Halfway through our stroll over the forest trails yesterday, Jillie began barking excitedly and racing ahead. We always call her back and implore her to please, please stop barking. With a mind decidedly of her own she will return to us if she feels like it, or if she hears a definite imperative in the tone of our voice. As for the barking, forget it. She's excitable and barking is her way of imparting the state of her mind. To tell her to stop is like recommending to someone who is really annoying you that you'd appreciate it if they stopped breathing altogether. Not going to happen.

Jackie, ever the follower, usually races after his sister, and he indulges in the barking as well, so what results is a chorus of barks. Usually we can tell hers from his; hers being higher on the irritation level akin to a screech at times, and his definitely masculine, deeper, more throaty. And this from two quite small dogs.

And then the reason for their barking became evident as first one then another small (twice their size) terriers came down the hill to greet us as we were forging our way uphill. These are our old friend Scott's constant companions. He's a local fireman, the nicest person you could ever meet, somewhat like his mother with whom we're also acquainted from 'way back. Scott is a fine male specimen, tall, but only by our standards in comparison to our own modest height; well-built, with a craggy Scottish face, mobile, empathetic expressions on that face, patient and exquisitely mannerly.

And he told us that his little boy's hip cancer has returned for the third time. Surgery not an option this time for the 15-year-old little fellow, because of his age-impacted heart condition. As for his ten-year-old little girl, she was diagnosed recently with cancer, spread to her liver and kidneys. He drives her to a Montreal clinic every three weeks for chemotherapy, and that's given her a new lease on life, temporarily. He's grateful for the time he's had with them. At first he felt utterly shattered, but he's beginning to bring himself around, to live with the inevitable. She lost considerable weight, but when we saw her she looked pretty good asking for her usual attention and gentle rubs, interested in everything around her though her shaved belly made her look woefully vulnerable.

We feel for Scott. That dogs have such relatively short lifespans is intolerable, but tolerate it we must for there are no other options. There is always an alternative, the choice not to burden yourself with such inevitability and forego the pleasure and emotional fulfillment that comes with the companionship and life-sharing opportunities offered by our beloved pets.

It was a beautiful day, was yesterday as far as weather was concerned. A slight whisper of wind, blue sky and a temperature high of -2C. That's the kind of winter weather we find completely tolerable. As do Jackie and Jillie who caper about without any obvious concerns of their own. It seems to us that during these days of early winter onset there are more invitations to them to sniff and snuffle about on the forest floor than usual. But we probably make similar observations in all seasons.

When we had completed our circuit, and left the ravine, coming out to the street above, there was Barrie just parking his car, and beginning to let his three Border Collies out in preparation for a hike through the forest trails themselves. They're such high-energy dogs that Barrie and Sheila take them to the ravine three times daily usually, though they don't live adjacent to the ravine as we do. Barrie was on his own, Sheila just driving back with her daughter's mother-in-law from several weeks in Florida together.

Barrie was fuming. The day before on one of their hikes they had come across a Husky, not one he's ever seen in the ravine before. The dog was not on leash, being walked by a young woman, and before he knew what was happening, it made a wild dash for one of Barrie's dogs and attacked it viciously. The three Border Collies have been taught not to get in anyone's face, neither people nor other dogs, and to approach cautiously. This Husky chose the quietest of the three; Barrie could see it pulling a pile of hair out of Carter. He sprinted ahead and kicked the Husky; I'd never believe Barrie would do that to a dog, but he felt it was the quickest way to separate it from Carter, and it worked.

Barrie then castigated the young woman mercilessly, asking her why a dog that hadn't received civil behaviour training would be taken for an off-leash walk, placing other dogs in danger. He was so angry, he told us, he was thrumming with outrage, and made no effort to be polite whatever. There happened to be another person who witnessed the event, and who informed Barrie after the woman left the area with her dog, that he'd seen her before and on each occasion the dog was firmly leashed. It was only later, after checking out Carter's condition that he realized one of his ears had a great tear in it.