It certainly isn't just small dogs like ours that should be protected against the extreme cold temperatures that we have in our geographical area, but large dogs as well, breeds with very short haircoats, breeds without a double layer of fur, such as greyhounds and some hounds. We used to come across German long-haired pointers, beautifully graceful dogs bred as hunting companions on occasion years ago, and the short-haired breed as well.They can run like the wind, but they do become very cold with exposure to sub-zero temperatures.

On our woodland hike yesterday Jackie and Jillie ran rambunctiously ahead of us as they usually do, and as they usually do when they see or hear another dog somewhere ahead they pick up speed and vociferously proclaim their presence, lords of the forest. This time they encountered a brightly-coated short-haired pointer, the first one we've seen in years. A friendly dog but patrician and aloof at the same time. It had little interest in our two little yappers and was anxious to continue meandering through the woods.

The young woman accompanying her beautiful dog was as sweet-natured as it was, and proud and possessive of her companion. She was also very aware that she was companion to a hunting dog whose instincts might drive it to suddenly absent itself when it sensed a possibility of prey nearby. It would, of course, race after foxes, coyotes, raccoons and rabbits if any were foolhardy enough to show themselves, including squirrels.

So she was equipped with an electronic device linking her to the other part of the communication system worn by her dog, and if he decided to race after some woodland creature, she could recall it. She rarely uses the shock element of the device, she divulged. She discovered that the high-pitched sound it emits to bring the dog back to her was all she needed.

When we exited the ravine to access our street, we saw our friend and neighbour Serge emerging from his SUV to retrieve his mail at the group mailbox, and he was using one of those multiple- rubber-footed canes. We suddenly realized we hadn't seen him for awhile, not that we see many of our neighbours outdoors much during the winter season. He had, he informed us, broken his hip and was now in recovery.

Serge is slightly built, but solid enough in his early 70s. For a while when he was still married, he did line dancing with his wife, he went out to the gym regularly and enrolled in adult pool-exercise classes and I'd see him there when I was taking our granddaughter to swimming classes for young children, years ago. He's also much given to travelling, so he gets about. He had been trying on a pair of jeans at a local shop, and while he was in a change room, one leg in the jeans, the other on the way, he fell. When the paramedics arrived they experienced problems lifting him out of the change room and decided to tie his legs together as they manoeuvred him out of the tight space.

He was in the hospital for three weeks, then transferred to an intensive healthcare facility for another two weeks. His wife, long remarried, dedicated some time to helping him out once he returned home. We berated him mildly for not informing us of what had occurred, so we could be of help to him, as he has been to us in the near past.

We weren't long into our snowy hike in the woods when we came across them, two youngish women, one tromping along on snowshoes directly on the thoroughly tamped-down trail and the other carrying her snowshoes. These were the new-tech type, not the ones we used to wear tramping through Gatineau in years past; our traditional semi-fishtail Green Mountain snowshoes.

They were lost, didn't quite know where they were within the larger community. So there we stood, my husband giving them orientation directions, while they observed how surprised they had been to discover no one else out in the woods. We hadn't ever seen them before, so obviously they were quite raw to the ravine. But despite they were lost they seemed in fine fettle, and as though they were enjoying themselves.

When we first discovered the ravine over a quarter-century ago, we found the trails and directions confusing too, but back then they were narrower forest trails and the bridges barely resembled what now exist, crossing the creek at various points. Back then, there existed far more animals, comfortable in their natural environment. We see far fewer raccoons, foxes, rabbits than we had then, and rarely now see grouse which we so often encountered back then.

It never fails to surprise us to come across people snowshoeing in the ravine, actually. Unless a snowshoe enthusiast gets out there directly after a large snowfall, the trails will already have been trodden by those hardy souls determined to make the effort to break trail. Not exactly the kind of conditions that snowshoes are meant for. It's the romanticism, the history behind snowshoes that enthralls people, and one supposes they imagine themselves coureur de bois braving the wilds of Canada in days long gone.

