Over the last week or so, we had begun seeing signs that winter conditions in the ravine were having an impact on dogs' feet. Now and again we would come across little trails of blood from the cut pads of dogs rambling along circuits through the forest trails. It's a disturbing phenomenon we see every winter. There's a good reason why mushers usually fit some kind of boots over their huskies' paws in winter months. A sign that fluctuating weather conditions have created a cutting-ice hazard for dogs' paws. Areas of the trails that are uneven, icy and sharp are unkind to exposed flesh.

That danger has been expunged for now, until the conditions re-occur, as they no doubt will, since we're nowhere near saying goodbye to winter this 2019-20 year. Yesterday there was a full-blown snowstorm that lasted all day long. Full-blown in the sense that heavy snow was accompanied by blasting winds. And cold, we needn't forget the cold. All three make quite the impression when they're acting together to make life miserable. There were police warnings to stay off the road, if possible.

My husband went out to the library early in the day, and when he returned he reported road conditions to be fairly bad, but worse was walking conditions and the facial exposure to sharp wind hurtling snow at exposed skin, as though they were minuscule frozen missiles. So we decided to forego a walk in the ravine with Jackie and Jillie. We bypassed a consultation, just made the decision with no advice solicited from them. On the assumption that the depth of the snow accumulation would certainly create difficult walking conditions, and the cold-snow-wind triumvirate would present us with a bit too much of a challenge.

We woke this morning to a different world, brightly illuminated and cheerful. And, at -17C, fairly cold, with a light wind and since my husband had shoveled the day before just as nightfall entered the picture, there was nothing to be done other than to decide to brave the cold and consider that we could manage nicely enough with the reduced wind as long as we wore good protective clothing. We'd had lighter snowfall the night before which had developed into that all-day snowstorm. That morning my husband roused himself at 7:00 a.m. went out to shovel, and dove back into bed afterward.

Jackie and Jillie kept agitating all yesterday morning to go out into the backyard, and the first time they did, they were overcome with the jollity of a fresh new layer of snow for them to romp through. Each time they went out after that they were less 'jolly', but it was obvious that it was the sun that attracted them. Eventually, they settled down on the inside of the glass doors to the deck, to revel in both warmth and sun.

Not long afterward they were extremely biddable as we dressed them in wool sweaters, waterproof overcoats, halters and boots. We did the same for ourselves, sans halters. And off we went. The minor trails had been traversed as had the main ones, the difference being that the less-used trails were one-step-ahead narrow and the others wide. It was cold, but tolerable, about -14C at that juncture. Yesterday's wind that had accompanied the snow had blown as much of the snow as it could around the landscape, and off the trunks of deciduous trees, while snow remained plastered on the evergreens.

We meant to make a longer circuit of our time in the ravine, and then had to reverse that decision when we noted that despite the boots, because of the extreme cold, Jackie seemed to be lifting one of his legs, a signal that he felt cold. My husband picked him up to carry him along for a bit, as we turned back to resume a shorter circuit, but the little fellow wanted to go back down and be picked up by me. Even if my husband walks him on his leash, he prefers me to hold the leash.

Oddly enough, it's my husband Jackie curls up on, to sleep, not me. So figure that one out. We continued on our way, occasionally coming across others out and about, but the trails were strangely bare of the presence of most anyone else, despite that it's a Saturday. The creek that had been running free just two days ago is once again freezing over, even those areas upstream where it's actively running.

Quite the colour contrasts, looking up through the canopy at the wide, blue sky, crows circling high, the occasional chickadee heard in the branches of snow-clogged spruce and fir. Tree trunks mostly dark, but for the occasional birch and beech, and the sun sailing high in the early-afternoon ocean of sky, its rays bouncing through tree boughs, to settle on the forest floor, illuminating the bright, white coverlet of new snow.

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.

Our puppies are getting pretty shaggy. Last time they were at the groomer's and we planned on making an appointment for them two months ahead, as we usually do, the best they could do to accommodate us was four months. That's how busy they are. And since we really appreciate the personalities and workmanship of the groomers, all the more so that they just naturally show us in so many casual ways how much they themselves have affection for the dogs left temporarily in their care, we're loathe to take Jackie and Jillie to another grooming salon.

This one is attached directly to the veterinary hospital we've been taking our little dogs to for decades. The grooming portion is a much later addition, but very much appreciated. My days of doing the grooming myself at home are over. So when it became clear we'd have to wait another four months, we took the decisive step of booking ahead every two months for the next two years.

