We couldn't decide whether Jackie and Jillie needed their rubber boots yesterday. Morning had brought snow flurries. The temperature by the time we were prepared to venture out for a forest walk had risen to -4C, and the sky had completely cleared. Normally, our small puppies' paws are able to withstand temperature lows of up to -6, but not when there is loose snow, only when the trails are hard packed.

Since there was also the presence of a substantial wind factor that required me to use the hood on my jacket to keep my face from freezing, we decided for their boots. Pulling them on to tiny feet requires some coordination between us. I've got to try to hold their little legs rigid enough so that my husband can slip each one over a paw and ensure no toes are being pinched or pulled back. Irving has perfected his technique. I can't even pull the boot rims wide enough pulling each between two fingers to slip them over those wee paws.

Our driveway and the street in front of the house were both cleared of snow, though a thin layer of snow always results, and over it another layer -- of ice when weather conditions bounce back and forth from moderate to icy. Because of the morning snow flurries, that ice was covered with a light layer of snow; sometimes that works to make the icy surface below less slippery, sometimes it's the opposite, depends on the nature of the snow, whether it's wet or dry. It was dry, and we slithered down the drive even with cleats strapped over our boots, and onto the road where conditions were just the same.

The municipal plow had come by some time last night to widen the street and push back the banks of accumulated snow, and in so doing had created a higher barrier between the road and the ravine entrance. We maneuvered our way around the group mailbox to thread through to the trail tromping through the snow build-up, and Jackie and Jillie took over from that point, racing downhill to the large old pine sitting between the fork in the trail and the creek below.

The sun, of course, doesn't penetrate too deeply past the tree canopy. It tends to fire up the tree line in a bright halo of blazing yellow-orange, giving colour to an otherwise black-and-white landscape. Capturing the sun blinking its brilliance through the trees is always a delight. There is so much variance on light and shades of colour depending on weather conditions we can never be assured what kind of landscape we'll be greeted with, but it's the rare-to-non-existent occasion when we aren't impressed by nature's choreography.

The wind was determined to turn the sun's warmth and the moderate temperature into a stark resemblance of an icy winter day. We could hear it roaring high above through the canopy, its presence somewhat less emphatic at ground level, but enough so to lash through our bodily defences from time to time.

Just as we ascended the last hill to reach street level when we completed our circuit, we came across a woman who asked what the conditions were like below, and at our assurance, she resumed her descent. With her was a bashful, lovely little white dog dressed in a winter coat. The woman had mentioned to us that the little dog was blind. It puzzled us that she made no effort to ensure its safety by using a harness and a leash.

When our little miniature Poodle-Pomeranian mix Button had become blind in her 18th year, we never failed to take her for daily walks in the ravine in all seasons. But we did have her wear a harness and took care to ensure she didn't encounter difficulties by having her on leash where we could gently guide her away from falls or unpleasant encounters with immovable objects.

She had learned to negotiate her way around obstacles in the house, and knew where everything was, to be avoided. It was entirely different on exterior walks in the forest, however. She lived to 19 years and four months.