We've often wondered that we seem to be the only couple making our way through the woodland trails in the ravine, with the exception of one other couple who make their own forays into the ravine together on occasion. When my husband and I hike along the forest trails daily in all kinds of weather and all the seasons of the year, we have plenty to talk about together. Added to that is that we share whatever we see and add those transitory images to our conversations.

The pleasure we share would be utterly lacking in the absence of one or the other of us. There have been occasions when he or I have hiked through the forest alone but for our little dogs, but not many. And on our return there's always something to share of what had been seen or experienced. If I'm on my own and see something my first impulse is to want to share it with my husband; in his absence the pleasure I feel in the landscape is quite diminished.

We've discussed between us how odd it is that couples we know and have known in the past rarely accompany one another in walks through the woods. One or the other of the couple will take their dog for the day, while the other does something else. Or one of a pair of people will regularly take to the forest trails while the other never does.

Apart from those whose personal lives we have some knowledge of, whether they're married or not, there are people who come out on occasion or regularly depending on the individual, and they're always alone. We see a fair number of men of varied ages out walking their dogs, or themselves. But far more numerous are the women we come across, some long familiar to us, others newly encountered. And we wonder that so many women, young and seemingly unattached, have no companions.

Most often whether male or female, unfamiliar faces will share a brief greeting as we pass. On the other hand, there are those occasions when a greeting from us will go unanswered and whoever it was, a man or a woman we'd come across, would just pass by stone-faced and uncommunicative. There's always the chance that people who seem morose are unhappy or depressed and look for solitude and so are unresponsive to the presence of others.

It is fodder for thought. You don't know whether your immediate response to a snub or in discussing it with your companion that the person is inordinately unfriendly, or just that they're emotionally bound up in unhappiness which makes them incapable, much less unwilling to be sociable or even at best civil and courteous.

There's much less to 'see' that's compellingly new and different in the ravine at this juncture of deep summer and hot, dry days. Goldenrod and asters that typically bloom in late summer are still maturing, not quite ready to bloom. There's still Queen Anne's Lace and yarrow in bloom, but not in great profusion. This year the jewelweed in the forest has been a disappointment, the flowers are vanishingly few and those that did adorn a few of the hundreds and hundreds of barren plants were modest in size and form and colour.

There's a bit of bright red winkling out of the honeysuckle shrubs with the maturity of their berries but all said, the landscape looks green and dry and badly in need of rain. These are details that our little dogs are completely oblivious of. They're just happy to be out and about with us. Each day is a bit of an adventure for them with new smells, the opportunity to chew on a few twigs, the challenge of a squirrel roaming through the underbrush, as an opportunity to zip after it. They go out of their way, day by day, to demonstrate to us what a dog's life they lead.