Hard to convince us that some behaviours aren't gender-based, given what we witness daily in our household in the presence of two sibling pups, a  boy and a girl. Jackie will recklessly plow though anything, and fails to shrink from the prospect of getting wet on rainy days. Whereas his sister Jillie has obvious qualms in exposing herself to rain to the extent she prefers to shirk her natural urges rather than expose herself to (gasp!) rain, leaving us to wonder just what kind of bladder capacity she has.

There are times when we just have to tuck her under an arm to haul her outdoors, deposit her under the deck where she will be mostly sheltered from the rain, to allow her to do her thing. And all the while her brother is unconcernedly loping around here and there, fully exposed to the deluge, seemingly oblivious to any discomfort. They both know the drill, however. On entering the house after being out in the rain, proper etiquette requires that they leap onto a towel laid out on a bench alongside one wall in the breakfast room, and wait to be towelled off.

Now that's a little routine with an ironcast rule; wait your turn for the rubdown, and once that's accomplished, off you go. And while Jillie doesn't enjoy exposing herself to rain, she certainly looks forward to the rubdown; towel draped over her little form, we start with her snout and eyes, move to her ears, then her back and underside, briskly but gently, and then finishing off paws and she's good to go.

None of that was necessary today. From an overcast morning reminiscent of the dismal last few days of non-stop rain, the clouds gradually receded allowing a clear, blue sky to dominate and finally the sun to gleam its golden-orb warmth, brightening the landscape cheerily. It wasn't only we who appreciated the change; we could hear the cardinal singing lustily, to celebrate the day, perched high above on a tree nearby.

As the day warmed to a high of 6C, and the sun remained in full possession of the sky, out we went, to enter the ravine and the forest paths. The creek is running wide and full, carrying away all the snowmelt that resulted from the hillsides shedding their snowpack under the influence of the rain, and a high yesterday that soared to 10C. We are finally beginning to see the forest floor once again, a ritual we witness annually, but which never fails to impress and delight us. This year, that delight is tinged with a background of uncertainty, but we hope that will be overcome.

The bridges in the ravine fording the stream and its outlets still harbour about a foot-depth of accumulated snow-and-ice, but if this milder weather persists -- and it should since come tomorrow we greet April -- it shouldn't take long before the bridge floors are clear and alongside them, the forest floor. In the areas of the forest well above the ravine itself with its interlacing trails, far more of the exposed forest floor is evident.

Below, in the ravine itself, aside from the hillsides which are beginning to evict layers of seasonal snow, ample, thick ice remains. Most of the trails remain thickly slathered with ice. But the ice has softened, has lost its sharp, slippery edge and our cleats ensure we remain upright. Not so for those not equipped with cleats, who slither and slide over the hillsides' ascents and descents.

But they are mostly young people, the few that deign to spend a few hours of quality time with nature, and to them the situation is more of a thrill, a challenge to remain upright, than a threat of potential broken bones. We came across a pair of young people today, happy to be out, accompanying two large dogs. They enter on occasion with the family dog as an opportunity to romp through a natural setting, but in nowhere near the numbers of older people who tend to make the forest a sometimes-destination.

The shrinking snowpack has released all manner of odours we can only guess at, but all of which Jackie and Jillie are skilled at interpreting. Noses flat to the ground, they tend to behave as though they're tracking game, or the presence of some delectable edible prize. Some of the 'prizes' are tiny bits of woodland detritus fallen from trees, others of questionable derivation, impelling us to keep a sharp eye on what they're doing, and occasionally tugging their leashes when the occasion demands to convey the message that any such questionable object is to be discarded...

After two full days of being shut out of the ravine, it was a decided relief for all of us to be out and about. All the more so that other avenues of getting out have been shuttered for the time being, with the exception of utter necessities. Tuesday is our usual grocery shopping day. But we've decided to wait and hold off for next week and shop then. Simply because last week's shopping had been an extraordinarily large one, and we'd managed to bring home more than what we'd need for a week. We've ample fresh vegetables left, and enough fruit to do us until then, not to mention other types of whole foods.

