It's a depressing place to be. Just the way we find being in a hospital is depressing. Hospitals, after all, exist to offer care and cure and comfort and hope for those with failing health, those in a population victim to accidents, those whose chronic conditions grow steadily more grave and of course a preponderance of the elderly. 

We weren't in a hospital setting per se. Mind, it's a clinic, and there's only a marginal purpose, sight and condition difference between the two. And both are inordinately busy places. In a large community of people there will always be the wounded and disabled congregating in the hope that skilled medical-professional assistance will answer to their needs. Where else to go?

 

I had an appointment out of a referral, to an eye clinic. The private clinic my choice over a hospital. The clinic was located, in fact, almost next-door to the largest hospital campus in the city. And often patients are referred by the hospital itself to the clinic we attended early this afternoon. It's a new, modern building, quite unlike the hospital, of elderly construction and beginning to groan at the seams. In fact, somewhat resembling the patients it most often sees.

 

I wanted to avoid the crowded conditions of the hospital eye clinic, the long wait for attention, the much longer wait for a scheduled appointment that would offer me the mundane eye surgery I need; cataract removal. Six years earlier I was at the hospital for cataract surgery on one eye, and the surgical ophthalmologist who  treated me was the very same one I would be seeing at the private eye clinic today; retired from the hospital, but still going strong.

 

 

We had arisen earlier than usual from bed, hurried our breakfast, giving me the opportunity to strip our bed, put on fresh linen, start a laundry, spot-clean two bathrooms, clean up the kitchen, wash the dishes and prepare to leave little Jackie and Jillie at home alone to await our return. It's a spare half-hour drive from our house to downtown Ottawa and the locale of the clinic. We left with too much time to spare thinking traffic might be bad. It wasn't, and we were almost a half-hour early for my appointment.

 

A dreary wait ensued, during which time we witnessed a succession of people entering the facility in wheelchairs, hobbling along with walkers or walking sticks, white-haired elderly, grossly overweight younger people, obese elderly. The staff at the clinic was young, bright, knowledgeable and efficient. Those behind the reception area, those attendants who took complex tests and ensuing eye photographs and the doctor and his assistant, a young female intern. 

 

 

It's the waiting that gets to us. I cannot sit, I stand and wander about, stand and just stand in one spot, waiting, waiting. Too put-out to do  anything else, like sit sensibly the way Irving does, and wait patiently. Patience is not one of my virtues, while it is among Irving's many. Eyedrops are beyond maddening, albeit necessary for a proper examination.

 

The doctor and I exchanged pleasantries, spoke of the last time we'd seen one another; a coincidence. I was startled by how aged he looks now, realizing he must be in his mid-70s. He examined my eyes and reviewed previous interventions and the reason I'd come today. His recommendation was yes, it was obvious I required an advanced cataract to be removed from my right eye. Clarity of vision and colour between the two eyes is quite pronounced.

 

He went further than what I was comfortable with, recommending I get a second opinion from an ophthalmologist specializing in more complex eye issues to examine my left eye to see if the hole in its vitreous could be patched together. A dozen years earlier I'd had a vitrectomy and it hadn't worked. I had no desire to repeat the process. From that examination, came a discussion with a clinic manager who explained all the details to me, including cost. A more technologically advanced lens could be arranged, at double the cost of the one I'd had installed in the left eye, along with a more personal, expedited surgical process. The lens would be custom-made to my eye's specifications.

So that's scheduled for April. Only I've chosen to have one of the younger doctors perform the surgery, a woman. We left with me wearing dark sunglasses. And sunglasses were worn when we went out to the ravine for our daily hike with Jackie and Jillie, once we returned home. When I took the glasses off in the house my eyes were bedazzled by the light; everything had a fine, bright scarlet hue that blazed; more than a little discomfiting.

 

Our hike through the ravine was calming and pleasant. A chance to wind down the tension. Jackie and Jillie were floating on air -- reunited! When we crossed the first bridge and ascended to the forest ridge above we were arrested by the unmistakable repeated call of an owl. And then we realized it was not only a single owl but several, having a conversation with one another. Owls are very territorial and would normally tell other owls to buzz off, but it's possible it was a mature owl and an adolescent; the calls came directly from an area in the spring where we watched a pair of owls nesting and owlets deep in the made-to-order cavity in a crook of a pine tree. Until crows drove them away.