It's not that we mind it all that much that their hair is so grown in now, during the winter months. The better to keep them warm under winter cold and snow conditions. But they're healthy little guys and they eat a fully nutritious diet and their hair grows in fast and furious. Apart from brushing them occasionally, and snipping away grown-out hair from around their eyes, I don't do too much in the grooming department for them any longer.

One result of that is Jillie's winter coats have become quite snug. We've had to resort to outfitting her with coats that Button, our miniature poodle, used to wear. It's not a problem with Jackie because he is so lean in comparison to his sister. She's shorter, and fairly stout in her build, while he's taller and tends to a lean and muscular conformation.

Yesterday was a bright sunny day, slight wind to make the -6C temperature feel much colder at street level, but once into the ravine and on the forest trails we were shielded from the emphatic wind gusting by us. Given the previous few days had been so mild, above freezing, we had become spoiled in the comfort of it all, not exactly welcoming of colder temperatures.

The snow lumped on the less-used trails from the milder temperature had frozen, giving those trails an uneven feel to our booted/cleated feet. It was, though, the presence of the sun gleaming and glittering through the trees in the distance that captivates our attention. Any photographs I took yesterday trying to capture the visions that attracted us were doomed to fail, given the extreme brightness of the sun on the canvas of the winter landscape.

We've noticed a bit of a change in the way that Jackie and Jillie now disport themselves since their freedom of movement has been restricted by being on leash constantly. Where Jillie's custom had been to race ahead, with Jackie now and again deciding to peel off after her if she came abreast of something or someone whose presence she would signal in her hysterical little barks, now it is Jackie who forges ahead, with Jillie staying behind, usually trotting along between my husband and me, as we traverse the narrow tracks.

They haven't complained that their impulsive movements have been restrained, though they do tend to pull forward against the leash when we're ascending the many hills in the ravine. Any complaints come from us, actually, since to ensure they're safe from a sudden and instant dart by an enterprising coyote that might view them as a meal, it tends to be our freedom and leisure of movement that has been impacted as well, making progress irritatingly complicated at times, particularly when and if their leashes become entwined.

Jillie tends to walk in a straight line, but her brother has a tendency to spurt about everywhere, from left to right, then reverse; falling behind, pulling ahead, he's in a constant state of alertness and curiosity that must be satisfied. I feel sad enough for them that they've got to be on leash now on the forest trails and hate restricting them even further by insisting they remain obedient to our own need to walk a straight line, preferring to give them at least some leeway through an extended leash.

Although relatively few residents from among the broader community where we live, as well as those whose houses encroach on the hillsides leading to our neighbourhood ravine make use of this natural landscape that the forest and its trails represent, it is a priceless community resource. It serves a multitude of purposes; the forest trees cleansing the air we breathe, the creek running the length of the ravine bottom acting as a storm run-off, and the flourishing wildlife living in the forest given opportunity to co-exist in their natural environment.

And then, there's the inestimable value of the forest trails beckoning people to come along, experience the never-ending wonders of a natural landscape, when you can never know what it is you'll come across, from wildflowers, to butterflies, birds and small furred animals and aquatic creatures to add wonder to your daily life. Quite aside from the opportunity to express personal oneness with nature, enjoy the freedoms of mind and nurture striding through forest trails and the feelings of serenity both elicit within one.

Yesterday, because the temperature was so mild, above freezing at 4C at the height of the afternoon with but a slight wind and the occasional glimpse of sun, we made it a longer traipse-about than usual with Jackie and Jillie. They even had the opportunity to be surprised at the sudden appearance of two little dogs they know well, small pugs which had wandered from the immediate presence of their human companion.

There was a low-ceilinged overcast of clouds streaked with grey which on occasion the sun managed to part for brief periods, lighting up the forest interior and then disappearing again. We met up with old hiking friends whom we haven't seen in ages, and Jackie and Jillie patiently abided while we shared personal gossip between the four of us talkative people.

First, an explosion of incredulity as they told us they had, just moments earlier, seen a wood duck in the creek. Wood ducks must be the most unbelievably colourful of ducks. We'd only seen one twice before, once on a small lake in Gatineau Park, and the second time in another small lake, this time in Tokyo's 'national forest', a protected natural resource located in the middle of the city, not far from where we lived at the time.

The duck, they said, swam under the bridge they were standing on, and while they were waiting for it to re-emerge, someone with a large dog came along, the dog barked, and the duck quickly launched itself into the air and disappeared into the forest canopy. What luck! What wouldn't we give to see another one, ourselves... We will henceforth be on the lookout. We do have occasional visitors just passing through, but a wood duck would represent quite an anomaly.