We'll have a roasted acorn squash tonight to accompany a noodle-cheese-green pea casserole. And leftover banana cake for dessert. I never make up a list when we go shopping. Now, however, I've begun a list of food items that shouldn't be forgotten when next we shop, since shopping has become one of those 'rare' occasions to supplement whatever is in the freezer or dry non-perishables in the pastry....

Sometimes it can be very difficult to focus the mind. Sometimes the mind is fuzzy and all-abuzz about nothing at all, and alternately is attempting to focus on too much. We've so suddenly been plunged into this world-wide dilemma. Who might have foreseen such an event, a swiftly-enfolding health cataclysm that has created a huge air of uncertainty in science and medicine. Apart from which while doctors and other health-care professionals man the barricades and in the process place themselves in great danger, governments in hindsight realize they should have been prepared.

If governments don't recognize that, then their citizens slowly come to that realization -- that the purse strings elected officials neglected to unleash for the potential of a mass health pandemic to support research and preparedness, hospitals and medical equipment of necessity, in favour of funding pet ideological projects and corporate supporters -- to remind their governments.

So, sticking under our skin and needling our thoughts is just a tad of resentment that few governments have seen fit to prepare their countries to fend off a hugely destabilizing and deadly disease threatening life as we know it. It has already done so, needless to say, in ways we might never have wanted to imagine. Our progressively tight little world in this unimaginably extended universe has become, suddenly tighter. The ease of mass communication and travel has informed us that travel is no longer advised.

We are to remain in situ; where we are, and to stay there. To prevent contamination through a hugely infectious zoonotic, a hybrid virus related to a previous one communicated from animals to humans; SARS/coVid-2. One that even while scientists are struggling to understand the genetic code behind the virus, is mutating steadily, with eight versions so far identified as it rips around the globe.

So this is what has highjacked our minds, as we attempt to focus a little more clearly and find ourselves trapped, both in returning to dread thoughts of the novel coronavirus and fears of those we love becoming infected and tabulating to ourselves all the steps we must take to provide as much protection as we can to ourselves and our families. We know, as well, that staying healthy, if we can, means we will also not become a vector, carrying the virus ourselves and unwittingly helping it leap to invade others.

Routine and familiarity help to wrench ourselves away from that laser focus. And for us two elderly people, it means doing all the familiar things that give us comfort. Alas, today is yet another cool, windy, rainy day, just as yesterday was. Which forced us to remain indoors rather than take our two little pups out for a leisure, mind-stabilizing stroll through forest trails in the ravine nearby our home. And today, just the same.  But it's also habitually cleaning day, so that's what my husband and I attended to. While our little Jackie and Jillie followed us about trying to make sense of routine plus the stress they can sense.

So after all the work is done and we relax, out come the books and newspapers. On with the fireplace as the puppies settle beside us. And for dinner tonight, one of my husband's favourites; a small corned beef roast, which we seldom have because it's not the most healthful of eating; too much salt and nitrites in its preparation.  We'll also have mashed yam to accompany it, along with broccoli, sliced tomatoes and cucumbers, with fresh green grapes for dessert. Comfort food for uncomfortable times.

There's just no point in arguing with Mother Nature. After all, the weather is hers and hers alone to decide. So who are we to complain. After all we can't have spring until winter and all its symbols and conditions are dispensed with. As long as there's snow and ice binding the earth to its sleep-mode no new growth and slumber-awakened vegetation can emerge until the ground thaws.

So rain it is, for today. Constant, unrelenting, heavy and windy. Conditions that make it unattractive to contemplate even a run through the forest trails in the ravine. And since running isn't our style in any event, this has been a strictly indoor day.

