For far too many years than I care to count (29), looks like I will be solely responsible for mowing all three of my neighbors backyards again this year.

They never mention it. They don't offer to help. They buy no gas. They pick up no debris, toys, flotsam or jetsam washed up by the river.

One neighbor even has a newer, and larger, riding mower than mine?

But, I guess if it can't be avoided, Ya might as well try to enjoy it!

 Sometimes being a good neighbor isn't just quite enough of a reward on it's own, so I decided to pat myself on the back in my own way.

Beef! Porterhouse, to be exact. It's what's for dinner!

And, of course, we all know what time it is. Don't we, boys and girls?