The forested ravine where we daily take our little dogs Jackie and Jillie out for hikes along the forest trails, is a continual up-and-down geology. The hills and valleys that stretch through an urban community on the outskirts of Canada's capital, have ridges that extend like a spine along the ravine, and depressions of some length all of which host a network of trails. When we first were introduced to this landscape all the trails were narrow. But that was almost thirty years ago. The surrounding community has since grown exponentially.

By virtue of its geology, however, the ravine and its forest have been kept intact, declared a natural site to remain relatively undisturbed. It was inevitable, however, that large steam shovels and graders were brought in when due to the makeup of the soil with an overabundance of Leda clay that began collapsing hills and destroying parts of the forest in the wake of inordinately heavy seasonal rain events, some of the major trails close by the collapse were widened to permit access for that machinery brought in for remediation purposes.

As well, time and again the bridges fording the creek that runs through the ravine, used by the municipality as an overflow storm sewage system, had to be replaced for safety reasons. Requiring the introduction of a similar number of large pieces of construction machinery. So, over time, those major trails were considerably widened. We might prefer the way the forest trails were originally but that ignores the reality of necessity.

The heights attained once a hill has been ascended have always been interpreted by our little dogs as an opportunity to scout out the surroundings of the landscape below; they have always been on the alert for the presence of others out on the trails running through the ravine and alongside the forest. It's a proprietary fantasy they have, of the ravine representing their personal playground, so they feel entirely justified in vetting whoever else comes through.

Yesterday, when we were ambling along one of the major trails, a coll where the land drops away on either side and on either side there are other trails, Jackie and Jillie stopped, became alert and peering down below to their left began barking. It's an inclination they have that's impossible to persuade them away from. As we proceeded they kept stopping, and barking, and Jackie began to run part way down an intersecting trail leading below.

Suddenly we became aware that other dogs were rapidly ascending that narrow trail to the one where we stood and then, there they were, first one, then the other, a large, black female part Great Dane and her companion, a young, maturing Bull Mastiff. They came up to see what all the fuss was about, and of course they knew who they'd come across; Jackie and Jillie's inordinate barking is fairly familiar to any dogs that regularly come through the ravine.

When we first encountered these two dogs it was when they were much younger, almost a year ago, still in their puppyhood stages, but steadily attaining their impressive speed and girth. They're quiet, we've never heard either of them bark or growl, and their approach is always unexpected and swift. And startling. They have no appreciation of their size and strength as some dogs have, and if they brush against someone, it's likely that someone will be thrown off balance, as has happened to me.

They're driven by curiosity and have mild temperaments. The only thing threatening about their presence is their size and appearance to anyone unfamiliar with them. They came to visit with us twice, during our walk. And on one occasion we watched as they left us and sped up another hill where, presumably, something was there of momentary interest to them. We discovered who that 'something' was after they departed.

As we descended a hill, looking off to the left as we began to turn right, we could see a man and a woman frozen to a spot where they had been descending another hill. The man held a little dog, and my husband quickly discerned the problem. He called up to the pair that the dogs that had obviously frightened them were harmless, just gentle giants, and they were nowhere now in sight. The man placed his little dog, a terrier, back on the forest floor and the two began cautiously making their way downhill.

We stopped to explain the appearance of the two giant breeds, that the slight young man who walks them is seldom close to where they are at any given time, and never 'calls them off', allowing them to wander wherever they wished, obviously unconcerned over the possible reactions of other dogs and people startled by their abrupt appearance and frightened by their size. The two were, in point of fact, quite traumatized. My husband explained the layout of the ravine, and access and location to some of the main trails, and they began to relax though it seemed still uncertain whether to entirely credit our assurances that those giant breeds didn't really represent a physical threat.