There are two waiting rooms at the Ottawa Veterinary Hospital, one of two such institutions in the city of Ottawa that operates a 24-hour emergency service. Move to the right and you're in the canine waiting room; the left is for felines, but people often don't pay heed, since it's just a kind of courtesy and they seat themselves wherever they fancy. When we entered the large canine waiting room opposite the large reception desk, there were two other couples seated there with their pets. One couple, grey-haired with a cat in a typical travel-cage, looked fit and urbane, the other pair were slightly younger in appearance but obese and clearly out of shape. With them was a very small Pomeranian mix.

The woman with the Pom, morbidly obese, but one of those thankfully cheerful types who immediately warms up a room of strangers with infectious friendliness, immediately began asking questions of us regarding our two little charges, nodding enthusiastically at all our responses to her queries, and it didn't take long before everyone was engaged in pleasant observations about how much our pets mean to our lives. The little Pom sat between the two overweight people who adored their pet. I watched as the obese woman laboriously lifted herself from the benchseat and waddled slowly over to the watercooler to draw water in a paper cup, then return with it to her husband and the little dog. And observed with incredulity as the small animal drank copiously, paused, then drank again, almost emptying the paper cup. Yes, said the woman smilingly, that little dog of theirs loves water and drinks constantly.

We sat chatting, relieving the tension by friendly exchanges, until all three of us couples was called almost simultaneously into separate examination rooms in the large interior pocketed with such rooms. The veterinarian who looked after us was a very short dumpy-looking woman who must have been in her early 60s, a motherly, sweet-faced woman who tenderly manipulated Jackie, looked closely at his surgical wound and informed us she would attempt to see if he would allow her to stitch the wound he had opened, with just an local application of anaesthetic. If that didn't work he would have to stay at the hospital until it was felt safe to fully anaesthetize him (he'd had his breakfast earlier) for her to proceed. She'd know within a ten-minute frame.

When we left him with her and returned to the feline waiting room, closest to the corridor leading off the examination rooms, there were the two people who had been called in when we were, with the little cat. They too awaited word on what the veterinarian who examined their pet would determine about its state of health, so we sat together and talked quietly, reminiscing about the experiences of our early years. They had originated in Montreal, but lived now in Spencerville, not far from Prescott, so they'd had a bit of a drive to come in to the emergency hospital. They'd never heard of the Ogdensburg veterinary hospital and were interested about our venture there for Jack and Jill's surgeries. Before long, our examining veterinarian returned with Jack in her arms, to tell us she'd been successful, that his wound was healing nicely and she had sutured the external area, and he'd have to return to wearing the cone for another seven to ten days. A not unusual occurrence with such little dogs, she said. My husband was so grateful he spontaneously hugged her to convey his emotion, and she graciously smiled.

A few seconds later the other couple was informed that their cat was all right after all, given some instructions for care to nurse her through a little health scare, and given the green light to take her back home to Spencerville. We parted, gratified no end that we'd had a happy ending to our concerns, made all the more pleasant in the company of people whose concerns matched our own.

And then, just as we were awaiting a final invoice before leaving, the third couple shuffled slowly down the corridor, she pushing her walker before her, her normally ebullient manner stilled, her face crumpled with grief. Their little dog, so alert and anxiously looking to them with trust and adoration evident in its beautiful, soft eyes as we watched it earlier in the waiting room, had reached the end of its life. It was twelve, the woman who doted on it had informed us earlier, a little rescue dog that had enormously enriched their lives. She had herself endured a stroke a short while earlier, but shrugged that off as irrelevant to their concern over the little dog's welfare.

They had little realized when they brought their little dog in to the emergency hospital that they would be walking out without her, that their home would be a lot emptier and quieter in future. We grasped their hands, hugged her, told them of our empathy for their loss, and as they slowly made their way out of the hospital, the doors swinging behind them, I cried, our own loss under similar circumstances just a short few months earlier still a fresh wound.

It's been an interesting day, so far, full of surprises. We're hoping that the rest of the day will be a predictable bore. Interesting, I should add, like what one might expect of that old Chinese curse: "May you live in interesting times". We had an interesting time this morning.

It all began when we made a joint decision. The instructions handed to us when we left the Ogdensburg Veterinary Hospital informed us that for Jillie, having undergone spay surgery, we should wait between five and seven days before removing that dreadful plastic Elizabethan collar. We'd thought about alternate types of collars, inflatable ones that rest around the neck, but what we've read about them, and been told, even from those who sell them, is that they're fairly ineffectual. And for Jackie the time frame was reduced for neutering removal of the cones to between three and five days.

