I had finished my Friday morning baking, and my husband had returned from his appointment with the provincial Ministry of Transport for the mandatory past-80-years-of-age eye-and-Alzheimer's tests along with instructions on any newly-introduced traffic rules and the renewal of his driver's license when I mentioned I planned to roast a turkey breast for dinner. My husband recalled that he'd used the last of the cranberry sauce, so I looked in the freezer and grabbed a bag of cranberries and it took about ten minutes to make fresh cranberry sauce, then off we went to the ravine for our afternoon amble through forest trails with Jackie and Jillie.

They were more than ready to set out for a hike in the woods. And, since the day turned out just perfect with a clear blue sky, the sun warming the atmosphere and a high temperature that soared to 2C, (albeit with a brisk wind), it couldn't have been more perfect for an idyllic winter day. So much so that we decided they had no need for their rubber boots, and would do fine on the trails without them this day.

Off we went, glad to note that the last snowfall's embellishment on the well-trodden trails had almost -- not quite, but almost -- been tamped down, making progress less of a problem than what faced us the day before. It was mildly surprising that snow still remained on the trees, given the ferocity of the wind the day before, just after the snowfall. But there it was, branches and tree trunks limned with white to show off the otherwise-overlooked details of the forest mass.

And it was particularly notable that the accumulated snow on the footbridges over the now-frozen creek running through the bottom of the ravine had acquired quite a spectacular height, almost burying the bridge itself, so that traversing it we walk at a level of height we'd never imagine outside of winter. One of the dessicated old benches that we pass on one of the promontories is now almost buried in the snowpack.

Jackie and Jillie would stop occasionally in their forward march to sniff out the possibility that some dog of their acquaintance had passed, or even better was somewhere in close proximity, giving them reason to believe they would soon meet. Either Jackie or Jillie would suddenly run off in anticipation only to return to begin their little drama all over again.

We did eventually come across one dog they're acquainted with, a youngish Australian sheep dog from a house close to the foot of our street, being walked by a young man, fittingly enough. His mother and the dog's usual companion nowhere in sight, because she had gone off to Mexico for several weeks of relaxation, joining her sister and brother-in-law who had already been there for over a month.

The dogs in both families whom we might see frequently throughout the course of a week going through the forest trails have been reliant on the moods of the offspring of their usual walkers to offer them the opportunity to run about through the woods, an occasional treat now, until their primary-care humans return from their holidays far, far from Ottawa's winter season.