I didn't know my friend, Nancy, that long really – less than a year, altogether.  We met as on-line friends in the early spring of 2007, became best of friends instantly and spent much of the spring of 2007 getting together once or twice a week to go hear a good local Blues band or just sit in her backyard and talk.  I was the friend who dropped by one late spring weekend after she'd just bought her 'classic' Mercedes roadster to help her clean the garage because she needed the storage area.  We'd often sit in her backyard on a warm evening while I told her about my life in music and she told me about her business – something, I'll admit I never did fully understand – with her two pets, Brewer and Sara, sitting with us, one at one's feet, one at the other.

Just before Christmas of 2007, something happened that I will probably never be able to fully explain.  I was sitting at my desk looking out the window onto the street in the heart of my home city of half a million people.  I looked across the street to the maple tree in front of the neighbouring apartment building and there was a red-tailed hawk sitting on one of the winter-bare tree branches.  Although I thought it very strange to see a hawk in the heart of downtown in my mid-sized industrial city, I continued to work away at my desk as the hawk sat there looking up, then down, the street.  After about an hour, the hawk left.  I'm not sure if it was just coincidence but after the hawk was gone, I decided to call my friend, Nancy.  It was just before Christmas, we'd not seen each other in a couple of weeks, and I thought it was a good time to pass on Christmas wishes.  It was during this phonecall that she told me the news.  It took a long time for me to convince her to tell me what was wrong, but finally she said that she'd just been diagnosed with advanced bone cancer and had been given 2-12 months to live.  And like most people who've been touched by this despicable disease, my friend Nancy passed away just two months later at the end of February, 2008.

I waited to let things settle down with her family and estate and about a month later I got a phonecall from her best friend saying that 'the family' had made the decision to put her two elderly dogs down because of their age – Brewer was 14 and Sara, 13.

"No they're not", I said rather abruptly, remembering my promise to Nancy the summer before.  I spent a week putting up some extra fencing around ma's doggy-friendly back yard and turned the garage into a rather large doghouse (pictured, above left).  My friend, Phil, stopped by to put a 'dog door' in the side door of the garage (pictured right) and a week later, on April 8th, her friend and I brought Brewer and Sara to their new home in ma's backyard.

Strangely, as Nancy's friend and I left her home with the two dogs – she with Sara and Brewer in the back of her car and me with their favourite couch, bags of doggie treats, food, bowls, leashes etc. in mine – a red-

tailed hawk joined us as we took the on-ramp to the highway and flew along beside us as we left town for as long as he could keep up.  I've never really inquired about the significance of the hawk.  I suppose I think that there are some things in life that happen and are really not to be questioned or even understood.  It is enough that they, simply, are.

One weekend in late June, the Hospice behind us was holding a fund-raising party, complete with a two-piece duo for music and lots and lots of people.  Sara's two favourite things in the world were doggy treats and people, and that day, she was determined that if she could squeeze her 85 lb. doggy-body through the little space under the fence, she could visit with the latter and they were sure to have lots of the former.  Brewer, of course, was much too dignified for such foolishness.

The summer of 2008 was a pleasant time for Brewer and Sara and all those who stopped by to visit the two new residents of ma's backyard.  It took no time at all for the two 'orphans' to win the hearts of the folks in the hospice out back and there were plenty of 'fence-side' visitors throughout the summer. We contracted a new chain-link fence across the driveway so Brewer and Sara could participate in one of their favourite pastimes – barking at those that dared to walk up and down their newly-adopted street.  As the summer wore on, life in ma's backyard settled into its new 'routine', although as shown in the picture to the right taken at suppertime, it became increasingly more difficult to discern who's routine was the one that was being followed.

were on medication for their problems but with Brewer, a year older than Sara, the heat of the summer combined with his own difficulty in movement finally took its toll.  On the last weekend in July, Brewer found a quiet corner of the property and lay down for the last time.  On the following Monday, we had to make a very difficult 'quality of life' decision and Brewer made his last trip to the vet.

Brewer -- d. July 28, 2008

Nancy had told me the summer before that she didn't think Brewer would last more than about a year.  And as the summer wore on, the arthritis in his back legs made mobility more and more difficult for him.  Both dogs

And now, it was just Sara, the orphan dog.  But things went pleasantly for her during the summer of 2008.  There was always lots of company, lots of sitting by the fire, lots of treats and attention.  And there was always time for play.  Here, Joanne – or as Sara knew her, Aunt Cookie – is spending some play time with our 13-year-old pet.

Then, in October came a rather difficult day.  My friend's estate had been settled and it was time to empty the house and property.  The full measure of what this day would be like was not really expected or perhaps, I would have made other arrangements.  But I'd been informed that, as she told me a few weeks before she passed away, that I was now the owner of her gorgeous, immaculate Honda motorcycle. I think

the only reason she wanted me to have it was that I made such a fuss over how nice it was when she first showed it to me.  So, there I was, amongst all the people, the moving vans, the boxes and carts to wait for the local bike shop to stop by and cart away my new property.

My friend Nancy was probably one of the most proficient and artistic handypersons that I have ever known.  Everything in her cottage-home was built or hand-crafted by her – floors, walls, draperies, counterspaces and much of the furniture.  The first time I visited her, she was just putting the final plumbing touches on the antique crawfoot tub in her bathroom.  Her bathroom sink was a ceramic bowl on a marble slab that sat atop a 100-year-old buffet.  The plumbing ran down the inside of the buffet, with the side drawers in the unit acting as under-sink storage.  I once stood in her front office where she conducted her business and even knowing about such things myself, I was amazed at the complexity and functionality of her office equipment and layout.

I had taken my camera with me, but once the executor arrived, the front door was opened and work began inside in earnest, there was really nothing that I wanted to capture on film.  So I walked around to the backyard and sat down for a while.  Although largely overgrown now, I could see how the plants and shrubbery she had planted had grown.  She really had created her own paradise in the backyard, complete with sunken garden and something in every square foot of space.  So while work continued inside and I waited for the boys from the bike shop to arrive, I sat in a favourite spot and remembered for a bit.

To the far left is the Mercedes Roadster, off to the home of Nancy's best friend, Marg – who has become a good friend to me, as well.  Marg stayed with Nancy during her final months.  To the immediate left is the bike, waiting to be winterized at the bike shop before heading to its new home in ma's garage.  I knew that I wouldn't want to be riding it anytime soon, so for the moment at least, it would be stored away.

Throughout the day, as the house emptied, I was asked many times if I wanted this or that – a picture, dishes, small pieces of furniture, but there wasn't really anything that interested me.  But as I was leaving, Marg took me aside and said she had something in her car that I'd probably want to have.  And she was right.  She went out and brought in a folder with a contact sheet of pictures of Nancy on her bike, taken during the previous summer, the only one she really got to enjoy her bike.  I'd known Nancy such a short time amd the only picture I had of her was from the on-line site where we met.  The contents of that folder was the perfect gift to take home with me that day.

The music on this page is: "Passing Through", by Jonas Kvarnström,

"Always In My Heart", by Hugh Marsh,

and "The Long Road Home", by Mark Knopfler