A light dusting of snow had settled over the landscape yesterday. In fact, though there were light snow flurries drifting down from an overcast sky intermittently sunny, then overcast again with more snow coming down throughout the day, not much of an accumulation resulted. The result of which was good, firm footing on the forest trails as we made our way through the ravine yesterday.

The following day, we knew, would be an entirely different story. Destined to be colder than the -6C  we were experiencing, with serious snowfalls overnight and continuing on through the daylight hours for an anticipated accumulation of over 20cm.

The forest interior is always dark, even when there is sun overhead lighting up the forest canopy but not fully infiltrating the trees enough to lift the perpetual dusk. On the other hand, the snowpack that remains all winter and grows with each successive snowfall, ensures that there is a combination of dusk and light.

Whenever the sun poked through the denseness of the gathered tree trunks, sending shafts of brilliant light through the dark trunks, I lifted my camera to capture the vibrant, ethereal blast of light against the silhouette of dark trees, but none of the snaps I took yesterday were of any use. Usually, when it's around half-past three in the afternoon or more closely approaching four in mid-winter the sun's blaze can be photo-captured.

Earlier in the afternoon it's almost as though the sun is too luminously hot, and festive 'balloons' of bright, transparent colour burst onto the photographs, shielding the landscape and the sun from a photographic capture. It's a bit of a struggle, juggling camera and Jackie's leash, my nose dripping from the cold as I grope for tissues in my jacket pocket. Multi-tasking of that nature while trying to control the retractable leash to ensure my little charge doesn't get twined around his sister's leash or a tree sapling is a decided challenge. Both to attention and intention.

Damping their enthusiasm for investigating anything unusual on the snowy pathways, or attempting to charge ahead as they normally would, to check out smells and sounds we cannot ourselves fathom, much less be aware of, isn't our intention, but it is a consequence of leashing them continually. There's no opportunity for a truly relaxed ramble through the trails with the puppies, as long as we continue to be alert to the possibility that coyotes are stealthily watching our progress and assessing their opportunities....

As we finally made our way up the last of the hills to exit the ravine and return home, our friend
Sheila with her three border collies was making her way downhill to access the trails we had just left. The three border collies, like all mid-to-larger dogs, are not restrained, and can wander at will, where they will. Sheila and her husband Barrie have few concerns of an untoward event occurring. Their dogs are so well trained they respond in an instant to being recalled, reflecting their reputation as the most intelligent of dog breeds.

I asked her if she happened to see a rubber cleat lying on the trail at some point, to place it on a conspicuous branch so I could pick it up the next day. The other of the pair was in my hands; I had retrieved it just as it began to fall off my boot, then realized its twin was missing. Sheila was wearing a pair she'd bought years ago, a tougher rubber that extended much further up the boot toe and around the heel, and which never falls off, for which she had paid very little.

As is typical with a consumer item that is well designed and robust, it appears they're no longer being manufactured and sold.They just don't fit into the mould of built-in-obsolescence that reflects the manufacture of 'semi-disposable' objects with short life limits.

To say that yesterday was a busy day would be an understatement. But truth is, most of our days are busy. There always seems so much to be done, and to do, routine and also entertaining. The quotidian tasks of maintaining and keeping a house in order, of course, from changing lightbulbs to taking out the trash, cleaning bathrooms and preparing meals. Not to mention attention given to the needs and wants of two little dogs.

And then there are the out-of-house issues that must be dealt with, from shopping to doctors' appointments, banking, and any number of other things popping up continually. Yesterday, in between doing the laundry, I went through my clothes cupboard to bag items of apparel that I haven't worn in a long time and likely never will again. I put together old, post-prescription and non-prescription eyeglasses, wrapping them carefully in a towel. I set aside pieces of costume jewellery that are extraneous to my wardrobe, and packaged everything to be taken to the Salvation Army second-hand shop.

