Jackie is always a bundle of nervous energy. There are times when he becomes over-stimulated by an environment that is completely unfamiliar to him and his stress levels soar. Although our twin poodles have been to the veterinarian enough times in their short lives to have a familiarity with the process -- or perhaps it is because they have been regularly exposed to the procedure -- it is not a place that they're raring to return to.

They like the people they come across there well enough, including the veterinarian who looks after their medical needs as well as the technicians and office staff, but no doubt the odour of the place informs them that they needn't get too comfortable, because nasty things tend to happen there. Like an inoculation yesterday afternoon for Leptospirosis, which has lately returned to our area.

As though Heartworm and Lyme Disease thanks to the growing prevalence of deer ticks aren't enough of a problem. But we got through the agony of the visit and to their great relief finally left, driving downtown to Byward Market briefly to pick up magazines of my husband's choice at the place that stocks more newspapers and magazines than you'd ever think were published, and which also sells a wide array of Eastern smoking paraphernalia like water pipes, etc.

It seemed as though we spent the better part of the afternoon running these errands. Leaving us time to make our way to the ravine for a walk in the woods a far shorter distance than we usually devote to it.

It's somewhat difficult to become accustomed to Jackie and Jillie's new look, our svelte, sophisticated-looking little bumpkins -- after their grooming of the day before, but we're managing. Their haircoat is now very short and it feels as silky as a spider's web. They look skinny, long-legged and muscular.

In fact, the vet noted in particular the good condition of their bodies and legs; tight and muscular, thanks to their daily forays on the forest trails. He did recommend that we begin brushing their teeth, as my husband had done daily with Button and Riley. First you've got to pin Jackie down and pry his little jaws open to have any success in that endeavour, and short of breaking a few bones in the effort, it isn't likely that'll fly with him. Jillie is far more biddably compliant, but even she can be inordinately stubborn when the mood takes her.

Poor little tykes, little did Jackie and Jillie know the evil thoughts in our minds as we conspired without their knowledge to submit them to a dreadful ordeal yesterday. Yes, we did just that, leaving our two little dependents bewildered past understanding that we, who profess to love them, did such a dreadful, premeditated act with no thought to their state of mind.

Handing them over to two young women who oohed and cuddled them, they were still puzzled and upset that there they were, in the hands of strangers, while we backed away and left them. Come back in about an hour and a quarter, they advised. They should be ready by then.

And so, off we went. To do our weekly grocery shopping. As though abandoning our two little fellows was nothing, a mere hitch in our daily lives.

And to think, just an hour earlier we were in the ravine with them, walking through the forest trails on a lovely late-spring day pretending to be summer. It was indeed a summery day, clear blue sky, light breeze, and warm temperatures prevailing. In fact, we knew, the following day would reach 31C, and be very, very hot under a clear sky.

So we thought it's time. They've never in their three and a half years been to a groomer's. The job of giving them haircuts was mine, accomplished (poorly) with a set of scissors. They'd look fine the day of the haircut, then attain to their usual scruffy appearance, and all was well. Kind of. Their hair grows so quickly that this detested routine (by them and by me) had to be repeated all too frequently.

They're fine now, but when we picked them up yesterday afternoon they were frantic with worry, and belted out their dissatisfaction with yelps and squeals as though they were certain they had been abandoned forevermore. Lavishing kisses on our faces the frantic duo let us know in no uncertain terms that they failed to appreciate the humour in their new appearance.

Our forested ravine is drenched, as full of standing water in pools on the forest floor now as it was much earlier in the spring when snow and ice were in full melt-mode. It's the frequency and heaviness of the rain events that have visited us mostly during the night, and very welcome.

Back then, in early spring, the difference was it was cool and we wore jackets and there were no mosquitoes to pester us. Now, however, it's warm, the air is saturated with moisture and mosquitoes are prevalent.

Stop for a moment to speak with someone, to briefly pause to take a photograph, to stand still for a moment then crouch down to see at closer range something interesting erupting on the forest floor and !wham! you're a target for hordes of unseen but hovering-nearby pests.

Not only us, of course, for any warm-blooded creature, including Jackie and Jillie.

But we're also in an all-encompassing sea of green now, variant shades of the verdant forest melding into one shimmering green glow, and it's positively entrancing. Now, the density of the forest canopy is at its height. And above its height we hear the shrill whistling cry of hawks circling above, searching out prey with their laser-like vision.

