When I asked Jackie and Jillie if they felt it was time for all of us to get out into nature for a tramp through the winter woods today, their response was as expected. They're happy to get out and about, look forward to their daily forest treks, enjoy themselves enormously while we're out, yet invariably Jillie will hide, if she can get away with it. If I'm upstairs before we decide to go out, Jackie trots after me as I descend the stairs; Jillie pretends to, then dashes back, leaps onto our bed and settles down, her head stuffed under a throw-pillow.

When it's time to get them dressed in their winter gear, we look for Jillie in all the spots where she usually deposits herself, her bed in the family room, the one in the breakfast room, under the coffee table, on the sofa, no Jillie. So we shout upstairs 'Jillie come down' and she does, halfway down the stairs where she stops, obliging one of us to trudge up and retrieve her.

For his part, Jackie will leap onto the sofa, flip over on his back, twirl his little tail and ask for a tummy-rub before I snatch him off the sofa and begin the process of preparing him for a walk. It's as though we're subjecting them to a particularly delicate, heart-piercing form of torture, poor little things, and monsters that we are...

We thought that since it's Christmas Day we'd see a lot of families out on the trails with their children, but we were halfway through our hour's circuit before we came across several others out on the trails. At one intersection of trails, there was a group of three middle-aged people attempting to negotiate a particularly challenging descent on an offshoot-trail; the woman was desperately hugging tree trunks on the way down. We suggested they abandon that one and use one directly beside it that's a lot more footsure.

Although we failed to see very many people out, not any of them -- aside from the very last family of one child and her parents -- were cheerful and looked pleased to be where they were. Granted, the footing is iffy now with all the ice, but Christmas? We, a pair of elderly Jews, were the ones that initiated "Merry Christmas", which I found rather disconcerting.

And then, just as we were going over the last of the bridges linked to the main trails, and we were peering into the water rushing down the creek, we spotted a small group of goldfish in a bit of a pool. It's -2C, with a light but icy wind, and assuredly that water is freezing-cold. The adaptability of animals to their enviroment is amazing. There was one fair-sized fish and about five slightly smaller ones, so we surmise there's quite a few of them in the creek. We'll be on the lookout for them come spring.

These are the offspring of someone having dumped goldfish from their home tank or from a local pet shop years ago. Previously we saw them upstream years ago, but never in that part of the ravine we frequent. Several years ago we were amazed to see the size they had attained, persevering and evidently thriving in their new (to us, inhospitable) home. We knew someone who once scooped up dozens of them in an attempt to 'save' them, then looked for volunteers to take some from him, for even his sizeable tank wasn't able to accommodate them all.

Evidently since then they've made their way to 'our' part of the ravine stream. We saw them for the first time about a month ago, and shortly afterward saw a Great Blue Heron lifting off from the creek at whose presence Jackie and Jillie made a huge commotion. That the bird hadn't yet migrated to warmer climes may give us a clue about our changing environment and the toleration of previously cold-averse species to give this area wide berth come late fall.