We explained to our friends the unusual sight of Jackie and Jillie being leashed while we hiked through the trails, that we were taking the cautious approach, given the frequent daylight-hours sightings of coyotes in the ravine by so many people. People we know well, who found themselves confronted by the near-presence of coyotes, taking them by surprise. And of reports of dogs being attacked by the predators, large dogs. Given that ours are so small they would be defenceless against such an attack taking place even a short distance from where we would be.

In the far landscape, just in eyesight, we could see children with colourful plastic sleds hauling them uphill on the slopes closest the houses sitting atop the hill as we were approaching the last hill we would climb before making our way up to street level.

Once at the top of the hill, we could just make out the children slapping down their sleds, then landing atop the sleds with delighted shouts, and whizzing their way downhill. In the briefest of instances the sleds bursting over a hump midway down that the children had obviously built up to give themselves an extra thrill, sometimes separating the child from the sled as both continued independent downhill tumbles.

Monday is house-cleaning day in this household. For the past several months my husband has insisted he would do the vacuuming while I do the dusting of furniture and objects sitting on them of which we have far too many, as well as the dry-mopping of hardwood floors followed by pail-and-hand-sponge washing of the bathroom floors, laundry room, kitchen and breakfast room. It's the furniture-and-object dusting that takes the lion's share of time and effort. What I mind least is getting down on my knees and hand-washing the floors.

Taking on the vacuuming has meant that a large segment of my cleaning time has been removed, and I've appreciated it even while I've regretted it. I certainly didn't want him to do the vacuuming today while his knee is still recovering, but he insisted and no contrary argument moves him when he insists on doing something. And then he suggested we plan for a hike in the ravine this afternoon when the housework was completed.

I was adamant that he wait at least another day or two before attempting the hilly terrain. He was equally adamant that it would be fine, and in the end, out we went. Jackie and Jillie seemed rather phlegmatic about it, the routine of dressing them up and preparing them with boots and harness. As though they had adopted an attitude that they they could 'take it or leave it', even while we've felt so guilty about their having missed four days of being out on the forest trails.

But this day was irresistible, just a perfect winter day, so mild that the snow of yesterday morning was melting quickly off the deck canopy. The sun was playing peekaboo all day; blazing in the sky amidst clouds awhile, then retiring behind a greater proliferation of clouds. A slight wind, but so mild at 3C that my husband felt we just had to get out with our two little dogs. And so we did.

My husband carried a ski pole for a bit of an assist with his right leg, and to his surprise it wasn't at all ascending the hills that was difficult, but descending them. So we hiked along a little slower than usual, and Jackie and  Jillie thought they were obliging us by energetically pulling on their leashes to haul us uphill and doing the same for our downhill efforts, leaving the ridge for the lower portions of the ravine.

The trails were in fine shape. We came across women on two separate occasions, each walking a rambunctious puppy, both black, both about 12 weeks old, curious about everything and everyone, cavorting here and there, just little heart-stealers. One was a Portuguese Water dog, the other a miniature Schnauzer and Jackie and Jillie courteously introduced themselves to these young ones, no doubt imparting to them some hints on their developing social lives.

It wasn't a particularly lengthy circuit that we took, but long enough for us to appreciate the cool, fresh air that we'd missed for too many days, and the bracing feeling of exercising our limbs in a beneficent atmosphere. On our return home, once back in the  house, Jackie and Jillie went a little berserk with one another, tumbling about in a frenzy of sudden action, grappling together, racing about; as though to make up for the fact they can no longer roam about on the forest trails freely as they've so long been accustomed to.

Then they lined up in front of the refrigerator to remind us they were ready for the afternoon treat, a post-hike delicacy, each awaiting a large cauliflower floret. 

Another stay-at-home day for Jackie and Jillie. They may be slightly perplexed that we haven't been going out on our daily jaunts into the ravine along the forest trails as usual, but they haven't yet chastised us about it, nor asked whether we've forgotten.

They seem to find ample other occupations to keep themselves busy, from rousting about the house to following me as I do mundane little things around the house. That's as-usual, too. My husband's kneecap is improving. Friday was a really bad day, but yesterday he saw vast improvement.

He's anxious to get out and about, I'm anxious to ensure he won't do that until we can be assured he won't have another set-back similar to the one he precipitated on Wednesday by prematurely supposing he could do hard physical work requiring a fully flexible body to be contorted into unnatural positions in the interests of installing a kitchen appliance. He paid for it afterward, now admits it was a poor decision on his part.

He's getting around better now, not as uncomfortable as he was, and the pain has certainly diminished. He wanted to rush out this morning after breakfast, to tend to his usual errands, but I appealed to a more sensible decision. So he's resting; someone who isn't accustomed to 'taking it easy'.

