DOG DAYS
At the time of writing, lockdown in Auckland has just ended. Freedom Day! It’s only been semi-lockdown here in Wellington. It’s felt oddly bland. Somehow it’s hard to even know what day it is. If Morning Report isn’t on the radio, then it must be the weekend.
How odd it is to feel nostalgic for the first, shared lockdown. The olden days. Autumn, and the sun was a warm tawny gold, the trees were just hanging on to their flamboyant leaves, and it was so still, and we all went out walking, waving to teddies in windows, socially distancing, relishing the quiet, carefully crossing to the centre of the road when others approached, so proud of ourselves for being in the team of five million. We were going to beat this thing. A sentimental lump permanently hovered near the throat.
This time, when we briefly went into full lockdown again, there were no teddies to speak of. Even in semi-lockdown people were a little more snappish. The team a little more fragmented. The marriages wavering. We did notice last time that other people had dogs. We had a sort of dog, in that we had a grandpuppy, the glorious red border collie Sunny. But her bubble was a couple of suburbs away and we were far too virtuous to burst it. I’d always wanted a dog and Oh I want
