A good neighbor, I believe, is courteous. Quiet.

We help each other out here and there when absolutely needed — it’s reciprocal — and we say hello. We aren’t related at all. Their dog is trained not to bark all day and night, or growl at everyone they see, or try to eat my little dog.

They don’t argue so much that my husband and I are actively invested in the storyline now, stopping everything to crack the door and hear better. I haven’t learned new values or how to be a better neighbor from them by sheer observation, and I have no idea what all their friends’ names are or that Shannon hooked up again with so-and-so.

They return the wine bottle opener they borrowed.
They don’t decide my books look better on their bookshelf and keep them.
They don’t just walk in without asking or knocking.
They don’t look around my house when I’m out.
They don’t steal the pumpkin glow sticks meant to be a safe alternative to actual candles in the jack-o’-lanterns.

I’ve had plenty of characters along the way, never the non-nosy kind.

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