We're taking turns going out to the backyard with Jackie and Jillie. When I accompanied them out early in the morning it was snowing steadily. A new snowfall always makes them reactively exuberant, and I can relate to that. It's beautiful, ethereal, transformative to the landscape; to be admired at the moment. Of course that's my reaction, theirs is related to fun-and-games leaping about in fresh new snow.

Jackie makes me laugh sometimes. He's more than familiar with his own backyard, and though they both sniff about vigorously, detecting the fleeting presence of black and red squirrels, chipmunks and birds and sometimes raccoons, Jackie suspects that behind the glass door of the garden shed another little black dog like him provocatively challenges him.

After all, when the light is cast in a certain way he can see that other little dog when he sidles up beside the door. He waits expectantly for that strange little dog to emerge and when it fails to, he agitatedly barks and scratches at the door to encourage it to come out and play. Instead, his sister ambles over and offers to fill the gap.

I always feel rewarded when, out with them, they begin playing about and inviting one another to a run-about and tussle. When they were puppies these interplays were far more energetic and wild, and watching them was a particular delight that we quite enjoyed. They've become more moderate, much tamer, but their inclination to challenge one another to a bout of playful romping hasn't changed one whit.

When they have a go at ripping about the house, they leap about like little imps, up the stairs, through the hallways, zipping into rooms, onto beds, back and forth, then downstairs again, leaping and frolicking. It just wouldn't be possible to film them because they're too swift, too unpredictable, out off camera range in the wink of an eye.

Cold and sunny, with a modest sprinkling of new snow on the ground, but fast disappearing even at -6C at the warmest part of the day, thanks to the wind and the warming of the sun where it manages to penetrate the denseness of the forest canopy. throughout the course of the day. Cold temperatures invariably accompany a sunny day.

And sunny it has been for days. The winter sun blazes through the front of our house facing east, early mornings. In those rooms the brightness is startling, particularly in one room whose windows facing forward form an el-shape, overlooking the gardens at the front of the house.

Photographs taken in the winter woods with a blue sky overhead and the afternoon sun streaking through the collective trunks of the forest are captivating to me. The juxtaposition of dark trunks, the light background of the sky, the accumulated snowpack on the forest floor and the brilliant sun winking through the trees absolutely mesmerizes me.

When we were last out several days ago for our daily afternoon walk, my husband became acutely aware that one of his knees was awkwardly uncomfortable. The challenge of ascent and descent of the ravine's hilly landscape made walking particularly difficult. In the days that followed his injured kneecap became even more of a problem, to the point where he walked and rose from a seated position with considerable pain.

He wanted to carry on, to continue our hikes through forest trails nonetheless, but sensibly he agreed we'd wait until his knee recovered. Two days later, he was installing a new dishwasher in our kitchen, man-handling the appliance, drilling a hole in a cupboard wall because in our kitchen the cubby for the dishwasher is not next to the sink but adjacent a rank of pull-out kitchen drawers, so to connect the appliance the tubes and electrical had to snake through the back of it to get to the area under the sink to connect to the plumbing.

That didn't much help his knee's recovery. So, we're still waiting. Playing with Jackie and Jillie inside the house. Taking them out more frequently to the backyard where they romp about in the snow and forever sniff about everywhere, detecting and curious about the passage of their wild cousins.

In the ravine we have lately come across new faces of both people and their companion animals. Most of whom are willing to pass a friendly acknowledgement, and some of whom ask for directions through the trails to eventually access a particular neighbouring street they had entered from. It's easy enough to lose yourself and your sense of direction once embarked on the trails, particularly if someone new to them decides to take offshoot trails, out of a sense of curiosity.

Of a certainty, this wonderful natural resource of ours is now receiving more appreciative attention than it ever has before. The encroaching presence of more housing has in a sense closed off wildlife corridors, but the truth is, because the geology is that of a ravine it remains protected itself from any possible inroads by the housing market with construction firms eager to use any landscape they can.

How ironic it is that the dwindling of wildlife from what we had taken for granted decades ago, is now less attributable to the nearby presence of human dwellings, than it is to the newer presence of coyotes making the ravine and its forests their home. The proximity to human dwellings draws some wildlife out of the ravine at night and into peoples' backyards to search for easy pickings. We leave seeds at the front of the house and bread cubes and nuts at the side of the house regularly.

And we assume that the presence of carnivorous predators has made our wildlife scavengers a little more aware of the more present dangers to their continued existence in their forest habitat; those that practise due care will be the survivors more or less, cultivating an existential culture of aware/beware/survive.