If you’re ready for some good news, this column has you covered.

My name is Tressa Glover, and I’m the creator and host of the Yinz Are Good podcast and a Mt. Lebo resident. I grew up in the North Hills (shocking!) and made my way to the South Hills via New York City and Chicago. My Yinz Are Good podcast shares and celebrates the good stuff going on out there — the people who are helping folks in our communities, doing good deeds, lifting people up and providing hope.

I started the podcast, with no technical training whatsoever, in the middle of 2020, wanting to share the good news happening around us despite the difficult circumstances under which we were living. I wanted to connect us all in ways we desperately needed. So I carved out space in one of our closets (not a walk-in, by the way) and, with my iPhone in hand and my trusty mini Australian shepherd, Hazel, by my side, recorded my first episode. Now, five-and-a-half years later, we’ve dropped 196 episodes that have been listened to by people in 66 countries and territories. It’s been incredibly uplifting to know so many people want to hear about the goodness happening all around us.

You may be thinking, “That’s great, Tressa, but what can I expect from this column?” You can expect to hear from your neighbors, your friends, your favorite teachers, shopkeepers and baristas. You can expect stories of kindness and goodness and notes of gratitude. This is not really my column, but our column. It will be a collection of all the good happening in our town.

And I’m going to kick it off with my own story of gratitude and appreciation for a neighbor who has become family. My story begins in 2018, with my aforementioned dog, Hazel, playing a prominent role.

We were living on Mabrick Avenue, and our fabulous neighbors, Aida and Jason, had recently introduced us to Aida’s parents, who lived on Baywood. Hazel, who was 2 at the time, was not (and still isn’t) a fan of strangers, especially those who approach her and dare start talking to her. This, however, did not deter Aida’s mom, Hadzi, from attempting to befriend our dear pup. She would call to Hazel from across the street and toss pieces of banana to her. Hazel happily gobbled them up and, much to our surprise, never once barked at her. We kept a comfortable distance, just in case, but she never did.

Fast-forward to 2020, when Hazel was truly living her best life: All the humans were maintaining a respectable 6-foot distance from each other and keeping their conversations to a minimum. This is the kind of order and self-restraint Hazel had always dreamed of. Then, one day, she and I were walking down Baywood and heard, “Hazel! Hazel!” being shouted in our direction. We both stopped and looked around but saw no one. We heard it again: “Hazel! Hazel!” Then I looked up and spotted her. Hadzi was standing on her second-floor balcony, waving excitedly to us. As soon as Hazel saw her, she sprinted over to their yard. Hadzi and I exchanged greetings, and then she gestured for Hazel and me to wait a moment. Hadzi popped inside and then reappeared with treats for Hazel, which she gently placed into a basket tied to her balcony railing. She slowly lowered the basket so I could give them to Hazel, as Hadzi smiled and clapped along.

I think of this moment often — when I was first overwhelmed by Hadzi’s kindness. And I say “first” purposely here, as her capacity for generosity and thoughtfulness is vast. That gesture also marked the beginning of a friendship that perhaps neither one of us saw coming — a relationship that, on paper, might not make sense: this woman in her 70s and this woman in her 40s, who had only ever had brief conversations about the younger woman’s dog. This gesture grew into hundreds more as the months and years wore on.

Hadzi began placing treats in the basket for me — fresh homemade pastries that were still warm. Sometimes I would have to finish our walk while balancing a china plate of pastries covered with plastic wrap. Soon, foregoing the basket, Hadzi would simply toss treats down to Hazel, who would leap into the air attempting to catch them. As social distancing faded away, Hadzi — or “Mrs.,” as Hazel came to know her, out of respect — started meeting us outside on her walkway, and she and I would talk. And talk. And talk. I learned about her life and family in Bosnia. About the war. I learned what brings her joy, what makes her laugh and what her hobbies are. And she learned about me — my family, my friends, my work.

One day, she asked, as she always does, about my family, and I had to tell her that my mom had passed away suddenly a few days earlier. Her eyes filled with tears so quickly, as if she had known my mom herself. She hugged me tightly, and we just stood there in an embrace for a few minutes. Hazel somehow understood the moment and lay down quietly at our feet. The next day, Mrs. appeared at our front door with a bagful of food and a beautiful condolence card tucked inside.

Before we knew it, we started saying, “Goodbye, I love you!” at the end of each visit. And “Mr.” — Hadzi’s husband, Jafez — got involved as well, tossing treats to Hazel and loudly calling her name from blocks away if he saw us out and about. If they drove past us, they would pull their car over to give Hazel treats they kept inside just for her.

She calls me every Christmas Day to wish me a happy holiday.

I learned how to make a traditional Eid al-Fitr dish for them for their celebration.

When she was out shopping, she bought me a pair of earrings she thought I would like.

I was given a gorgeous flower centerpiece after an event and took it right to her because I knew she’d love it.

She made a blanket for Hazel.

She had me over for brunch.

It’s now, as you may have guessed, standard practice for Hazel to make a beeline for Baywood Avenue every time we go for a walk (which is four times a day, if you want to crunch those numbers). If Mr. and Mrs. aren’t home, no worries. Hazel strategically positions herself in their front yard, in full view of the balcony, eagerly awaiting their return.

Hazel has still never barked at Mrs. She now comfortably takes treats right from her hand and lets her pet her whenever she wants. They say dogs instinctively know who the good people are. I’d have to say they’re right.

You can share your good news via our Kindness Crates, currently located at Rollier’s, Salon Vivace, Commonwealth Press and Babb Orthodontics. Just stop in and they’ll point you in the right direction. You can also email me directly at yinzaregood@gmail.com.