We were just hauling ourselves up the last long hill out of the ravine yesterday, when we came across Suzanne at the very top, with Munchkin in tow. Munchkin is a tiny, long-haired dachschund, a stand-offish little dog with a mind of her own, who has finally become accustomed to our bumptious little poodles, Jackie and Jillie. Suzanne had already been out earlier in the day for her usual ravine walk. She was just accommodating little Munchkin who had expressed an interest in going out to the ravine, from her family's backyard, abutting on the ravine.

Many years ago Suzanne had her own dog, Della, a Golden Retriever, but she is long gone. Instead of deciding to have another permanent canine companion, she and Barrie thought better of it. Della had been in such great discomfort before she died; even hip surgery for dysplasia, so common in larger dogs, didn't help her much. Barrie, then in his mid-70s couldn't see himself going through the agony of helping another heavy dog up steps to the second-floor bedroom of their home. And Suzanne filled in the gap by becoming a mentor to other peoples' dogs. She often takes care of Munchkin when her family is away and they've gone back to Australia, the second time in six months, to visit with their daughter and her family.

When we first moved to this street Barrie was quick to introduce himself. Back then he was an area volunteer in the ravine, reporting back to a parks committee on the state of its health. That committee is no longer operating, and with advanced age and health complications Barrie gave up his daily meanderings in the ravine, another venue where he knew everyone who ventured into the forest.They live quite a number of houses down  he street from us. But Barrie knew everyone and everyone knew Barrie; he is that kind of person, a gregarious extrovert. Barrie is now 88, Suzanne 72, her personality the opposite of Barrie's, introverted and given to distance other than for those she knows well.

Earlier in our ramble through the woodland trails yesterday afternoon, we came across a small female Malamute we'd never before seen. Her companion kept her on leash, telling us the Malamute would dash off any chance she got and his wife would never forgive him if her dog got lost. His wife, on the other hand, never used a leash with the dog, who seemed content to stay at his wife's side. She seemed very good natured, laid back and friendly. More than happy to accept a few tokens of our regard, some small doggy biscuits, shared out with Jackie and Jillie. And they were small, meant for small dogs like our two, but she graciously accepted them and gave ample evidence of her gratitude.

Although yesterday was officially the first day of Spring, you'd never know it, looking around in the forest. The forest floor is deep in layers of snow, and it will take temperatures far milder than the below-freezing we've been treated to of late, to begin the process of spring melting. Though it is inevitable, of course, and in fact, despite the prevailing cold, the warming sun glancing off the snow probing its structure, has made significant inroads here and there on the snowpack. There are now discrete areas in the ravine where on the hillsides patches of snow-free forest floor can be seen, glaringly dark against the blazing glare of the snow.