Not that there isn't more than enough to busy ourselves with indoors. From the usual household tasks to others that a few hours of time on the rare occasion calls for. And more time devoted to leisure activities, like reading, an activity that is so all-consuming to us. And looking through the Internet to see what's happening and there is quite a lot happening, most of it focusing on a narrow subject that is widely being experienced, everywhere.

Also the opportunity to prepare meals that are a little more complicated and time-consuming because there's ample time to do so, and not only is it interesting but also critically important, since attractive and nutritious meals are so vital in maintaining good health; more important now than at any other time, given the circumstances of a predatory virus seeking out health-impaired hosts.

Last night, we were privileged by the visit of two raccoons. The slightly smaller of the two had been feasting on the offerings on the porch, well illuminated by bright porch lights. We watched awhile because it's pretty fascinating witnessing the nimbleness of a raccoon's hands in action, as self-assured and delicately efficient as any human being's.

And then another raccoon ambled along, larger than the first, up the pathway and over to the porch. No hostility was evident as might occur with strangers competing with one another for scarce food, given the season. It seemed obvious the two were well acquainted and we guessed mother and juvenile offspring. The juvenile kept eating, the mother looked about a bit, paying no attention to the food which led my husband to speculate that she had been at the side door where a similar offering was available; validated later by the diminished pile we observed.

As for Jackie and Jillie, they've been entertaining themselves by being stationed in a relaxed tandem at the front door, peering out at the parade of squirrels visiting. The presence of red squirrels elicits no evident response other than their eyes following movements, but the arrival of a grey squirrel or one particular small, rotund little black squirrel is certain to see Jackie reacting with indignation that HIS porch is being used as a fast-food stop without his permission. Jillie is more laid back, for her it's a mere matter of light curiosity.

This morning my husband placed a renewal order for prescribed medications through the telephone service of the pharmacy we've used for decades. And in the early afternoon he drove over to pick up the prescription drugs. At the entry of the store two young men acting as attendants informed people entering that no one is permitted to enter with bags. Each person was asked what department of the store, a large supermarket which also houses our pharmacy, they were headed for.

My husband responded that the pharmacy was his destination and he was channeled through. Others were asked to wait until supermarket shoppers exited, because the supermarket was thronged with shoppers. At the pharmacy a plexiglass shield had been installed at each of the counters. And to ensure that clients didn't approach too closely, another type of shield to waist level made certain a separation gap was maintained. All the while a deep cleaning process of all surfaces was being conducted.

At the counter where the assembled prescription is usually handed over in a stapled-shut bag by a pharmacy worker who normally is always on duty, the client is asked to wait on brief standby until the bag is put in place for on the counter, the worker withdraws, and the client is free then to tale possession of the order. We pay nothing because we are seniors and the medications are on the Ontario drug formulary, free to seniors. On the approach to departing the store, an attendant asks if the intention is to enter the supermarket itself; if not, as in my husband's case, the person is ushered out.

On his drive over to the pharmacy along major streets, what was unusual was the infrequency of road traffic; few vehicles driving about. On the other hand, the sidewalks were unusually full of people strolling about; singles, couples, families. As in the supermarket itself, a surprising number of people out and about.

On his return home, my husband washed the light rubber gloves he had worn, hung them to dry, washed his bare hands, opened the bag, put aside the medications, washed his hands again. I am a nag. Soon afterward we exited the house together with Jackie and Jillie into a grey day, heavily overcast, windy, and slightly cooler than yesterday which had been a sunny, beautiful day of 8C.

The milder weather means that our pups can now shed their winter coats and wear woolly sweaters instead, and no boots. We hoped the thick ice layers smothering the trails in the forest would still be as they were yesterday, completely denaturized, almost mushy, and they were. So we set off for our course for the afternoon through the ravine with foot-safe confidence.

