For a decade or so after we moved to Stone Brooke, Julie and I lived across the street from Woody and Nancy, whose driveway was like a window into their world, often filled with cars on weekend evenings as friends and family visited. Woody was exceedingly friendly and gracious, and people quite obviously desired his presence.
During the day on nearly every weekend when the weather was good, the driveway held only Woody and Nancy’s cars, which were cleaned inside and out for some hours until they glistened in the summer sun. As neighbors walked by, going to or returning from the lake, they would stop and chat. In some ways, the driveway was the center of the neighborhood. Woody didn’t need the attention, but he paid such attention to you that you wanted to be in his company. He was kind and generous, good-hearted and affectionate, agreeable and, well, neighborly.
Every morning I took Daisy for a walk in the park, where she didn’t want to stay for very long because the highlight of her day was the trip back home. Nancy would be watching for our return through her kitchen window, and Daisy would see them both on their stoop, dog treats in hand. Burly Woody would coo with a lovely kindness and affection.
On those occasions when Woody and Nancy did not come out to greet Daisy, she would pull me toward their driveway rather than my own or sit in the middle of the street looking at their front door. Daisy knew where the treats were, and they were Woody and Nancy.