We hear the nutty little rubber-ducky call of nuthatches accompanying the far more numerous chickadees flying in little loops through the trees. And we see that the flycatcher that has made its nest under one of the bridges fording Bilberry Creek has returned once again this year to nest.

The Hawthorns are joining the wild apple trees in setting out their springtime blooms. As are the Dogwood. And the rain has coaxed fungi to begin their appearance on rotting tree trunks, ornamenting them with beautifully shaped and coloured fungal growths. And the Lily-of-the-Valley is finally flowering in their colonizing habit around tree trunks, their bright little white bells catching the light.

False Solomon's Seal has begun to put out its floral spray that will become bright red berries, just as the Red Baneberry has before it, now well on its way to forming the beginning of tiny spheres from each blossom that will in mid-summer become a truly bright red berry, lovely to look at but deadly to consume.

Among many varied outdoor weather excursions, whether kayaking or hiking in the summer months, he makes South Thormanby Island on the Sunshine Coast of British Columbia his twice-yearly destination; once in fall, and then again in spring. Its sunsets are spectacular. When mist rolls in over the island the effect is mysteriously fascinating.

Sea life and the appearance of various types of mammals and birds can be guaranteed sightings in this area so far removed from the unnatural world we inhabit of cement, traffic and high-rises.

It is a place for contemplation of nature, for relaxation and for recreation, to take a busy mind away from the immaterial, thrusting it into the world of nature and appreciation for the areas of life so far removed from the manipulated environment we call our own.

Here, there are no others around and you rely on your own ingenuity and experience from previous such occasions to have a broad idea of what to expect, how to react, from pitching your tent above the high-tide water-mark, to viewing, but not molesting other animals that appear from time to time, often as curious about your presence as you are theirs.

It is a place where, reliant on your own devices and the small comforts you've brought with you, the occasion to blend with nature, that rare commodity of time and space and atmosphere, is yours alone to do with what you will, paddling the clear water of the coastal Pacific, idling on a beach, sleeping at night close by beach-lapping water, cooking meals on a tiny stove and appreciating the opportunity to test your mettle against a brief exposure to nature as raw as it can be.

But nature seldom, here, does it become more raw than what weather conditions bring along. And those too can be coped with, given the precautions taken in bringing along tarps and other comfort expedients. You are left free to act and react to nature in all her naked glory.

Watered some of the garden pots, though we did have copious amounts of rain yesterday to keep them moist. Cut back some of the spring die-back in the Japanese maples, the euonymus shrubs and the purple smoke tree. They all begin renewing themselves heartily as soon as spring arrives, but invariably begin some die-back, even with the new growth which shrivels distressingly, further along in the spring. Whatever the maples seem to gain throughout the summer months in robust new growth, they seem to lose come the following spring. Ours is not their temperamental growing zone.

We've filled fewer pots this year than any other. Both of us decided we would finally put away the enormous pots we usually fill, and they were stored under the deck, all nine of them, though one of our neighbours took three of the clay-ceramic-glazed pots for her own backyard; we were glad to see them go. Filling them all year after year represents an enormous amount of work, disposing of the old soil, emptying the pots, storing them, and repeating the ritual in reverse in the spring.

As it is, we've more than ample stoneware urns and other glazed pots to fill. We had a veritable plenitude with all of them in service, and now that we've cut back we still have a large number that we fill with a beautiful, colourful, texture-full variety of annuals. Including the canna and calla lilies and begonia bulbs that we store overwinter in our cool basement.

There's never any end of garden work to be done, and we take our time doing it, enjoying it all to its fullest promise of achievement and sharing in nature's bounty of lovely growing things. One of our clematis vines has already set a large number of buds, and it just happens to be the most scintillatingly beautiful of all the vine flowers.

The climbing roses are setting out their buds as well. I'm finally prepared to surrender the larger of our two rhododendrons; it has been a good performer in the past, but now appears as though it's quite prepared to give up its hold on life. The hostas are growing apace, our very most favourite of all the garden plants, and we've a host of many different sizes and varieties, along with the heucheras whose presence complements them so well.

