Not long after we started off on what would turn out to be an interesting ravine ramble early yesterday afternoon, we came across an old acquaintance with her large mixed-breed (a little bit of Collie, some Lab, etc.) dog Millie, and as we stopped to chat she began describing an encounter they'd just had with a large, threatening dog that had Millie hiding behind her for comfort and protection. We thought she might be talking about one of the bull mastiffs we've seen lately, and hastened to assure her that the beasts, though muscular and large, tended, in our experience with them to be gentle enough not to be troubled by their presence.

They certainly aren't aware of their strength. And their appearance tends to startle people, inspiring fear in some. I've been knocked over on the trail by one of them backing into me, my boots sliding on the impact over the icy surface of a trail, the snowpack sheltering me from harm. And a week ago it was my husband's turn when a bull mastiff suddenly appeared and shoved him over in close, muscular contact, surprising both my husband and the beast which appeared confused to see my husband on the ground. Again, no harm done, though at age 82 in such terrain other encounters could prove to be less harmless. But the young man who walks these large animals is obliviously unaware of his responsibility.

Turned out our friend was aware of the presence of these dogs and their disposition and was really speaking about another dog altogether and we couldn't place it through her description. Well, we came across that dog ourselves not long afterward. We were up on the flats whose roundabout trails through the forest lead eventually to a number of descent choices into the ravined forested areas. Our sightline gave us access at one point to another trail which was when Jackie and Jillie began barking. That barking alerted two large dogs that I took at the distance to be the Dane mix and its partner, a bull mastiff but which proved as the red-coated dog swiftly loped along a connecting trail to confront us, not to be a correct guess.

We'd never seen this dog before. And its companion dog which remained on the distant trail was a Bernese, after all. Not far from it strode along a tall woman. Meanwhile the dog confronting us ignored Jackie and Jillie, both of whom were becoming nervous at its presence. What the dog focused on was not my presence but that of my husband, walking behind me slightly. It was clearly hostile, all the signature symptoms were there, and then it began a low, threatening snarl which turned into a gruff bark. That elicited the attention of the woman across on the other trail and she shouted. The dog turned and loped back to her.

We continued on our way, puzzled by the dog's behaviour and realizing this was the dog our friend had spoken of. And then we came across another friend with her three sibling Border Collie companions. We asked Sheila if she'd come across the dog and she launched into an explanation that the day before that dog had threatened to tear her three apart. It was on leash and on the other end was a 20ish man whose attempts to restrain the dog led to its hauling him forward, boots sliding on the icy trail. She had been forced to go off trail with her three until the dog and its handler passed.

Today, she said, the same dog was being walked by an older woman and the dog seemed not to 'notice' her and the three dogs as they passed on the trail. She asked the woman if the young man she had seen with it yesterday was her son. The woman said the dog was a year and a half old, never neutered and they were tending to that shortly. Meanwhile, she appeared to have the dog in infinitely better control than her son, but given the propensity of the dog to confront people and other dogs it should have been on leash.

Shortly, we came across a cheerful young woman, leash in hand, no dog in sight, who stopped to ask whether we'd come across a woman and two large dogs. We told her the direction we'd seen the woman and the dogs moving toward and she set off to find them, explaining they were supposed to meet up in the ravine. Later, as we descended into the ravine ourselves, continuing on our circuit, the foursome, now two women and the two dogs passed us, heading in the direction opposite to ours and the two dogs seemed passive, disinterested in our presence.

We also came across a few other dogs we hadn't before seen, a tiny Schnauzer who emitted a high-pitched squeak of excitement on seeing our two, and a bouncy little Poodle mix who streaked across the trail toward Jackie and Jillie, eager to be friends and to have the chance to play and run about. This was one of those lovely, late-winter days with a relenting temperature of two degrees at its high point, the sky a perfect cerulean blue, the sun blazing its brilliant shafts through to the forest floor. The wind was nowhere near as intrusive as it had been the day before.

The trails were no longer slush-piles, but once again solid and firm underfoot, and we passed through a series of stunningly beautiful winter-wrapped landscapes, both familiar and unfamiliar reflecting our long acquaintanceship with the forest and the fact that it never, ever looks quite the same on succeeding days, reflecting nature's seasonal nuances.