By two this afternoon it seemed certain that this day would be a repeat of yesterday -- no ravine hike for Jackie and Jilllie, much less for us. Yesterday's rain was torrential at times. And when it wasn't it was just heavy with few breaks in between lasting more than five minutes. It was difficult enough to convince the puppies to come out to the backyard on occasion. To match the weather they were feeling a little low. No appetite for Jackie and a hugely reduced one for Jillie and though the former isn't unusual the latter certainly is.

 

 

We thought if we could get them out for a little tramp through the forest they would feel better. We certainly would. But the opportunity failed to present, and so we were stuck at home. The result of which was that we felt something missing from our day, that something had gone badly awry. The house interior was dark all day, and a general feeling of languid entropy takes hold. 

 

 

We went to bed last night and it was still raining. The rain continued throughout the night. And when we awoke in the morning -- when one of those offshore telephone calls came through for 'duct cleaning' -- it was still raining. It rained throughout breakfast, kitchen clean-up and laundry. When I came downstairs after making up our bed with fresh new linen, Irving said, 'that's it, there's a lull, out we go'!

 

 

And so we did, hurriedly assembling rain jackets for all of us and striding up the street toward the ravine entrance. We didn't mean to be out long, anticipating that the rain at that point, extremely light, would likely pick up again. And again. And again. We were surprised to see an older couple clearing out of the trail leading to the ravine. He, infirm, using a cane and she hanging on to him, trying to minimize her size, hiding behind him. Because Jackie and Jillie were approaching them with their usual curiosity. Quietly.

 

 

We called the puppies away, leaving the cringing woman and her husband to carry on, for they had halted their momentum away from the trail toward the street. The woman hissed at us: 'Some people don't like dogs!'. Irving made a recommendation that they might find it useful in avoiding the inevitable on forest trails by confining themselves to street sidewalks. We began speculating between us later what she might do if one or any of the large dogs that often take a running leap harmlessly at people felt inspired to do just that with her.

 

 

We saw no one else while we were out with the exception of one of our friends walking his three border collies. To him and his wife, who split the hikes between them most often, it is an imperative that their three high-energy dogs be taken out three times daily to he forest trains. They're working dogs, after all. This is a couple who must drive to one of the ravine entrances, not sally up the street to access the ravine, as we do. That's commitment.

 

 

We weren't long on the trails before we came across a tree that had been split by the wind and rain. An Ash, that had already been weakened by the dreaded emerald ash borer; we could see that the two masts that had split from the main trunk were hollow, so it was obviously in a very weak structural condition. Still, it's sad to see it go. 

 

The creek was swollen as high, wide and muddy as we've ever seen it, even at spring run-off, carrying all manner of woody detritus downstream with it, eddying around fallen tree limbs, rushing onward. Sufficiently forceful to carry a small dog along with it, struggling against the onrush. Ours weren't about to attempt the challenge.

 

Just as well that Jackie and Jillie wore raincoats. Their topknots, ears and tails, along with their legs did get wet from the steadily falling rain, some of it managing to penetrate the leaf mass of the canopy, but their bodies were kept snug, warm and dry.