When I spoke with my brother-in-law today he told me Toronto had received several inches of snow overnight. Whereas we in Ottawa have seen our two snow-storms-worth of snow melt in the last few days, all ten inches of it. Ottawa is supposed to be much colder than Toronto, and usually is, with infinitely more snow in volume. Today's a reversal.

It poured heavily all day yesterday, but we managed to get out for our circuit through the ravine early in the morning before rain started. While we were out hiking along the trail system, we bemoaned the loss of that lovely early snowpack. Its melt and the warm ambience, just over the freezing mark, has left trails inches-deep in guck; slush melted snow well integrated with clay, a slippery, ugly mess.

Still, we were able to get out and at the same time avoid the rain. We'd hoped today would give us a window of opportunity to get out should the rain  briefly stop before carrying on. The pouring rain did give way to continuous lighter rain, but an opportunity to break out failed to materialize. After an all-too-brief flirtation with light rain it suddenly picked up again, with a vengeance.

Persuading Jackie and Jillie to get out into the backyard to do their business failed to receive a warm reception from them, though they grudgingly conceded they would, after all, get themselves dutifully out, before they burst. And while a maelstrom of wind and rain merged with the heavy overcast making a permanent presence for the day, Jackie looked mournfully out at the weather and made no comment.

While his sister, seated in comfort on the sofa, turned melancholy eyes on me as though to entreat for a swift outside burst through the ravine. Her, of all of us, leaving the impression that she's been short-changed by our obstinacy in not preparing our two little black bandits for a quick run through the trails ... the slippery, muck-gushing trails waiting to entrap the unwary with a long involuntary glide until the out-of-control glider is suddenly flat on his back, slathered with muck and nursing a sore rear end and elbows.

Still, there's comfort to be had. Hot, fragrant food to warm a disappointed trail trekker, and soothe the sore feelings of having been denied a run in the woods. We did that yesterday in preparing a Cornish game hen to roast in the oven in preparation for dinner, alongside a noodle-egg-raisiin pudding and helpings of Brussele sprouts. With sweet and piquant Clementines for dessert.

All of it shared with Jackie and Jillie as after-dinner treats. I sliced the sprouts into their little bowls, 'cooked' that for 2.3 minutes in the microwave, adding cucumber, bell pepper and tomato chunks and they were instantly mollified despite the wreckage of a pair of rainy days, courtesy of nature's elements. Tonight it will be French onion soup, fresh vegetable salad, and leftover apple pie. Our just desserts.

 When our children were young Brussels sprouts stirred a rebellion. They were dubbed 'outhouse sprouts' back then, 40 years ago. Now, they choose to place them by their own decisions on their dinner plates. The indoctrination of comestibles.