We could see their wounds were healing wonderfully well. We had our doubts about Jillie because her surgery was the more difficult of the two, but we thought it was time to remove the cones, mostly because Jackie was inordinately miserable wearing his. Oddly enough, while he's in the house he treats the cone casually, as though it's not even there. Once he's outside, though, it's a different story; he keeps trying every acrobatic gyration he can manage to remove it.

It was Jackie who had recovered quickest from surgery, and even a few hours post-surgery was energetic, aware and seemingly unperturbed. We had alternates to the cones after all; the use of infant onesies, that we had used previously with our little guys who predated these two, and they had worked wonderfully well, covering the wounds so that access to them was denied.

So off came Jack's and Jill's cones this morning. I think we were more relieved than they were. Jillie behaved as though there had been nothing whatever amiss and just went about her business, in her little onesie, and never bothered to attempt licking herself. Jackie, on the other hand, Mr. Casual, went kind of berserk and just couldn't lick himself enough, suddenly released from the constraints of the collar.

Before we knew it he had opened the wound. A smidgen of an opening, but a break nonetheless. Our regular veterinary clinic remains open half-day Sunday so off we went with him. They were adamant that he would have to be re-stitched and likely placed under anaesthetic; of course by then they'd already had their breakfast. Because they weren't set up for surgery on Sundays they advised us to take him right over to the emergency veterinary hospital we'd used previously, so we did just that.

There, the veterinarian said she'd try giving him a local anaesthetic and if he allowed her to stitch him under a local he wouldn't need to be put under. It would take a few minutes, she said, and then we'd know whether he would have to be left for hours or could be taken right home. When she returned with him she said his surgical wound had healed very nicely; only the surface portion of it had been disturbed. And he had behaved to allow her to stitch it together. To say we were grateful is an understatement.

And off we went home with the two little rascals in tow. Jack, once again wearing his cone, which he'll now have to continue wearing for at least another week while his wound continues to heal, and Jill, in her little onesie, disinterested in causing herself the same kind of grief that her brother had indulged in.

It's about a half-hour drive from the emergency hospital to home, and how odd, we said it was, to see two police cars parked not far from our house. I had a fleeting thought swiftly dismissed that they may have responded to someone's house alarm; ours. When we entered the house there was a telephone message from our alarm company. Yup, ours had unaccountably tripped; likely when we exited the house to drive to the veterinarian hospital we hadn't closed the back door tightly enough, causing the alarm to become alarmed.

Certainly a most interesting series of incidents; and more than enough, we feel, for one day.

Day three and counting.... We had nightmares thinking about how Jack and Jill would cope, wearing plastic cones over their heads for almost a week, but they're managing, and so are we. We had to change their drinking bowl to a very large, deep, wide one to enable them to use it with the interfering cones. And when they have their meals, they've got to position themselves just so, centering the bowls within the orbit of the cone opening and in so doing, are able to scoop up everything with ease.

We thought the cones would interfere with their out-of-door browsing habit, but no such luck. Although the cones tend to scrape and sound awful when they're sliding them along any surface, they still manage to stick their little sharp muzzles out sufficiently to be able to grasp detritus to their hearts' content, and our dismay.

Suddenly, while coping with the discomfort of a post-surgery ordeal complicated by the cones meant to keep them from reacting at the surgical site by licking or scratching, Jackie has incorporated the inspiration to become a mountain goat. He now effortlessly leaps prodigious heights with no ill effects, and although we've tried to keep them both calm and less physically inclined, it hasn't always worked. From time to time, though Jill's recovery time is understandably longer and deeper than Jack's, they will face off in a mutual invitation to rough-tumble wrestle.

On the really positive side, their undersides look quite amazing for two little animals who have so recently undergone a surgical procedure. No bruising, no swelling, no bleeding, as per our past experiences, just smooth skin and a few visible stitches which will themselves dissolve; some surgical glue was used on the exterior; dissolving stitches on the interior.

Jillie, who tends to be aloof at times, wants to snuggle close on our laps at down-time. Jackie, who insists that we be within eyesight at all times, prefers to leap onto the back of any sofa we're sitting on, to balance himself on the back, rather than the seat of the sofa, above or level with the height of our heads.