My husband had weeks ago gone through the books in our library to select those that we consider non-essential; mostly novels and crime thrillers, favoured by him. He ended up with ten boxes of books and we took them along to the Sally Ann as well, relieved to be rid of them taking up space on our bookshelves. Non-fiction, history and art books have a hallowed place on those shelves.

He'd gone out in the very early afternoon to run a number of errands. Primarily to return videos to the public library, to stop in at the bank, and to go to the Dollar Store for bungie cords. He needed to secure the large plastic bags placed over the urns in the garden in preparation for the real onset of winter. He was away quite a long time.

While he was out I prepared a Cole Slaw salad  for dinner that night, because I was also intending to do a small beef roast, for a change. Along with trying out a new idea I'd read for roasted potatoes; cut in large chunks, parboiled, dusted with flour, salt and pepper, placed on a pre-heated oiled pan in the oven and crisped all over. My husband enjoys baked apples so I stuffed an apple with raisins, cinnamon and brown sugar and baked it. And then decided to bake a batch of crisp gingerbread cookies, meaning to for awhile, but until yesterday, hadn't gotten around to it.

He still wasn't home, and the puppies were getting restless, since it was about the time we'd normally get ourselves out for a romp through the ravine trails with them. Then he called from the library, said he was just checking out some videos (we watch a video together on Saturday nights) and would be soon home, so that was relieving.

When he did get home, he sniffed the aromatic essence of baked cookies, and said how good the house smelled. Then he told me he had three books for me, bought from the Friends of the Library group that sell books the library is de-acquisitioning, as well as donated books. He knows my taste in books, and they're titles that are of huge interest to me, both historical and first-hand accounts of world events and certain geographic expeditions.

And then, sheepishly, he showed me other things he'd bought; two wool sweaters for him and two for me. I'm conflicted about woollen sweaters. They're warm and comfortable, yes, but they require special care, having to be hand-washed and laid flat to dry. There's nothing like cotton or synthetic materials that can be tossed into the washing machine and dryer. But these were beautiful sweaters, and he'd chosen them from Value Village. He likes that place and I detest it; I'd rather shop at the Sally Ann. He thinks he knows my taste in clothing, too, and often brings home really nice things for me, but just as often I can't stand the things he's selected and back they go. Sixty-four years of marriage and knowing one another beyond intimately doesn't guarantee perfect accord, but it should result in patience and appreciation, and for us, it does.

So we did get Jackie and  Jillie out to the ravine. It was a cold, very windy, heavily overcast day. Despite which, they and we enjoyed our tryst navigating the icy trails through the forest.

Some may regard the very thought of routine as inexpressibly boring. But it isn't. Not when routine reflects how pleasant life can be. These are, more or less, chosen routines. We adopt them because they're reflective for the most part of the kind of lifestyle we aim for, incorporating them into our daily lives preferentially. And so it is with our daily hikes through the forest trails with Jackie and Jillie.

There are, of course, many aspects of life that fall outside routine and then things become disrupted. As it did for us early yesterday evening. It had been yet another glorious day of full sunshine. Cool, but after all, this is mid-October reaching toward November. It wasn't damp, and the wind was light so one can hazard that this was in fact, a perfect fall day.

We stopped at one juncture, at one of the wild apple trees, noting it has already lost most of its foliage, and though ample apples have fallen to the ground past ripeness, some remained on upper branches. My husband found two apples he had tucked into his jacket pocket the day before when a bonanza of apples had been encouraged to fall, with the help of a hefty stick for persuasion. And those he offered, bite by bite, to Jackie and Jillie.

The ground is littered with rotting apples, apples that have begun to mould and some touched with fungal growth, and we try to make certain that neither Jackie nor Jillie pick any of those up to munch on. Sometimes they're quicker than we are. Once, when he was about a year old, Jackie had nibbled on one of those apples and soon afterward began to exhibit signs of inebriation by the time we got home. His nervous system actually, was affected, and he couldn't quite stand straight.

