodations however cramped, and ample food. What they lacked lamentably was compassion for one another, although Gorky's grandmother attempted to make amends. She could do nothing to protect her two daughters-in-law from the intimate rampages of her disturbingly feckless sons who ended up killing their wives. There were no repercussions save those of conscience.

Maxim Gorky wrote of his experiences, his impressions of his formative years' exposure to this dreadful family situation. His dreaded grandfather, capable of random moments of tenderness, but who inflicted vicious thrashings upon all his grandchildren on a weekly basis, sometimes leaving Gorky then a child of 4, 5, 6 years of age deathly ill and bed-ridden for weeks while recovering is described as a merciless tyrant. By the time the child, impressionable, and forever scarred by life with his extended family was eight years old, his grandfather declared him persona non grata in their broken household, sending him into the world to fend for himself.

My mother's family lived in Russia's Pale of Settlement, an especial geography set aside for Jews as, presumably, punishment for being Jews. Which gave her exposure to various cross-cultural and -language streams. At the time of the Russian Revolution, her older brothers, supporters of the socialist Red Army, were in the crosshairs of the imperial White Army. Her life would have been forfeit and so would her future children's had an uncle who had emigrated and lived at that time in the United States not sponsored her and her sisters' passage to Canada.

Yesterday dawn emerged from a moderate temperature night to rain showers. Good, we thought, it will wash away some of the snow. And perhaps it did before it eventually stopped. The snowpack in the ravine had softened, and the glazing of ice over the trails was replaced with a little bit of snow mush. Our street, which hadn't been plowed by the municipality after the last snowfall, was an absolute mess. It seemed more difficult plodding up the street the brief few minutes it takes to achieve the ravine trailhead than our hour's ramble through the woods.

This morning the day was heralded with snow flurries sent in every direction by a sharp wind whipping the snow into a frenzy of movement. We knew that the temperature was destined to drop overnight, but not by much, last night. This evening it will be different, it will descend to -18C. We had anticipated that the easy going on the snow-and-ice-softened trails of yesterday would be transformed by this afternoon, and we were right.

The trails have, once again, become a challenge to negotiate. Which explains more than adequately why we briefly saw at a distance only one other person out there, and Benjie with her, the amiable large Belgian sheep dog who likes to get close up and personal.

Yesterday our trail walk was an interesting exercise in forest gloom with a heavy cloud cover interspersed with brief periods of beaming light, when the sun emerged, a giant fiery gaseous ball of energy lighting the atmosphere with its vibrancy and increasing warmth. Today the sun was out full-time, so that made it very pleasant, but the wind, unusually sharp and biting, managed to make its way through much of the forest, making it appear colder than the -3C we were walking in.

Jackie and Jillie had no trouble negotiating the trails, running off trail into smaller  pathways made by larger dogs the previous day -- eager to see whether there was something they might be missing by emaining on the trail. Ascending and descending the hills called for a little caution on our part in recognition that the trails had indeed acquired yet again a layer of ice, so that even with our ice cleats strapped over our boots we found ourselves slipping.

Yesterday turned out such a perfect day, with a blazing sun in the wide, blue sky, shelter from the wind within the forest confines and a remarkable 4C degrees that neighbourhood dogs convinced their reluctant human companions to get out and enjoy it all. Jackie and Jillie had so many lively encounters with canine acquaintances it made for an extraordinarily satisfying ravine outing for them, and for us as well.

We came across Milly, a vibrantly lovely Golden Retriever first, and she exercises such good judgement in choosing to ignore the impudence with which Jillie greets her, by leaping toward her muzzle in a display of bad manners, one can only imagine how nice it would be if Jillie exercised some of Milly's  polite mannerisms.

That was followed by another meeting, this time with exuberant, ecstatic little Max, a miniature-size poodle mix, the bane of Jackie's existence because though they greet one another enthusiastically enough, Max, younger than Jackie, is inexhaustible in his determination to boss other dogs around, continually challenging Jackie to bouts of wrestling, the kind of acrobatics that Jackie is accustomed to engaging in with Jillie, but disinterested in doing so with a whippersnapper like Max.