As for a scarcity of others out and about on the trails, that wasn't our experience. A lovely winter day with newfallen snow -- actually snow still spiralling out of the sky as we proceeded -- a fairly mild temperature and the forest offering shelter from the sharp wind calls out to all those who appreciate such opportunities to commune with nature.

And so, we came across an old familiar in the woods with her little dog Angus, and walked with her awhile, chatting about her son, a local firefighter whom we  also know well, a young man surprisingly patterned after his mother in the very most positive of ways. He had just left for a trip to Nairobi, Kenya, with his new girlfriend, and his two little terriers were left in the care of his mother, so the three little dogs and ours had the opportunity to socialize.

Later on during our circuit it was Max we came across wielding his two ski poles, as usual clad in his bright red jacket so light we wonder how he can keep warm. But he does, by barrelling along the trails at a clip we wouldn't dare emulate. It's the rare concession to extreme cold when we see him out wearing an actual winter jacket. He does however, always wear bright red apples on his cheeks.

He waxed nostalgic this time, telling us about the Swiss canton he was born in, and the small tourist town that was his family home, inaccessible by road, just by train, high on the slope of a mountain. Although he has returned on occasion, his decades of mature life in Canada claim him as purely Canadian. The village, he told us, is just the same as when he left; no motorized vehicles permitted and the thousand residents like it just that way. His brother still lives there, content with the isolation and the village way of life; who wouldn't be?

When we came down for breakfast yesterday and looked out the front door, a winter wonderland revealed itself. Much, much earlier in the morning my husband had roused himself to go out to the backyard and shovel snow from the deck and the backyard walks so our two little dogs wouldn't have to struggle through the accumulation when they went out after their long night's sleep. So he was well aware of what everything looked like. He had come back up to bed to sleep for another hour before we finally roused ourselves.

Yesterday was the occasion of his 81st birthday, and he is now as old as I am. As it happened, since the snow continued all day, it kept accumulating and he was called upon to shovel now and again until post-dinnertime when he went out before we went up to bed to do the last of the shovelling, including the front walk and porch. For the last two years we've had the services of a local driveway clearing company so that, at least is well done without my husband's efforts.

In the afternoon we reasoned that since it was a Sunday there would be other people out in the ravine walking the forest trails which meant that we wouldn't be breaking trail necessarily. It was so mild, hovering on 1C with little wind to speak of, we didn't want to miss our daily woodland ramble, so off we set, no boots on Jackie and Jillie, just their lighter winter coats. And we found the trails had been broken more than adequately, so we weren't dragged down by too much snow on the major trails.

It was worse walking through the depths of snow that had accumulated on the street which hadn't yet been plowed, to get to the ravine trailhead, and the trail from our street into the ravine, but we managed to manage, and were the better for it. The sight of the forest smothered in snow is one not to be missed. It is overwhelmingly beautiful, mysterious and inviting, and we were more than happy to accept that gracious invitation.

Later, we collaborated on dinner. I made a split-pea soup; we had with it a small vegetable salad, smoked salmon and cheese, and my husband made up a delicious batch of vanilla ice cream for dessert.

He has a new book to read; our oldest son had sent a biography of the art historian Sir Kenneth Clark. Earlier he'd had a long conversation first with our granddaughter who had called in the morning and whose third-year university classes are going well, she said. Our daughter called later on, and our younger son in the evening. It was, overall, a very good day.

Based on the forecasted several degrees of elevation i temperature, and absence of the cutting winds of the day before, we made the somewhat rash decision not to dress as snugly as we had previously, setting our for our daily ravine walk in fewer layers against the cold yesterday. That turned out not to have been a wise choice. True, the cold didn't have quite the icy depth as the day earlier, and nor was the wind as grating against our faces, but it didn't seem that way.