The alliums are now beginning their delicate bloom, the Japanese quinces are finishing up theirs. Our Magnolia trees still have some of their huge, gorgeous deep pink blossoms, and now the ornamental crab trees are overtaking them. The bridal spirea is preparing to bloom, and the Columbine are setting their lovely little blooms, just as the snakehead fritillary are beginning to fade.

The trilliums we transplanted years ago from our nearby forested ravine are completing their seasonal bloom, just as the Jack-in-the-Pulpits are beginning theirs, amidst the glory of the foamflowers among which they're planted under our elderly evergreens. Nature's springtime cornucopia of loveliness is a wonder to behold!

There were few others besides ourselves willing to take the chance yesterday that they wouldn't be caught in a surprise downpour. Fact is, there were a lot of such surprises falling from yesterday's heavily overcast skies.

I was personally quite happy about all the rain. There's little a garden likes more than spring rain as long as it also from time to time is exposed to sunlight. And we've had more than ample clear sunny days, so the rain was welcome to arrive. I've planted the last of my seeds and bulbs and annual flowers, so bring it on!

And absolutely nothing is so appealing in a forest setting as a wet environment, where, after the rain colours are bright and intense even when the forest itself is dusky. Colours glow, take on other shades and present an aesthetic spectacle to awe any spectator.

Cherry

Having the trails all to ourselves is something we're quite accustomed to. And though it's pleasant enough to come across other people and often with their own companion dogs, it's quiet and peaceful and comforting to tramp through the woods for an hour or so on one's own. Little wonder Jackie and Jillie tend to consider such outings as their very own private preserves. As we did yesterday.

Honeysuckle

It was one of those very warm and muggy days due to the moisture saturating the air. Relieved greatly by the fact that the wind was more than a breeze, emphatically so, and it was gratefully cooling, reducing the heavy, sticky feeling that persists when rain has just fallen and more is imminent.

Dogwood

We were fortunate, deciding to take our changes though the forecast was for more heavy rain and occasional thunderstorms. As it was, only a light rain came down sporadically, barely penetrating the now-dense forest canopy. The serious rain held off until we returned home. We had tied rainjackets about our waists when we set off, and carried a small bundle containing two little raincoats for Jackie and Jillie, and they, as it turned out, didn't need them.

Dogwood

And we were so pleased to discover that Dogwood and Honeysuckle shrubs were in bloom, as well as Hawthorn and black Cherry trees. We came across a lovely drift of foamflower, the sightings pleasing beyond measure. That none of us missed our daily walk in the ravine along the forest trails, and most particularly our rambunctious little Jackie and Jillie, pleased us enormously.

Foamflower

It's beginning to feel a lot like summer. Summer will give us hotter days, but the past week has averaged well above 20C, and with clear skies, that gets fairly warm. Enough so that dogs out on the trails in the ravine are panting pretty good, some of the larger ones staying off-trail, preferring to make their way through the denser underbrush where they're guaranteed deeper shade.

Aside from which, just as we're pestered by the presence of mosquitoes, so are they. We're better equipped to stop them from their predations than other animals are, however. The forest floor still hasn't absorbed all the moisture that fell days earlier, and great pools of rainwater still remain, as perfect breeding grounds for still-water-loving mosquitoes.

This is a 6-1/2-month-old Great Dane/Bull-Mastiff already weighing 90 lbs; great personality.

On the other hand, when we stroll briskly along, the likelihood of being bitten is reduced. Yet, when we come across other trail walkers the tendency is to stop and chat, however briefly, making both us and the dogs susceptible to being stealthily inundated with mosquitoes we hardly know are there until they make their characteristic penetrating proboscis plunge and then we feel it.

Everyone's in a good mood regardless, grateful for such wonderful weather, after the long, prolonged days of cold in early spring. And it's nothing short of wonderful to see the wildflowers, to have bees and beetles rocket past us, and to spot those gracefully beautiful dragonflies hovering close by.

Every now and again we stop to admire something new; a woody-looking cluster of shelf fungi, a patch of violets (and they're everywhere, large and small, white, yellow and purple and mauve), eye-catching bouquets of nature's generosity. We're also seeing more Jack-in-the-Pulpits showing up and they're quite special.

Later today we're informed there'll be thunderstorms, and episodic rain events for the next three or four days, all good news for growing things.

Shelf fungi

We decided we'd risk a downpour, out in the ravine. The forecast called for rain, heavy at times, but the heavily overcast skies were just lightly dripping at late morning and we thought we'd give it a try. We wore rainjackets and took along two miniature doggy raincoats, and set off in a light drizzle.

