Dr Dolittle

 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 17^th 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.