We felt extremely cold out on our daily ravine walk yesterday, quite surprising us, as experienced as we are. We hadn't put boots on Jackie and Jillie reasoning that the cold was just on the cusp of what they're comfortable with. They didn't appear to be having any difficulty romping about in the freshly-laid, fairly light new layer of snow, to our relief however.

Later, in the evening, we put together our Saturday night pizza, after spending close to an hour dancing lazily over the kitchen floor to music Radio Canada entertains us with regularly, dating to the era when we were young. After our pizza dinner, enlivened slightly with the addition of anchovies torn over the chopped mushrooms, bell pepper, tomato and cheeses covering the bread dough I'd prepared on Friday then refrigerated, we gathered ourselves, we and our two little dogs, to view a film.

This film, Dersu Uzala, took place in Siberia at the turn of the last century, a collaborative work between Russia and Japan, the screenplay written and the film directed by the incomparable Akira Kurosawa, whose films are the very essence of cerebrally haunting views of humanity.

This one was no exception, a quiet, body-language-expressive, deeply moving account of a small military mission dispatched in a mission to survey the mountainous and flat-vista areas representing the border between Russia and Mongolia. The hostile and starkly beautiful environment, the endless physical challenges encountered and the collegial link between the small military group and an elderly Mongolian hunter who serendipitously became their guide became the focus of the film, gripping in its portrayal of determined humankind versus raw nature.

We went up to bed a little later than usual for a Saturday night, feeling pensive about what we'd seen and appreciative of the talents of everyone involved with the film, filmed in the late 1970s. Kurosawa's directorial oeuvre is second to none other; the world lost a filmic genius on his death.

We're so rational, analytical and fact-motivated yet we anxiously await the emergence of a groundhog to inform us whether winter will be prolonged or the alternative, that kind weather fortune will ensure we have a shorter, warmer winter closure for 2018. Having 'seen his shadow' the icon of prognostication has alerted us: six more weeks of winter.

As though we hadn't already reached that inevitable conclusion.

Regardless, these little spurts into fun-fantasy enliven winter days. Along with winter carnivals to enthuse us over the presence of frigid atmospheres, roaring wind, sleet, freezing rain and wonderful, beautiful snowfalls, we have the diversion of Punxsatawnie Pete; at the very least a succession of PPs.

Yesterday dawned brilliantly sunny and it remained that way, despite the icy cold that has descended along with the sun, yanking us back to winter chill following a day giving us a break from the bitter cold. From an overnight low, repeated last night, of -22C, the thermometer struggled back up to -14C, giving us a high for the day, yesterday.

But wait, not so fast ... given the windchill factor it would feel like -30C, the weather forecasters informed us soberly. And to our experience, it did all of that.  Mind, when we dipped down into the ravined forest, the presence of wind diminished, and we just had to contend with the -14C. We had placed those tiny rubber boots on Jackie and Jillie hoping that they would be as useful on their second trial as they'd proven to be on the first, last week.

Our puppies seem to transform when we enter the ravine, a sense of lightness and liberty appear to absorb them, and they leap and bound down the trail, excitedly emoting as they go. Cold enough that we would decide a shorter circuit would do for the day, we didn't think we'd come across anyone else, and that turned out to be quite correct.

But their boots stayed on, and our little dogs romped and rummaged about in the new layers of snow and we enjoyed the landscape unfolding before us as we forged on. The wind did manage to penetrate now and again, howling unimpeded through the denuded canopy, and dipping occasionally into the forest. The wind collaborated with the cold to rake our exposed cheeks and foreheads mercilessly.

Still, getting out with our little dogs is important to our daily routine, refreshing and leaving us with the impression  hat we'd done something useful to ourselves and our little charges. Each of our rambles through the forest, regardless of the season, seems to us like a bit of an adventure. And in the sense that we most often view and experience things that seem unusually noteworthy, it does represent a daily adventure in living.

How tantalizingly inviting the presence of winter days that turn out to be moderate in temperature are for those of us usually immersed in winter-depths of snow, ice, storms and biting cold exacerbated by turbulent winds.

