Unfailingly, at this time of year since they were puppies to the present, when the snow begins to melt and all manner of woody detritus is revealed lying atop the snow -- the contract in colour; black-on-white, and very obvious -- Jackie and Jillie seem to find themselves compelled to sniff about at everything and, well-fed little dogs that they are, to give their taste buds new and forbidden sensations. Conifer needles used to be a favourite. They no longer are. Slender twigs are always attractive, and, unfortunately, so is well-aged canine scat.

They find twigs, needles dried grasses in the backyard, but never any scat, since we always clean it up immediately it appears. Even from passing rabbits. They would eat that, too. But in the ravine, it's a different story altogether. There, though I would venture to say most people who trek the trails along the woodland trails pick up their dog leavings, there are always some that will be revealed. And that's where we have to keep out a sharp eye for malingering little dogs dropping behind us and skulking over to sniff and take a lick or a bite of something they know full well is off limits to them.

We know when they've succeeded because they reveal it to us. Guilty backward glances, not the least bit nonchalant, but guilty and trying nonetheless to appear casual while they betray themselves with smacking and licking lips in appreciation of the fine fare. We chastise them. Jillie isn't much fazed, but Jackie is crestfallen that he's being told he's a bad boy. They know the phrase "no eating poo!" well, and precisely what it means.

Oddly enough the bigger problem is the appetite they display for woody pieces of forest detritus sprinkled everywhere on the snow. At first we just accepted that they'd chew and eat these slender twigs, obviously enjoying them. Though we do try to keep them in check. Trouble arises when Jackie becomes ill after eating the wood; not always but frequently enough. Jillie has an iron-cast stomach and nothing seems to bother her.

They sleep in a crate beside our bed with a mattress below and fluffy blankets above. Occasionally Irving will leap out of bed because he will hear Jackie retching. He opens the door of the crate and both little brats immediately leap onto the bed and begin nuzzling and licking me. While Irving whips out their blanket, cleans it up, gets dressed and takes them out to the backyard where they relieve themselves and scramble back upstairs to get into bed with us.

In the morning the blanket has to be washed; occasionally Irving will wash it right away and hang it up to dry and we replace it with another one. But this little ritual is sleep-and-rest-disturbing. Jillie weights about a third more than Jackie and she's heavy though she's small, and she likes lounging and sleeping partially on me. The last word in comfort for her, for me not so much. Jackie's a little more respectful of our personal space. In the end they fall back to sleep and so do we.

But in the morning we feel exhausted and tired. So when we decamped late in the afternoon to the ravine today on a cooler yet sunny day, we resolved to ensure that Jackie and Jillie as well wouldn't eat anything on our foray through the trails. He seemed less inclined to, today. But it's too much to hope that he could connect the dots. We tug him away from eating what he shouldn't and admonish him with a stern 'no'. If he refrained there'd be no problem.

When we arrive back home after our trail hikes they always get a fresh-cut vegetable salad treat that they look forward to with excitement. It's a mystery why that wouldn't service their need for nosh, but obviously it doesn't.