These past two weeks have flown by, and things are going well. The cat has finally decided to come out of the cellar, though not without mumblings and recriminations.

We've been for a get-to-know-you visit to our vet, who is lovely: he got right down on the floor and let her relax while he petted her, before he even tried to examine her. The vet trip was also the first trip solo in the jeep, and she handled it like a pro.

We're working on recalls at the park; I have her on a long line, and she goes off playing with her ball in the snow, and when she gets far enough away and/or distracted, I call her in, and she comes at me like a freight train to get the biscuit she knows I have in my pocket.

Speaking of distracted: she's fascinated with birds. Birds roosting in the trees, birds flying in the sky, dopey pigeons strolling around on the ground...she finds them all quite riveting.

Two or seven times a day, she and Arwen engage in rather astounding battles, in which neither ever incurs a mark, but by the sounds of it you'd think a homicide was taking place. Soleil joins in the fun as a sadly superfluous but equally determined referee, barking from the sidelines. They have learned that when the human yells TIME OUT, it means just what you think.

All in all, it's organized, hairy, non-stop chaos. If only winter would give way to spring so that we aren't out walking in -25C....

It's exactly one week ago today that we brought Casey home. For the past seven days, she's been learning our routines and rules, and we've been getting to know her character. For example, she does something none of my other Labs have done, which I've come to call ''snowbathing'': she commando-crawls on her belly through the snow, all the while dipping her head in and up, as if she's doing the breaststroke.

I've said things that I've never before uttered, such as ''don't lick my bum'' (several times, that one). And even after having Labs in my life for nearly 5 decades, I've been taught a thing or two, and encountered scenarios I'd not ever yet imagined, such as a certain fox-red creature absconding with her own bag of poop (which I'd neglected to knot closed, of course) at the park, and initiating a merry game of keep away, with the added bonus of random airborne chunks of poop.

When I think back to one week ago when we brought her home, she would hardly allow us to touch her. Now she follows us around like a shadow, and she's even met a few neighbours: she was leery at first, and head-shy, but within five minutes she was allowing herself to be touched. I've introduced her to the wonderful world of baking, and she is now a fully-qualified member of the league of underfoot baker's apprentices, along with her two partners in crime. They lick bowls democratically; the only competitiveness is who can lick the fastest and the most efficiently. She's joined us on the bed (Tim is building a queen-size frame as I type this), and the three of them have settled on their own pecking order, putting Soleil beside my head, on the pillow, Arwen tucked into my torso or the crook of my legs, and Casey down at the foot of the bed.

She doesn't like being crated when I take the other two for a walk, but we're gradually giving her more trust and the freedom that goes with it, and we'll get to a point where the crate won't be necessary.

Here is the latest batch of pictures. The light certainly varies from one to the next, since we go out in the early morning and the middle of the afternoon, and there have been some frigid mornings this week that always bring with them a characteristic ''blue" light.