We did find that there were a number of people out on the trails that we would come across on a few occasions. It's always easy to tell people for whom hiking through the trails is a new experience, one they've never thought of before, but have turned to as a different experience to relieve boredom. They seem uncertain, a bit lost, rarely know where they are and what direction they're facing. In fact, just the way we feel when we embark on a detested stroll through neighbourhood streets that interlace, on the rare occasion we're shut out of the ravine.

While we were out it became evident soon enough that the sun was trying very hard to emerge from behind lowering banks of grey cloud. It's positioned so much higher in the sky now as it describes its arc from morning to afternoon to evening, than it was two months ago. Giving us in the process longer days so we can enjoy more light and less dismal darkness.

Although, to be sure, nature has provided us with a variant on that kind of 'dismal darkness', introducing us to the fearful presence of a hitherto-unknown coronavirus threatening the health and longevity wherever it strikes, that has succeeded in shutting down most human enterprise the world over.

Yesterday was a dark news day and a dark weather day. A combination none too positive for anyone's state of agitated mental health. Copious rain poured down from three in the afternoon, and the house interior was really dark. I'm not a telephone conversationalist, avoiding speaking on the telephone whenever I can. But yesterday I felt like 'reaching out', and called one of our neighbours down the street who has lived alone since  his wife left him over his roving eye. He's been a really good neighbour to us.

I called to ask how he is, how he's managing. He's an avid world traveller; not much else to do with your life if you're alone and have the finances to enable leisure travel. Earlier in the month he returned from a trip to Cambodia and VietNam and he said he loved it. He self-isolated on his return, and his ex-wife, who has happily re-married did grocery shopping for him, leaving it in boxes for him to retrieve from the porch.

I called our daughter-in-law's mother, now in her late 80s, and living alone in an old farmhouse she and her husband bought many years ago outside Truro, Nova Scotia. She has been in seclusion, dependent on her son's wife to supply her with groceries, since they live next door, on a rural property. She's using an old record player, she told me, and playing, one by one the hundreds of old records they had collected over the years. Her vision is too heavily compromised now for her -- a lifelong reader -- to read books any longer. She's cheerful of necessity.

And then I called my younger sister, who still hasn't been informed of the endoscopy and colonoscopy test results from last week. She and her husband, who sold their house to move into an apartment complex in north-end Toronto, went shopping earlier in the week, and waited in a long line outside the supermarket until guards allowed them to enter -- only two people at a time, and only once two shoppers had exited.

This morning I baked a banana cake. My husband and I love bananas and have one each every morning, along with an orange or part of a melon. But I don't particularly care for anything baked with bananas, and my husband does. For a change I thought I'd relent, and a banana cake it was. I'd prepared a crumble topping, but decided when I turned the cake out of the baking pan, to leave it upside down, so the crumble topping ended up underneath.

We ventured out to the ravine under a wide, blue sky and sparkling-bright-warm sun coasting along the cloudless sea of blue. With a high of 8C we were hoping that the widespread icy conditions on the forest trails would have improved, despite all the rain. And as it transpired, most of the ice on the trails was soft, our cleats giving us a good grip on the ascents and descents where we're most likely to slip. A more beautiful day weatherwise couldn't have been expressly ordered to cheer us up.

The few people we did see were easy enough to acknowledge, then leave a good distance between as we passed. We met up with our old friend Max, and standing a wide measure from one another, we discussed the state of the world we live in today, and Jackie and Jillie patiently waited. Our various experiences doing the grocery shopping were expressed and parsed. It's a topic of conversation uppermost in everyone's mind, crowding out all other concerns, and will continue to do so for a good long time, we are advised.

Rain this morning ensured we woke to a dark day. Such things make a difference to mood. A gloomy exterior makes for a gloomy interior. Jackie and Jillie seemed quieter than usual. And then we came downstairs to start the day, and their mood picked up considerably. Jackie always makes a run for the front door and he's rarely disappointed. This morning it was Heckle and Jekyll that were present and accounted for; more often it's another, sole little black squirrel, occasionally a red squirrel. H&J always seem to hang out together, we surmise they may be siblings.