The ice-slicked trails of tamped-down snow had responded to the elevated temperature so there was no more chance of slipping and sliding, making it infinitely more congenial forging along on the trails. That milder temperature also enables odours evidently delightful to dogs, to waft temptingly through the atmosphere, leading our little companions to explore, snout down in the heavy layers of accumulated, but dissolving snowpack.

Chase, white and brown, behind Jackie

And it wasn't long before we came across another of our acquaintances, Gord, who makes his living training and dog-walking. He had with him a small, really nicely conformed (possibly not pure-bred, making that feasible) bulldog and he promptly informed us that Chase was a rescue. He'd taken the muscular little dog into his care three months ago when its owner was preparing to 'put it down' because of its dangerously hostile behaviour.

Molly is the Yellow Lab in back

Then Gord showed us the still-remaining scars all over the little dog's body, top and underside; all symptoms of a horribly abused creature. Chase had been a handful for the first month, wary, mistrustful and prone to abrupt physical reaction. Since then he's come a long way. By the time we saw him yesterday, he was a changed animal, friendly, peaceful and quiet, anxious to please Gord, obviously now hugely dependent on him. Gord's long-time companion Molly, an amiable yellow Lab, quickly began to mentor Chase, and with her help healed the poor little creature's soul.

As we stood talking with Gord, others came along with their companions and before we knew it there was a concatenation of dogs, communicating with one another and no doubt in their own way giving assurances to each other, conveying their pleasure in the atmosphere of this perfect February day.

It is nothing short of ghoulishly disheartening that a country which advances itself as civilized in this, the 21st Century, is culturally comfortable with a flourishing market for dog meat. It boggles the mind that any humane culture could conceivably feel at ease with raising all manner of dog breeds for the express purpose of slaughter for the human table.

According to Humane Society International there exist an estimated 17,000 "dog meat farms" across South Korea. The nation that is now the centre of attention for hosting the 2018 Winter Olympics that has extended yet again the hand of conciliation toward North Korea, eliciting admiration far and wide, and even in its warming outcome with its sister-nation seeing a fallout of instantly faltering memories of North Korea's totalitarian brutal regime, is no less brutal itself in its devotion to raising dogs for human consumption.



In some of these "dog farms", dogs are kept individually in small cages reminiscent of caged poultry on farms elsewhere in the world.  The dogs are raised in those cages and slaughtered, their butchered remains sold in markets and to dog meat restaurants. In the city hosting the Olympic venues for skating and hockey there are a dozen dog meat restaurants. The stews and soups produced are held in great esteem, believed to be beneficial for healing the body and for their purported virility-enhancing qualities.

An estimated two and a half million dogs are killed each and every year in South Korea, to be eaten by enthusiastic culinary aficionados. The charity Humane Society International has an intense presence in South Korea, hoping to be able in time to eventually close all of these "dog farms" whose residents are dogs of all breeds, anxious for a humane touch, curious about people who may pass by. On the other hand there are those dogs which have been so brutally beaten then shrink back in fear at the sight of a human.

The owner of these dogs says his operation started with just one animal, but then grew too big over the 10 years it’s been in operation. Reid Fiest / Global News

The charity approaches dog farmers offering start-up grants if they agree to close their dog-slaughter business and begin anew, focusing on another industry other than the one in which large-breed dogs, valued for their size and the concomitant amount of flesh to be had with their slaughter,  cannot even stand erect in the cramped cages they are forced to live in. There are golden retrievers, white Grand Pyrenees, Jindo mixes, Korean Dosa Mastiffs -- and small breed dogs cowering in fear at the back of their cages.

"We can't stop this industry one dog meat farm at a time", stated the executive director of HSI, given the enormity of the presence of 'farms' and the clamour by the public for dog meat. Those they are able to close, however, shine "a global spotlight on the dog meat trade" and the charity's work offering the government of Korea "an economic model ... to follow when it makes the decision to end the dog meat trade".

Alice is shown locked in a cage at a dog meat farm in Namyangju, South Korea in fall 2017.
Jean Chung / Humane Society International