In my enthusiasm to bake a cherry pie, I pitted so many cherries I ended up with more filling than a small-capacity pie-dish could hold. Cherries were on sale when we'd gone shopping earlier in the week, at a very attractive $2.95-lb, so I just poured the bag into a sieve and began pitting the cherries yesterday morning. The filling was much too generous for the 8-inch pie dish I prefer using just for the two of us, and a 10-inch pie dish went into service when I prepared the pie dough.

The finished pie would have made 6 ample slices; instead the pie was cut into four pieces, and Irving and I made quick work of our servings, setting aside the other half of the pie for a dessert in several days' time. An indulgence of ample proportions. The pie was excellent; its filling comprised of the halved cherries, sugar, cornstarch and cranberry juice set to simmer until thick, adding butter and almond essence, was delicious. And we were well and truly stuffed.

Yesterday was a day of torrential rain events and a few prolonged, violent thunderstorms. We had managed to get out in a brief lull before breakfast, the rain resuming the minute we arrived back home. The garden was absolutely drenched. Just as the forest, in our trek through a short circuit, was a brilliant emerald-green, lacquered by the rain, so was the garden; roses and peonies in particular brought low by the weight of the water on their blossoming flower heads.

In the ravine, rainwater mixed with the clay scrubbed up from the creek bottom, rushed downstream, a maelstrom of water thrashing over the rapids, carrying with it fallen debris from overhanging trees. Everything looked brightly burnished, although the sky was heavy with clouds awaiting the opportunity to deluge the landscape below anew. We could hardly believe we'd been able to catch a brief hike despite the live threat of thunder.

Today, more rain, and plenty of it. The temperature had cooled down enormously from its series of 30C successive days. Early in the afternoon, despite dark clouds overhead, a brief lull of sun smiling through cracks in the prevailing clouds persuaded us we might be able to enjoy another brief run through the forest trails. Once more, the creek roared by us hauling branches and other woody detritus whooshing downstream. We heard a murder of crows not far off, and assumed they were harassing an owl.

When we reached the ravine heights from whence the sounds came we could see the crows crowding the sky, but try as we might, couldn't see the location of the owl in the trees soaring above us. We did have a visitor of a more domesticated variety, delighting Jackie and Jillie no end at the extra opportunity for cookie handouts.

When we had left the house there was a light shower in progress, light enough that the forest canopy would keep us dry. We wore rainjackets and two little rainjackets for Jackie and Jillie were stuffed into one of my pockets. We'd gone three-quarters of the short circuit we were on when the atmosphere grew darker and a heavy rain dispelled any notion we might escape a soaker. On went the puppies' raincoats and on we went, the clay base of the trails running with rain.

Despite their little raincoats, Jackie and Jillie were pretty soaked by the time we got them into the house. Out came their towels for a much-needed rubdown. As much as they detest getting caught out in the rain and coming away dripping water, they love the attention the towelling gives them as their little snouts and ears get smothered with the soft towels and they revel in being carefully rubbed dry.

And then they run through the house like little demented goats in anticipation of their usual afternoon snack consisting of fresh vegetables; cucumber, snap peas, bell pepper and grape tomatoes cut up into a little salad for them. They can hardly contain their excitement, leaping around me until their bowls are deposited on the floor; pink for Jillie, blue for Jackie, little bowls with immovable rubber bases.