The spinning rear tractor wheel sat 12 inches deep in the putrid soil. I was stuck.  Endeavoring to dump freshly-cut grass I had driven onto a pile of supposedly dry grass clippings only to sink into sludge. I added dry straw. No go. My daughter hopped on to drive while I pushed. The wheel spun faster descending down into the pit. Black goo coated the tire. How was I going to finish mowing before Mother's day?

My neighbor came over, "Becky I think I could pull your tractor out if you could find a rope the size of my finger."

Rummaging through the garage I grabbed a tow rope. He suggested I find the hitch in the rear of the tractor, finding it I slid the S ring through the hole handing him the other end of the rope.  We connected the tractors. His advice continued, "Put your mower blade up. Gently excel backwards. We don't want to have the tractors run into one another! Straighten your front wheel." After following each recommendation my tractor moved leaving the sinking slime.

Smiling I yelled, "Thanks Tim!"

I continued mowing thinking, "Tim is a good neighbor."

We've been neighbors for fifteen years, I wondered, "Have I been a good neighbor?"

I recalled listening to the story of Tim's son's first successful bear hunt. I remembered praying for Tim after his sister's death, yet there was an inward nagging question, "Have I been a good neighbor?"

I recalled our miniature schnauzer creeping up on Tim early in the morning. Tim had bent down to pick up the morning paper, our twelve pound dog slunk to the edge of the property line letting out an alarming snarling bark.  Tim stood up quickly, grasping his chest, inhaling deep. My dog wasn't neighborly.

I no longer let the schnauzer out at the same time Tim gets the paper.