Eventually the rain stopped, but the grey clouds remained, so there was no brightening up of the landscape, although the day itself was balmy, with a high of 8C. We decided to get out for our ravine walk a little earlier in the afternoon since the weather forecast warned of a resumption of afternoon rain that would be heavy, not the light stuff that came down in the morning.

So, off we went, hoping that since the day was milder, albeit overcast, the icy conditions on the forest trails would have improved. They had, but minimally. Still, as we proceeded along -- sauntering, in fact, a newer type of locomotion that matched us to the conditions and the need to proceed with caution -- we could feel the metal spikes of our cleats now more securely biting into the melting ice.

Jackie and Jillie weren't doing too much slipping as they had the previous two days. So we decided, at a juncture where we usually decide whether to proceed and commit to a long, hour,  hour-and-a-half, even two-hour circuit, or to just go along on a shorter, half-hour to an hour trail hike. Like yesterday, despite slightly slipperier conditions, we chose a long circuit.

We had just reached the top of the first hill we ascend in a series of them, a forested promontory overlooking the ravine, the creek and the bridges fording it, when Jackie and Jillie burst into a frenzy of barks. And there, striding toward us, was the tiny, familiar figure of an old friend, a young local firefighter, with his two little terriers. When he finally reached our proximity and his true bulk revealed, Jillie broke away, my husband lost grip on her leash, and our friend picked it up and as he reached us, handed it back to my husband as we greeted one another.

And in the process got closer physically than I felt entirely comfortable with. This is such a pleasant young man, courtly in an old-school European manner, we feel comfortably at ease in his presence. But that, of course, begs the question of prudent caution in our new reality of trying to evade infection. Our friend must be just as aware as we are of the dangers inherent in potential transmission of the novel coronavirus. As a first-responder, we know his profession tries to keep ahead of such matters. None of which relieved my anxiety.

The older and smaller of his two little dogs had had two bouts of cancer over the years, both successfully operated on. Now the younger of the two, a calico-coated little terrier, has a more aggressive cancer which she was diagnosed with about six months earlier. She has regular trips to a clinic in Montreal, just over an hour's drive away from Ottawa, for chemotherapy. We haven't seen them in several months. And she was excited to see us, looked as happy as she always does, and her enthusiasm and energy has returned to normal, according to our friend. When my husband began digging about in his pockets, she new instantly that treats were coming, and duly distributed.

When two other hikers with two large dog breeds appeared in the distance, we bid our friend adieu, asked him to give our regards to his mother, and continued our separate way. Those two women and their gentle, large dogs seemed to take many of the same interlocking trails we did today. And each time we came within sight of one another, they would opt to take a route that would leave them and us in avoidance of one another.

There were areas, we found, in an ever-changing landscape, where the ice had spread conspicuously, leaving no alternative of adjacent, approachable snow-covered side portions on the trails, and where meltwater from the areas that sloped onto the trails ran across the ice, making it more dicey to negotiate. Requiring the exercise of more care in proceeding. But we managed.

Again, like yesterday, out of an excess of caution we made decisions to side-track certain areas, or not return to them on the homeward circuit, choosing instead other, less-travelled pathways to avoid downhill trudges on the ice where uphill experience had informed us that we'd best avoid a return.
We had dressed Jackie and Jillie in waterproof winter coats in the likelihood of rain starting up again while we were out in the forest. But unlike yesterday, not even light episodes of freezing rain descended on us.

A half-hour after we returned home, however, we heard an outburst familiar to all of us booming through the low-ceiling of grey in the sky. A surprise, a prolonged, familiar alert that we were about to be inundated. And then the rain fell, heavily and continuously, doing its part to help wash away a winter's worth of detritus and the accumulated snowpack surrounding us. And we were grateful not to have been caught out in it.