We rushed him off to the emergency veterinarian hospital where he had an overnight stay and a charcoal treatment after he'd been induced to vomit up the apple bits. We wanted no repeat performance. Then of course there are the many and varied reports of people flicking their cannabis stubs as waste without a thought to the dangers inherent in that carelessness for dogs whose curiosity and appetite for just about anything, ingesting the discards has its consequences.

We're well aware that casual cannabis use is more common now than ever and people have a tendency to casually discard waste without a thought of the potential harm done to animals. Where once, years ago it was teens surreptitiously trying out weed in what they felt were parts of the ravine no one would pass by much less notice, now everyone feels free, with legal recreational marijuana use in Canada, to smoke up in public areas like the forest. It's usually done discreetly, but there's no hiding the characteristic odour of marijuana.

Yesterday evening after the puppies had eaten dinner they were taken out briefly to the backyard as usual. Suddenly, Jackie leaped into the air and began running about wildly, tail tucked firmly under his bony little behind. Once in the house, he was trembling, panting heavily, his heart beating wildly and wanting to be held. He has never been a cuddly little dog. Now, all of a sudden he wants to be held and comforted.

Once the comforting is over, his trembling stopped and he's on his own, the ritual of evincing shock, tail-tucking, wild capering about and panting resumes. Finally, he fell asleep last night, and slept soundly through the night. First thing in the morning out they went as usual, and abruptly the same pattern re-emerged. So that we spent hours holding and comforting the little fellow. Breakfast? Forget it. Relaxation? None of it.

We'd made an appointment with the veterinarian clinic and took him there at 2:30, where the vet on duty (our own was in surgery) examined him closely. We took our time explaining just what had occurred and how puzzling it all was. Could he have ingested something toxic? A thorough physical exam revealed him to be in excellent physical shape, heartbeat normal though accelerated, eyes, ears and mouth fine. Finally, the suggestion that we could be referred to a neurological veterinarian. X-rays, bloodwork, even an MRI.

The veterinarian, though youthful in appearance, told us he had worked as an emergency vet for 20 years and was familiar with the effects of cannabis ingestion on dogs, and Jackie didn't quite present as such canines would under the influence of THC, since he maintained good balance, wasn't weak, in short expressing the type of reaction that had sent us to the veterinarian hospital years ago when he had ingested mouldy wild apples.

We came home with medication that could be used in the next 24 to 48 hours to calm him. And to see whether the mysterious behaviour would abate and his behaviour return to normal. He's snoozing comfortably now on my snoozing husband's lap.

We woke a little early last Thursday, the 12th of September. Knowing we had a lot of work left before we could leave. Even though the packing had been done the day before, and the back of the truck under its cap loaded up with all the paraphernalia we tend to take along with us for a week away from home. Not that the cottage we've been renting for the past several decades that allows us to bring Jackie and Jillie with us, isn't functional enough. The kitchen has a full-size refrigerator and stove, and all the basic essentials for meal preparation are there. But there are so many things we tend to take with anyway for me to feel 'comfortable' in the kitchen preparing meals that I find indispensable. We keep a fair-sized box fully loaded and ready-to-go for just such occasions.

There's clothing for us and for the puppies, meant to fit the bill regardless of the weather conditions. And the ten-day weather forecast for the Waterville Valley was dismal; rain, rain, overcast skies, and one day of sunshine. Cooler temperatures as well, since we'd be in the mountain landscape we so admire. That all needed packing.

That morning we showered, fed the puppies, took them out, prepared a brunch for all of us that we'd share once we crossed the border into Vermont from Quebec, closed up the house, took a long last, lingering look at the garden and off we went on a cool, overcast and windy day, knowing that the forecast for home and for our destination were both calling for showers. No showers; the rain had stopped at the cottage in the morning and by the time we arrived it was well over.

The drive was non-eventful and pleasant. We chatted together and discussed events in the news, with a focus on the upcoming federal election later in the month. So time passed quickly When we got to the border four hours later there was an unaccustomed wait. Only one border line was open for business and things went quite slowly. It took us a half-hour before we could cross. And the Vermont welcome and rest centre is located just five minutes from the border and it's where we headed directly toward.