After all, the forest canopy had just about recovered its entire springtime glory of new foliage sufficient to give us shelter from light rain. We knew if we'd await an opportunity for the rain to entirely stop, it likely wouldn't arrive. Best to get out in these slightly offputting conditions for our daily circuit in the forest, otherwise we would have to miss out.

Jackie and Jillie can always sense when we're about to depart. They also pick up subtle clues we can't even imagine, to identify where we'll be heading and whether they'll be included. So they were duly excited and anticipatory as we put on their collars and halters and set off.

Foamflower

Sporadically, as we made our way along the trails through the forest, the rain would quicken and begin splatting, some of it reaching us, most not, and then it would recede again to light patters. We counted on it remaining benign like this for awhile, enabling us to get on with our walk. We thought at first we'd just hazard a short, quick trip through the ravine, but ended up gambling on a longer one, and were glad for it.

Yellow woodland violets

Because simply put, there's so much to see, from the wild apple trees beginning their bloom period, to the sudden presence of fungi attracting our attention with their shapes and shadings, and the prominence at this time of year of early-blooming wildflowers; trilliums, Jack-in-the-Pulpits and violets, among others; we enjoy them all.

Jack-in-the-Pulpit

And just as well that we ventured out when we did. The clouds, dark and menacing, didn't, after all, open up to full thrust. Despite which there were no others of our acquaintances that we came across going through the trails, likely held back by anticipating the rain.

It wasn't long afterward on our return home that full rain did come pelting down and we were awash in running streams everywhere. Very timely, actually given that we managed in days previous, to plant most of our annuals and the drenching would do them well.

For gardeners, this was the long-awaited spring weekend when Monday's Victoria Day marked the assumed safety point in our planting zone when the frenzy of the garden could take place. After Victoria Day, a third of the way through the month of May climatologists with Environment Canada theorize that danger of night-time frost will have passed.

In years gone by the anxiety to begin planting at the initial stages of warmth and sun in early May I would feverishly place annuals in our garden pots only to face the unfortunate reality that these tender plants were endangered when frost warnings were issued. The idea then was to place protective coverings over everything so they could pass the night and its frosty temperature without withering and dying. We were mostly successful, but it was a nuisance.

Now, we wait. Common sense sometimes does beat emotional need and anxiety, but not too often.

Of course, I had as the saying goes, 'jumped the gun' somewhat. I'd begun planting the week before. And though there were nighttime temperatures close to freezing, the plants managed to survive nicely; that critical freezing temperature simply had worn itself out.

As for the springtime flower bonanza in the ravine on the forest floor, it has been later occurring this year than most. We're curious to see old acquaintances when they do come up, and celebrate their eruptions out of the humus of the forest floor, and feel happily satisfied when they do. And we always look for blue-eyed grass which we saw in just one area, which repeated itself in several years' succession, but has never returned. One lonely little plant, minuscule and overwhelmingly beautiful.

Overwhelming is as good a descriptive as any to describe our aesthetic sense when we're trodding the trails in the forest and variant shades of green from lime to dark green enclose us. It feels as though we've been plunged into a green world, an almost surreal sensation, with its own special quality of restfulness and home-coming.

Recalling what we'd come across several years earlier when we were doing some off-trail clambering about on the many hillsides of the ravine, we descended off the trails at a point where we recalled having seen white trilliums. All of the trilliums that bloom in the ravine are of the purple variety, and we assume this is because there is a clay base in this geographic area. Sure enough, we didn't have to climb down very far before we came across clumps of bright white trilliums.

As it happened, yesterday was fairly warm. Not quite enough so that we felt compelled to take along a water bottle for Jackie and Jillie, but warm nonetheless. We had embarked on yesterday's trail rambling earlier than usual, so at that time in the late morning the temperature hadn't reached its peak for the day. But it was sunny, though breezy and warm enough.

Some of the wild apple trees are beginning to bloom. We saw, for the first time yet this spring, two dragonflies. Their transparent wings glittered in the sun as they alighted on dogwood shrubs beginning to leaf out and even produce their floral sprays.

The last photograph I snapped after our ravine walk, before going to work int he garden, was one of a portion of the front garden, where finally what we call a garden is beginning to resemble one, at long last.