At one point in our lives, our daughter's house was located in close proximity to our own. Most days she would accompany us after we all finished our work days, for long hikes through the ravine. It's when we learned that on winter evenings, long after darkness fell, entry to the ravine introduced us to an entirely different, utterly surprisingly magical landscape.

Despite the street lamps shining brightly up at street level the atmosphere was dark. Once we dipped into the ravine, especially with a cloudy sky, the landscape bloomed in shades of pink and bright mauve, giving us almost perfect perspective. It resembled a wonderland. The snow piled on the forest floor and the clouds above the almost-denuded winter forest canopy all reflected lights from the city beyond in the distance. And that's why there was so much light within the forest interior, where none was to be seen above, on the street.

Our daughter and her daughter, our grandchild, live quite distant from us now, in a country setting of 7 acres, in an old modernized late 19th Century log schoolhouse. They are surrounded by wildlife. And for many years their home harboured a number of rescue dogs. Those years passed, and they went from having a pack of ten dogs, to the currently remaining two, a 15-year-old German Shepherd mix and a little Chihuahua about the same age whose idea of civilized life is never to exercise and hiking in the woods is to be avoided like the plague.

Yesterday, as happens very occasionally, we had their company as we made our way through a perfect autumn afternoon on the forest trails. A balmy 18C, with slight wind and fully clear skies, with the forest turning more colourful every day, Sara, the German Shepherd, enjoyed a leisurely stroll through the woods alongside Jackie and Jillie, while we followed behind.

Several days earlier a year-old female rescue dog had joined our daughter's dog-deprived household. She is an Anatolian Shepherd, and like other dogs our daughter has taken in, she has seen some hard times. Her ribs are barely covered with a layer of light fat and muscle tissue. She has a wonderfully engaging personality and showed us her sweet temperament, enough to melt your heart.

Everything is new to her. She had never seen the interior of a house before, evidenced by her behaviour once brought initially into our daughter's home. Stairs frightened her until she gained some confidence. The prospect of being in a vehicle did little to reassure her. But leaning up close for physical contact with one or the other of us worked wonders for her.

For the time being she has to be walked on leash until such time as she grows into her new place in the world and develops confidence and full trust in the people with whom she will now live in security. There is much she does not yet comprehend, but she is highly intelligent and that condition will be quite temporary.

She will learn not to run after deer on the property, nor pose a risk to the small furry animals like foxes, porcupines, raccoons, rabbits, squirrels and chipmunks that abound there. Behind our daughter's house there is a wetland, and in the spring black water snakes often emerge; oddly enough the dogs have always more or less ignored their presence, but they're harmless in any event.

Sara, and Carmen, and now Lily, have the house they share with our daughter and granddaughter to themselves. They appear to get along well together, the older dogs accepting the presence of the young one. And it's likely that Sara may end up mentoring Lily. The young learning routine, confidence and relaxation from the old.