Dear Diary:

In 2014, my wife, two young children, small dog and I moved to a section of Brooklyn where some considered us to be interlopers.

Before we moved in, the cable company told us it needed access to our neighbor's yard to hook up our service. Our neighbor, a longtime resident, refused.

When the work proceeded anyway, our neighbor cut the wire. It was the start of a frosty relationship.

The rift extended to our dogs. Ours was typically skittish and submissive. Our neighbor's walked slowly and wanted no trouble. They hated each other.

On the occasions when our paths crossed, our dog would lunge and bark. Our neighbor's dog would regard ours as if she embodied everything that was wrong on the block.

Years passed. We went through a pandemic together. Time gave us the chance to put down roots. The frost began to thaw. When we saw our neighbor on the street, we began to nod, then wave a little, and eventually would say, "Hi," without stopping to talk.

The truce extended to the dogs. Late on one cold December night, I took ours outside to the curb. In the distance, our neighbor and her dog were walking slowly toward us.

There was nobody else on the street. When they reached their gate, our neighbor paused. It was silent.

"How old is she?" I heard her ask.

"Fourteen," I said. "How about him?"

"Nineteen," she said.

Neither of us spoke for a second.

"Isn't it amazing that the feud between them seems to be over?" I said.

"I think they just got tired out," she said.

"Yeah, maybe," I said. "Or I guess it's possible that things can change."

"Maybe," she said.

We all went inside.

- David Neibart