I have two neighbors, David and Dylan.  Now that they’re away on holiday, I miss their occasional visits. Of the two, I miss Dylan the most. Dylan’s a dog.

Whenever I run into them, Dylan jumps on his hind legs and hugs me. Like his owner, he used to be distant and reserved. I too kept them at arm’s length, and at 5’11″,  I have really long arms.

Like Larry David, I feared neighbors more than thieves. Do not talk to them. Do not lend them sugar. Neighbors are to be tolerated and ignored until you can move to a better neighborhood and tolerate and ignore the new neighbors who, in turn, will tolerate and ignore you until they too can move away and continue the cycle of white-flight-neighbor-fright.

Then I changed. And they did too.

Sometimes I’ll knock on David’s door just to greet Dylan. I kneel down and hug him, letting him lick my face. At those moments I ask myself why this dog loves me because that’s what it is. Love. I do not feed him, I do not buy him gifts, and I do not give him shelter. I do nothing for him. I just exist.

Only a dog or an infant can show such un-adult-erated joy. When do we all become so serious? When do we stop allowing ourselves to show our hearts on our spandex sleeves? I know Dylan wears his heart on his tail.