Yesterday was one of those days when winter offered a mini-truce and gave us a day of early sunshine, clear skies, light wind and a high of 1C. Weren't we beside ourselves with gratitude! Mind, by the time we got out for our afternoon walk the sun had disappeared behind ranked banks of clouds and the sky itself soon became one overwhelming cloud-cover of persistent ivory-grey.

But it was still mild, and we were delighted to be out and about, but not half so much as our two little dogs who sprinted down the first long hill descending into the ravine, and onto the trails that would take us deeper and deeper into the environment they so love.

A day of respite from the biting cold. And because it was so mild the snow that had fallen the day before wasn't crusted with ice and the trails themselves hosting ice were softened, no longer icily slippery, threatening our balance.

What appealed so greatly to us appealed of course, to others as well in the broader community. And we came across quite a few other people familiar to us walking their dogs and appreciating the wonderful natural landscape we're all so fortunate to share. There was a communion of dogs over and over again as they too delighted in the atmosphere and must surely have communicated to one another how pleased they were.

Today? Well, the temperature plunged to -22C overnight with brisk winds. We've got sunshine again this morning in a lovely azure winter sky, but more than ample wind to balance the warmth of the sun against wind whipping the high of -14C into sharp icy blasts.

Talking reason to Jackie has proven, unfortunately, to be a futile exercise. Despite which we keep trying. He appears to listen earnestly enough, but quite obviously nothing penetrates that stubborn little skull. He seems neurotically hard-wired to react at the sight of other dogs. Enthusiasm and friendliness would be a very nice reaction but this is not to be with his breed of toy dogs.

Yesterday he foolishly, recklessly, foolhardily went out of his way to demonstrate just how dedicated he seems to be to confrontational greetings. We were up on a high ridge between two valleys in the ravine, when both he and Jillie became excited and agitated over something; we never know what it will be. Their powers of perception in hearing, seeing and smelling what we cannot at great distances place them at an advantage over us when it comes to preparing for a confrontation.

Usually the ruckus peters out fairly quickly; we come abreast of people and dogs we're familiar with and the canines re-acquaint just as the people do. Most frequently the agitation reflects recognition of someone really familiar and it's of a different tenor altogether.

Ascending the ridge from a bridge below it wasn't long before the eruption of one of their infamous barking attacks. The next thing I was aware of, I was separating Jackie and a bull mastiff. There are two of these giant beasts, both of which our own little beast had become familiar with in the past, but we haven't seen them in a year or more. One of them tips the scales at 160 pounds.

Jackie just had to demonstrate his combative skills in facing off against a dog whose head alone was the size of Jackie entirely. The mastiff's initial reaction was mild surprise, turned swiftly to annoyance and that warning of hair standing up on the back of its neck. In an instant the young man whose companions they are arrived and everything settled down. He hadn't been walking his two giant breed dogs in the ravine for the past year, avoiding summer altogether because he felt someone was putting out poisoned treats that made one of his dogs ill.

The last time we'd seen them was in the fall two years previously when one of the mastiffs had a bit of a tiff, loud and menacing with another alpha dog and we made a swift exit from the scene to draw Jackie, who was excited and noisy and snarling, seemingly eager to intervene, away from the scene. The mastiffs are well behaved and not very interested in our two, tending to ramble along off the trail into the depths of the forest and the  young man has complete confidence in their pacific nature. We, on the other hand, have no real reason to share his confidence.

Any dog, however well behaved, can suddenly lash out physically and violently when sufficiently provoked. And it is that provocation quotient so integral to Jackie's breed that concerns us most. Strangely, and most often, his hostile attitude to other dogs dissipates entirely on familiarity in time, and some other dogs in reciprocating interaction want to become too playfully familiar and this tends to alarm Jackie, who then seeks haven from a situation he has himself been responsible for.

Bright? Not that you'd notice.