Kira was the smallest Schnauzer we had ever seen. She was quite simply adorable, a small furry bundle of energy and joy. Whenever she would hear or see us in the distance she would dance right over, emitting delighted little squeals of welcome. Kira loved her tennis ball and would often take it with her into the ravine though her humans had the habit of not penetrating deeply into the ravined forest, preferring to remain within a smallish circuit on the flats above the ravine adjacent the street where they live.

Our miniature Poodle Button, and Riley our toy, enjoyed Kira's company. Button, like Kira, was attached to her own tennis ball but would never take it out of the house. On occasion we'd come across discarded, broken tennis balls brought into the trails by other dogs but Button would have no interest in them. When the time came that her tennis ball had been reduced to a virtual shell of itself, my husband would cut it in half, place the halves securely over a new ball for her to play with. Reason? Because she would spurn new balls, they hadn't the odour she was accustomed to which she herself transferred to the ball, and it worked splendidly. Once she became accepting of the new ball the old parts were pried off and Button had a new, approved tennis ball.

There was a time when members of the Canadian armed forces, active and retired lived in notable numbers in Orleans. National Defence headquarters has moved from its downtown location to the west end of Ottawa. We see far fewer members now in Orleans. But whenever we'd see a Schnauzer being walked through the forest we'd assume it was with a member of the armed services, bringing them back from Canadian Forces Lahr base in Germany.

We see far fewer of the breed now. Kira is long gone. In her place there is now Timmie. He was actually named Tim-Bit. He too is small for a miniature Schnauzer. He's a friendly, funny little guy who likes bustling about and challenging Jackie to runs. And he's forever trailing a long, long rope. Not a leash, but a rope, a very long one. He's several years old. That rope invariably gets tangled. In underbrush, around the legs of other dogs, around the feet of people that Timmie has circled as he often does. It's dangerous to him and to others.

I had long ago expected that the rope would be removed; I could almost understand its presence, though a nuisance and a danger to others when Timmie was a puppy. He's no longer a puppy. I asked why they continue to use that rope, and the response was a smile and a shrug. Habit. Not a very intelligent one in my estimation. They admit they've had to extract him from some situations when he's been trapped by that rope tangling around objects and he was unable to free himself. People who become entangled must do some pretty fancy footwork to free their ankles from the constriction of that rope. And once they've succeeded, invariably doing it all over again.

Well, at the risk of being downright rude, one cannot dictate to others how they must comport themselves even to the point of threatening the safety of others until and unless something really serious does occur. They care deeply for the welfare of Timmie and the obvious reason for the use of the rope to begin with was surely to ensure they wouldn't 'lose' him. They're not elderly, they can move with alacrity if disposed to or if needful, so their anxiety may seem a trifle overdone, and there's always the more reasonably, controlled option of using a leash, but such is the condition of some peoples' minds, one supposes.

They were the only ones we saw out and about in the ravine when we were out ourselves in early afternoon with Jackie and Jillie yesterday. A heavily overcast day, but no snow flurries, only wind and a temperature high of 2C, making for a quite pleasant atmosphere for our daily hike through the trails. Habit.