Everyone Needs an Old Nemesis (Yes, Even the Dog)

There is something I firmly believe about life, writing, and neighborhood fences.

Everyone should have an old nemesis.

Not a villain-villain. Not someone plotting your dramatic downfall while stroking a suspiciously fluffy cat. No, no. I mean the classic, everyday, slightly ridiculous kind of nemesis. The sort who appears in your life just often enough to raise an eyebrow, spark a rivalry, and add a little spice to the otherwise sensible soup of daily living.

For instance, I have one.

Blueberry has one.

And, if we’re being completely honest, the neighbors may or may not have one in each other.

If you’ve ever witnessed two neighbors snarking through a backyard fence, you will understand exactly what I mean. There’s a tone. A rhythm. A sort of polite-but-not-really politeness.

“Oh, you’re mowing again.”

“Well, SOME of us like tidy lawns.”

Cue the slightly-too-loud gate closing.

And the funny thing is… if that dynamic suddenly disappeared, the entire street would feel oddly quiet.

Because nemeses — nemesi? nemesises? nemeses? (This word becomes extremely suspicious when you stare at it long enough) — bring color into life.

They bring commentary.

They bring that delightful little spark of rivalry that makes everything just a bit more interesting.

Blueberry, for instance, has developed a very serious professional disagreement with a squirrel who lives somewhere near the maple tree on our walks. The squirrel considers Blueberry a deeply unnecessary interruption to his day. Blueberry considers the squirrel a personal affront to canine dignity.

Every morning they perform their traditional ritual.

The squirrel flicks his tail with theatrical disdain.

Blueberry freezes dramatically like a Victorian heroine who has spotted scandal across the ballroom.

And then the chase begins.

Neither of them ever wins.

And yet both of them show up again the next day, fully committed to the storyline.

Which, if you think about it, is exactly how a good nemesis works.

And yes — this absolutely spills into my writing.

In cozy mysteries, readers expect suspects, secrets, red herrings, and the occasional suspicious casserole. But what truly makes a story feel alive are the relationships around the mystery. The friendly rival. The skeptical neighbor. The person who insists they know better and absolutely must comment on everything.

Those characters are gold.

Because if they suddenly threw up their hands one day and said, “You win. I’m leaving town,” the story would lose something special.

You’d miss them.

You’d miss the eye-rolls.

The snark.

The petty competition over whose garden looks better.

The suspicious glances across the street.

And in a strange way, those characters often care about each other far more than they admit. Nemeses have a way of orbiting each other’s lives whether they want to or not.

Which, frankly, is much more fun than everyone getting along all the time.

Perfect harmony is lovely for about five minutes.

After that, we need someone raising an eyebrow.

Someone muttering commentary.

Someone who absolutely refuses to let the main character get away with anything without a bit of dramatic flair.

In stories, those relationships create tension, humor, and personality.

In real life, they create neighborhood legends.

And in Blueberry’s case, they create a daily squirrel surveillance operation that is conducted with the utmost seriousness.

So today, I would like to raise a cheerful toast.

Here’s to old nemeses.

The ones who keep things interesting.

The ones who make us roll our eyes while secretly enjoying every minute of it.

And the ones who would be terribly missed if they ever truly disappeared.

Because life — and storytelling — would be far less entertaining without them.

And somewhere out there, I am quite certain that squirrel is thinking exactly the same thing about Blueberry.