In retrospect it was not a very good idea to register when the law for gun registration came into effect, about twenty-five, thirty years ago. Our old Lee-Enfield had lain up on a high shelf in our bedroom closet for many years. I imagine Irving knows where he has stored the ammunition. The rifle is at least 70 years old. We were just kids when we went together to a sporting goods store somewhere around Bathurst Street and St.Clair Avenue in Toronto.

Irving's uncle Menashe and his aunt Chasurele owned a farm, located between Kleinburg and Bolton, a short drive from Toronto. The farm is now long gone; it's been part of the Toronto-area series of conservation areas for more than a half-century. Before he even reached his teen years, Irving would spend summers on the farm, working along with everyone else in the fields. I remember there was a 'summer kitchen' attached to the old farmhouse, and in the summer months it would be used for cooking to keep the house as livable as possible.

We can't have been more than 14, maybe 15, when that rifle was acquired. I don't think we were even questioned. Irving thought it might be fun to do some target practise while out on the farm. He even taught me how to shoot at targets. I  recall that groundhogs were felt to be a huge nuisance on the farm, so the idea was if we saw any, we'd shoot them. We saw them, we didn't shoot them. One day we shot off the rifle while we were in one of the pastures and the next thing we knew the cattle had gathered and were thundering in our direction. We just made it over the fence.

His aunt used to send Irving sometimes down to the hen house to collect eggs. He got used to being pecked. His uncle tried his hand at grafting pears with apple trees and beside the front of the house there grew a fruit tree that obligingly offered both fruits. A train track ran through part of the farm. Irving showed me what would happen to a penny placed on the track after a train had rolled over it.

We thought the gun was a lot of fun until one summer afternoon Irving shot a living target, far enough away that he was certain he'd never hit it. It was a robin, and it fell dead and we were devastated. And never again did we pick up that rifle. But it still held memories and we kept it, now an old nostalgic possession. Irving had registered it as required by law with the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. Every now and again a notice arrives to renew the registration, the cost roughly $70. We just received a reminder and thought we might re-register online but because we don't bank through the internet, can't, so it'll have to be done by mail, and for that we have to go to the bank and get a bank draft, or a mail order, not very appealing.

Last night we had fish and chips for dinner, but a far cry from the traditional fish'n-chips. When Irving was a young boy he would sometimes be given a quarter to go to a local fish'n-chip store and bring back the goods, steaming hot wrapped in newspapers. In my family such treats were never to be had; even pennies were scarce, but I do remember being given coins to go off when I was about eight, ten, to local movie theatres to see afternoon feature films -- mostly a lot of Westerns -- and the inevitable Disney cartoon shorts.

The dinner we had was prefaced by a fresh salad last night, and the fish was a half-side of baked salmon, while the chips were oven-fried potatoes. A little more like health-fare than the traditional versions, and just as good-tasting.

We're going to bed far too late. Trudging up to bed after midnight, and often not turning off our bedside lamps until one or even close to two in the morning. So we tend to sleep in late. Jackie and Jillie don't seem to mind, and although I feel a little 'guilty' about our peculiar hours, and irritated at the short daylight hours, they seem to suit us.

This morning I baked a cheesecake, flavouring it with brandy, and sprinkling white chocolate chips between the crust and the cheese batter. It's a combination I particularly enjoy. Once I was finished working up a bread dough and doing a few other things, we decided for a turn in the ravine. As it happens, it's a cold day with a mean wind, but we did have a few snow episodes interspersed with sun, so we knew we'd be meeting up with a beautiful landscape in the forest interior.

And that's exactly what greeted  us, a lovely vision of snow-sprinkled winter. We came across a few ravine acquaintances which made for episodes of standing around talking, and then realizing when we moved on that we' gotten awfully cold. When we had left the house the thermometer read -10.4C, and with the wind's effect, it seemed awfully cold. I had four layers under my down-filled jacket, for what that was worth; I felt icy fingers of cold penetrating all those layers.

When we return back home,  hoisting Jackie and Jillie onto towels laid on the washer and drier, the first thing we do is remove their little boots. And their feet under the boots felt awfully cold. Taking off their coats and their halters, we revealed two warm little bodies. The house never feels quite so toasty and comfortable as it does on a return from a winter ramble through the forest.

Even Jackie and Jillie are happy to be back home, and anxiously anticipating their usual back-home treat; their afternoon salad.