My first visitor was a frog. A large green one with a suspicious set of eyes and a lazy stride. At first I thought it might be a modern day woke Prince, who thought nothing of approaching a middle aged man in pursuit of a kiss. The frog certainly didn’t look very kissable to me. He had an oily coat and spindly legs that propelled him up my driveway to my open garage door.
He probably would have marched inside, if I
hadn’t turned around at the crucial moment and stopped him in his tracks. We
stared at each other like characters in a Sergio Leone movie, and when he
showed no signs of retreating, I picked up a nearby broom and marched towards
him. The threat was enough and he scuttled back to the drain from which he
came. He is still there, five months after I first met him. He seems to have
not moved in that time, standing on a pipe below the drain cover, like a lonely
sentinel, perhaps waiting for a spoiled princess to arrive.
I’ve been sitting in my garage, with the door
open, for most of the last seven months. The country was closed down on August
17th last when Delta poked its head over the parapet and first
entered New Zealand. We got that under control just before Christmas and then went
on holiday. By the time we got back, Omicron had pushed Delta out of the way
and was sweeping through the country.
At this stage, Jacinda threw her notes in the
air and said “I told you to wear a bloody mask, do what you f-ing like”. My
company interpreted this as come in to the office once a week.
As a result, I’ve manned this lonely station in
my garage for more than seven months now. My wife goes into work, my daughter
goes to school, so for most of the day it’s just me and whatever member of the
animal kingdom stumbles up the driveway.
Pukekos are a regular visitor. They are a
variety of swamp hen and are numerous in our neighbourhood. We live near a
large pond and they nest there. Occasionally they wander up our street in
search of feijoas (a fruit unloved by most humans I know, but devoured by our
avian friends). They seem unafraid of humans and immensely curious. The broom
has to come out often when they are around.
Cats stroll nonchalantly past most days without
deigning to look inside. The exception is the pug faced mozzy from two doors
down. He regularly tries to sneak in and curl up on the old sofa that rests
against the back wall. He’s clearly unaware that I see cats as the hand-tool of
the devil. I don’t even bother with the broom for him. He normally gets the sharp
end of my toe.
This annoys my daughter greatly as she adores
cats, dogs, and every other domestic creature. I haven’t the heart to tell her
that not only do I dislike all animals, I’m not even fond of most humans.
The local pond is also home to a wide variety
of ducks. Four of them paid me a visit some time ago. They were a long way from
home, but looked like they were out for an afternoon stroll. They waddled up to door, had a quick look
inside and then flicked their beaks contemptuously towards me and wandered off.
On hot days, skinks like to sun their slimy
backs on the bare concrete of the driveway. They are tiny lizards that live in
Auckland gardens. They rarely come into the garage and usually slink back in
the undergrowth if they catch me looking at them.
A large heron flew down last week and perched
on the lamppost across the street and peered over his long crooked beak like a
judge pontificating on a lenghty and boring court case. One of the street cats
stationed himself at the bottom of the lamppost and salivated as he surveyed
the large bounty above him. Then a crashing disappointment descended on the
poor moggy, when a couple of abortive attempts at climbing the lamppost proved
that it was impossible.
The heron watched all this with barely
concealed contempt and then flapped his majestic wings and took off into the
afternoon sky.
He was back on ground level the next day,
having confirmed that no cats were around. He marched up the street, stopping
at each house individually as though he was accessing how well each of us was
maintaining our properties.
You’ll note that I haven’t mentioned dogs.
There are plenty in this neighbourhood but they are kept under lock and key and
only brought out for supervised walks. It’s not like my youth when mongrel dogs
would wander round all day, intimidating timid little boys like me.
There is a debate raging across the world on
whether the pandemic will lead to working from home being the norm, rather than
the exception. I think what’s missing from these conversations is the social
aspect of work. Whenever I’m in the office, a good part of my day is spent
chatting to colleagues. Even when its work related, you spend some time before
and after meetings catching up on weekend sport or the new best place to buy
coffee. You don’t tend to do this on Zoom calls.
I’ve been working in offices now for almost
forty years. That adds up to a huge amount of social interactions. I’ve met
some of my best friends through work, mainly by discovering that they shared my
enthusiasm for beer after work on Fridays.
You miss all that at home. It’s hard to have a
social interaction with somebody you’ve never met. I’ll be happy to get back
into the office for a few days a week at least. In the meantime, I’ll have to do
my best Dr Dolittle impression and keep my interactions limited to the Animal
Kingdom.
