It's long been a tradition on my birthday that Irving will hunker down at the last moment as it were to storm up a birthday card for me. I've got years' worth of those birthday cards, usually large colourful cartoons of a quite personal nature, all of them stored away in a chest. When the children were young their father made cards for their birthdays as well, mostly jolly jokes poking fun here and there.

Usually we trudge up to bed after midnight. So by that time the year has turned -- yesterday from 84 to 85 -- though I hardly felt a year older; a day older, at the very most. The bed will be turned down, and there on my night table, propped up against a framed photograph of him and me taken many years ago on a bridge leading out from a forest trail in Tennessee, the new card will be awaiting my discovery.

He usually gets me a piece of jewellery for my birthday. I've so many bracelets, watches and necklaces it's downright indecent, and I don't want any more. In fact I don't want any more of anything, aside from more years we can share together. Social isolation and the need to ensure we are not overly exposed has meant the last few years no opportunity has presented for him to be out shopping for an unwanted gift. He's slowly getting used to the idea.

When our granddaughter called this morning she wanted to know, among other things, what I was given for my birthday. Love, I said. Usually early morning calls means offshore calls with someone at the other hand offering us the opportunity to get our house ducts cleaned out. It's infinitely more pleasant to speak with our daughter and granddaughter.

It's been a slow, low-key, comfortable day. Not too cold out, with an afternoon high of -3C. We had about an hour of sun before an impenetrable shield of pewter clouds took possession of the sky. In no hurry to get ourselves out to the ravine for the day's hike, we eventually did break away from the house to enter the forest.

Jackie and Jillie are so spoiled now, being offered little cookie treats while we're out on the trails, they have identified two areas where they must be accommodated at once. Just as we begin our day's foray through the forest, and a mere hundred yards on. From then on to the final stages of our ramble through the woods no additional treats will be meted out -- unless and until we come across other dogs who ask for treats and then it'll be treats all around.

No such occasion presented itself today. But they had shared a chopped-up hard-boiled egg after they'd devoured their breakfast this morning and they were missing nothing. And when we return from our daily hike they always get a little bowl of fresh-cut vegetables to tide them over to dinnertime.

Today there was a narrow timespan between their afternoon snack and dinner. We arrived back home just before five. We'd left the house just shortly after three, but dawdled along the forest pathways, stopping now and again to chat with friends. At half-past three we were already aware that dusk was closing in and it followed us closely, becoming ever more dark as we progressed. 

By the time we were ready to leave the forest, dark had descended. The bright white forest floor and the white overcast gave us ample light, but we were very aware that this was the time of early evening when coyotes tend to emerge, so we kept urging Jackie and Jillie to remain by our sides, somewhat reluctant to leash them until we'd reach street level.