Although Jackie is quite ready even now to have his cone removed, and we know it drives him to distraction, since he's forever trying to scratch it, he'll have to wait until Jillie catches up with him. And that will be at least another two days, and at that time they'll both be relieved of the nuisance of wearing the damn things, when we're assured that they're beyond the potential of inadvertently harming themselves.

We were extremely pleased with the accommodation we were able to enjoy on Wednesday when we drove our two little poodles to the Town and Country Veterinarian Hospital in Ogdensburg for their neutering and spaying surgeries. The Stone Fence Resort turned out to be just perfect for our needs. And they were most accommodating to our request, that we have the use of their lovely facilities for the day, absent the night, since we planned on returning back to Ottawa as soon as we picked up our puppies, post-surgery.

They charged us a mere $50 to have the use of one of their clean, airy and attractive rooms with its bathroom and mini-kitchen facilities. And tossed into that charge a breakfast as well. We thought that was going a little too far in generosity, so when we checked in on Wednesday morning around nine, we insisted on paying for our breakfasts, as well. Even so, it was inexpensive at $6 for each of us. When we departed just after five to pick up our pups, we left a $20 tip for the maid. Altogether, a reasonable sum to enable us to relax and enjoy the leisure and pleasure of a well-appointed room and its pleasant surroundings beside the St. Lawrence River.

Irving walking about Remington's sculptures looking himself like someone who might have excited the artist's brush.

When we'd gone to the WalMart store to see if we could pick up a crate and lining, we saw people streaming past a man stationed just outside the entry, no one pausing or stopping. Perhaps they'd seen him before, on earlier shopping excursions. He was selling $3 tickets for some prize, the proceeds going to the local food bank. We 'bought' a ticket, without picking up the ticket itself, then entered.

When we completed our goal successfully there we went on to visit the Remington Museum that we'd read about online, but knew the presence of long before. My husband in the past, visiting the Glenbow Museum in Calgary, had seen Remingtons there, and in our home library we've plenty of art books featuring the American West with his artwork and sculptures featured there as well. And who isn't aware that Remington is featured in the Oval Office of the White House?

In the time we sauntered about the interior viewing the oil and watercolour paintings (and a few pastels), the memorabilia of Remington's time, copies of some of his most famous sculptures, a display of the lost-wax method of bronze-casting, we were the only visitors to the museum.

Citizens of the town enter free of charge; all other visitors pay a modest charge. In our case, that charge recognized us as senior citizens, so we paid $8 apiece for the pleasure of moseying about in that place dedicated to the art of a skilled painter and sculptor. And we enjoyed the personal attention of a docent, an elderly man whom we took to be a volunteer stationed there for that purpose who was knowledgeable and eager to impart what he knew of that famous artist's life and celebrity.

Taking into account our post-breakfast walk dockside beside the vast, blue St.Lawrence under a wide, blue sky the trip turned out very well indeed.

Although the morning was beginning to warm up nicely, the wind off the St. Lawrence River was emphatically unpleasant. But the scene more than compensated for the blustery wind. We were wearing jackets and thought it would be a shame not to venture out on the short walk that would take us from the dining room of the Stone Fence Resort where we'd had breakfast yesterday morning, down to the breakwater and the docks alongside the edge of the river.

There were gulls flying overhead under the warming sun in that wide, blue sky meeting the wide blue river intersected by the perspective-miniaturized view of Prescott on the opposite shore. We walked out along the boardwalk fingering the river with its inviting gazebo and stayed awhile, talking, enjoying the marine landscape before us. The water was crystal clear, and close to the shore tinged with green. It was a restful space in our day awaiting the surgery our two little poodles were facing, and many hours before we would be picking them up for the return journey home.

From there, we drove a short distance to an ubiquitous and almost-guaranteed-presence WalMart store where giant parking lots are always expectantly packed with shoppers. We headed directly to the pet supply section hoping they would stock the kind of crate that we would need to separate Jack and Jill to prepare them for sleep, post-surgery. They're inseparable, accustomed to sleeping tightly tucked up and into one another, but for the next few days this wouldn't be possible. We meant to place the two crates side-by-side in our bedroom for the following week.

When we picked them up finally at six o-clock in the afternoon, Jack was sprightly as his name demanded, and Jill was still fully under the influence of the medication given her for pain management. I decided to sit in the back of the car with them, to try to make them more comfortable. They had both expressed what they could manage in enthusiasm at seeing us after our day's separation, and their anxiety level needed a calm-down. Uncomfortable at first, they gradually settled down and fell into sleep as we drove the one-and-a-half-hour trip home.