We walked the puppies on the newly-mown grass, which was in fact more thyme than grass, and the thyme was in flower and redolent with its herb fragrance as we walked upon it. It's as tough as any grass and a lot prettier as well. There are a number of specimen oaks, a lovely old elm, a few crabapple trees on the property, and adjacent the rest centre is a milking farm of Holsteins, Guernseys and Jerseys, overlooking the Green Mountain range of Vermont.

We brought our coffee, tea and brunch over to the only picnic table directly warmed by the sun; all the others under trees and well shaded. We needed the sun to warm us up given the height and the cool temperature. We split a boiled egg between Jackie and Jillie; he prefers the yolk, she will eat anything. The cattle, intrigued by our presence, left their position on a lower, distant pasture, and came trickling over in bunches.

They're curious creatures and wanted to know what and who we were and what we were doing, although the whys of it all undoubtedly eluded them. Jackie and Jillie responded to the presence of the cows by barking furiously at their presence. Jackie was a little interested in approaching the fence and the large bovines standing there.

Finally, we said goodbye to the cows, to the rest stop, and continued on our way. For a change, when we reached the Franconia Notch the sky was semi-clear; so often we drive through the Notch in rain or under low-slung, dark skies. When we arrived at our destination, Jackie and Jillie recognized where we were. When Donna, our hostess approached us as we parked in front of the cottage the puppies ran gleefully toward her, insisting on being greeted like the little princelings they think they are. Donna kindly obliged.

They entered the familiar cottage, and as we unpacked and put things in order, they relaxed after the arduous hours they spent fast asleep beside us in the truck, Jackie mostly on my lap, Jillie resting her head on my husband's lap as he drove. They're little troopers and they're excellent companions whose company we truly appreciate.

And then it was time to leave the cottage and do the food shopping at the local Hannaford's supermarket, to stock up the refrigerator with all the ingredients needed for meals for the next week for all of us. We were informed years ago that no one would mind our taking the puppies in with us. They sit quietly on the kiddie seat of the shopping trolley in their carry bags while we select foodstuffs off the shelves and do our best to accommodate all the people whom the puppies attract, from excited children to elderly men and women -- all who want to see them up close and personal.

There are certain times of the year when we can expect to see far more people than usual wandering about on the forest trails in the ravine. Thanksgiving Day is one, when close residents invite their dinner guests out for a pre- or post-prandial walk in the woods, as is Christmas Day, and of course Labour Day is right up there but for different reasons. It's the last long week-end of the summer.

In fact, for many, despite the calendar, it's a farewell to summer, fall is arriving, and people become nostalgic and if at no other time of the year, that week-end the woods beckon and out they come. Not to be overlooked, of course, is the fact that schoolchildren will be returning to their studies. The school year begins, the schools are open again, and the school buses returning to schedule.

So families with children are wont to take them along to the forest trails for a family outing. We've even seen people sitting alongside the trail with children eating McDonald's takeout. Correction: there's nowhere to sit 'alongside the trail', since the trees closely nudge the trail on either side, so it's sit on the trail, or be aware that there are several places where old rough-hewn benches sit on brief bits of grassland. These are not people familiar with the trails, however and they obviously have no intention of proceeding very far into the woods.

Pre-teens and teens tend to want to enter the ravine on their own, on bicycles, singly or in groups. Not that there are many of them, but on this particular long week-end some will always be seen pedalling along the trails. And it's always a good idea at this time of year to check before ascending a hill in case someone on a bicycle happens to be barreling down it.

So yesterday afternoon there was plenty of activity to catch Jackie and Jillie's attention. Sometimes the few family units strolling the trails come complete with the family pet, and sometimes not; either way their presence keeps J & J on their toes, so to speak. One such unit, a large burly man and two younger women came along with three dogs. So that caused a bit of commotion with Jackie and Jillie getting quite excited.