Once arrived, they were given water with Jillie despite her languid state, drinking far more than Jackie who was already prepared to begin racing all over the house. We closed off access to the stairs for him. A short while later I gave them half their usual amount of kibble drowned in chicken soup, and they were ravenous, but we felt it was better to err on the side of caution. We paid for it later, when Jackie, after having slept well for hours in his crate alongside Jillie's awoke, and was distinctly unhappy. I theorized he was hungry and this was causing his discomfort, but thought that four a.m. wasn't a good time to feed him.

By morning they were both famished. He was energetically himself, and she was still pretty lethargic. Both of them are wearing those horrible plastic 'Elizabethan collars'. We had imagined it would be a nightmare having them wear those things, but surprisingly, they appear to have adapted to the inconvenience, amazing us no end, given their usual rejection of being physically trammelled with even their collars.

This was the day of the scheduled appointment for our two little six-month-old poodles. Little did they know what the day held for them. They were doubtless puzzled no end when we roused them at six, since they usually get awakened two hours later. After they were taken to the backyard first thing, we took our showers as usual, and instead of giving them their usual breakfast we had the unmitigated gall to 'forget' to feed them.

Instead, they were bundled into the car, and we all drove off to Ogdensburg, New York. A nice enough drive, on yet another beautiful spring day. Light jacket weather first thing in the morning, but we knew, from what we'd experienced the past several days that as the day wore on into afternoon it would be warm enough to shed the jackets. And that's exactly what happened.

We dropped the little fellows off at the veterinary hospital. We arrived even before the scheduled 8:30 a.m. admission time, but they swooped us up anyway. The office staff is casual, informed and friendly beyond previous experience. Truth to tell, I hated leaving them. But leave them we did, with instructions to come back at half-past five to pick them up and head back home.

They were scheduled to be spayed and neutered. An awful thing to have happen to two innocent little dogs. Interfering with their natural biology. On the other hand, we're informed, doing so prolongs their life and their health, and avoids a whole lot of nuisance occurrences; that we have siblings, a brother and sister, would certainly complicate our lives and theirs, otherwise.

We'd made reservations at a nearby motel-condominium complex and that's where we next drove to. We checked in, went to our room, refreshed ourselves and then went off to the dining room of the Stone Fence Resort for breakfast. And then began a long but happily, pleasant day noodling about Ogdensburg. Discovering there was plenty to do and see.

Pleasant only half describes our location, right on the St. Lawrence River, close enough to see across to the Canadian side; the river wide and beautifully blue, matching the sky above.

Our two small American- and Canadian-Kennel Club-registered toy poodles are anything but 'toy'. Toy poodles are very small, our two are not very small. They are, in fact, at six months of age, the size of miniature poodles. They're rangy, tall and extraordinarily flexible They are able to stretch the length of their bodies astonishingly, and this enables them to reach surfaces you'd never imagine them to be capable of. They're little predators, especially Jillie. Jackie is more of a follower.

And he is, as my husband points out with great amusement, a real Mama's boy. He worries if I'm not around in easy accessibility range. Jillie is a lot more relaxed about it. Jillie is the initiator of all their mischief, and Jackie an enthusiastic accomplice. They may have exited their puppy-chewing stage, but you'd never know it; anytime they're out of doors they spend all their time ferreting out bits and pieces of natural detritus, and at this time of year there's ample for the picking. We do our best to keep them from eating all this garbage, but it's a mug's game. For every bit of dry stems or foliage we take away from them, an equal measure is swiftly consumed.

This, on top of the gargantuan amount of food they eat. It's quite a natural phenomenon. Jillie will now ask to go outside, but not yet to relieve herself; her goal is to get out there for more fun-and-forage. Because of their proclivity to mouth and chew away at everything, including whatever is beginning to come up in the garden; violets, hyacinths shoots, my husband has been busy uprooting as many lilies as he finds since they're toxic to dogs. We never had these problems before with Button and Riley.

Last night we had a series of glorious thunderstorms entertaining us; loud clapping and banging up there in the heavens above, a drama that we both love. But this was their first introduction to thunderstorms; Jackie just barked every time a clap of thunder reverberated through the house. Jillie looked nervously up at the ceiling, trying to determine what was happening, what was making such a din, and she was excitedly upset.

Life's newly discovered adventures and alarums alike.