Fact is, we did too. It was the first time we'd ever encountered a dog the size of one of the three this family had with them. It was four years old and plodded along the trail, all 227 pounds of the dog whose name was 'Tank', an English mastiff, quite different from the bull mastiffs we sometimes see in the ravine. This fellow had a ponderous gait and was very hot though yesterday's temperature hadn't risen beyond 21C. His head was colossal,  his face wrinkled in great wide rows.

And cavorting around him were two toy dogs, one nine years old, the other four, like the giant walking alongside them. The two toys, easily half the size of Jackie and Jillie, were completely unfazed at the fuss around them with peoples' attention riveted on their huge companion. Jackie and Jillie were a trifle concerned; enough so that they asked to be picked up, but managed anyway to adapt to the situation, the giant taking no interest in them whatsoever.

Later on as we resumed our stroll there were fewer people to be seen, until there were none at all since most people tend to remain at the upper level of the trails, not descending into the ravine itself. At one point we noticed a large old decaying stump of a tree well on its way to finally disappearing into the forest floor as it disintegrated. On the side of this stump was a poplar seedling which had taken root on the punky wood, preparing to make a life for itself using the stump as a nursery.

The reality of life is that the unexpected will happen. As it did yesterday in Ottawa to an unfortunate woman, alone at home with four dogs that lived with her and her partner. One of which evidently attacked and mauled her. Neighbours heard her calling for help and when police arrived they were immediately attacked by a large dog which they shot and which escaped by entering the house.

Meanwhile their attention turned to the other large dog that remained outside in furious attack, mauling the woman. That dog was shot dead. The woman was dispatched by ambulance to hospital. The injured dog taken to a veterinary practise. The man of the house arrived home to find his partner admitted to hospital with serious injuries to head, face, arms, and one of their dogs being treated by a veterinarian, the other dead.

Neighbours spoke kindly of the couple. And said they had themselves never come in contact with any of the dogs. When they were out-of-doors it was in the backyard of the house, fully fenced. They described their alarm at what had occurred. And there are often such reports in the news of dogs attacking adults or children, and the harm resulting.

Just like humans, there are dogs who by virtue of genetic inheritance, breeding, training or abuse become threats not only to other dogs but to humans. Attempts to rehabilitate them may succeed for most, but certainly not all. Our daughter who lives rurally, once had a dozen dogs in her household. Most were rescues, several were being fostered for eventual adoption. Any she was unable to retrain to join an adopted family setting were slated to be 'put down'. She refused to allow that to happen and brought those dogs back to live with her.

She was once offered a boxer that had been severely abused. Unlike the other dogs who got on well with one another -- though some would have nothing to do with others -- this dog was a direct, violent threat to the other dogs. To retain him our daughter had to ensure he was kept well away from the others. As time went on it became clear which of the dogs were most in danger by the boxer, and which whose presence he eventually accepted. Tension, as can be imagined, was always present, and it's no way to live.

Our daughter was once attacked herself by the boxer and proved unable to defend herself. Her good fortune in that instance was that someone else, a man, was present and managed to restrain the dog. We thought for certain she would surrender it, convinced it would be impossible to turn its anger around. She did no such thing, continuing to live with its rage and devoting as much attention as she could to it, taking it on walks excluding the others; alternately taking the others en masse for walks while it remained behind. She often put him on an exercise tread machine to work off excess energy.

And this dog whose unreliable temperament had the other dogs on tenterhooks and required that continual special arrangements in their living conditions were mandatory to avoid violence and mayhem became our daughter's very special, most-beloved companion until its death from old age. It never bothered the two cats in the  household. It was relaxed in our daughter's presence and remained emotionally needy even while its anger simmered on low heat until it might suddenly become enraged, requiring immediate calming. With age its temperament moderated. By that time most of the other dogs had also succumbed to a natural lifespan.

Dogs are our special companions. They add much to our lives in a mutual dependency of shared emotions. But they are also horribly abused all too often by emotional deviants who take their frustrations in life to extreme cruelty targeting other animals. The damage they do is lasting. As it is when their victims are humans for whom the capacity to 'forget' violence is nullified by the pain they have suffered. Just like our daughter's boxer. Pain inflicted upon them by people who make no effort to restrain their instincts to attack the vulnerable alters lives forever.