Paw Play

Day one of who knows how many. Up until this point of my career, I never had the option of working from home and I wondered why so many people who did it regularly, liked it. I recently landed a job that involved regular travel and when they told me the good news, they said, "Your frequent flyer points will skyrocket now that you'll be working with us," and I thought, great! My points have been static for years and no matter how much I tried to increase them using methods like swiping my airline-affiliated cards at supermarkets, hotels, restaurants and petrol stations, they were still sitting shamefully low I could barely buy cinema ticket vouchers with them or get a toe in the door of the members lounge at the airport. So being told this by my employer was music to my ears. Here we go. Look out world, I'm coming for you! Well, I managed to take ONE domestic trip on my second day, then the Coronavirus came to town and ruined everything. By week three, a memo came out telling us to work from home indefinitely. I barely got to know where to buy the best coffee, burgers or croissants in town or wear out the carpet beneath my office chair. I tried to look at the positives. I'd be gaining two hours by not having to catch public transport to and from work, saving money on fares, not worrying about doing my hair, make-up or constantly buying an outfit. (Wish I'd known before I went on an online shopping spree for clothes but hey, a woman can never have too many yet-to-be worn outfits and shoes at her disposal). There were a lot of pros about not having to work at the office. I could do it, was my attitude. So full of gusto and brimming with enthusiasm to see what all the fuss was about.

My first day working from home seemed promising. I had extra time to sleep, do my morning routines, make a fresh juice or smoothie and enjoy a hot beverage. Total time to shower, dress and hit my laptop was 15 minutes on a non-hair shampoo day. That's a Guiness World Record for me. Brilliant, so far, so good. One hour flies by and it was time to make a cup of tea. Off to the kitchen I go, just around the corner from my office desk. Well, look who it is staring at me through the sliding screen door by the kitchen looking ever so cute and cuddly, it's Tuxedo. She's a border collie blue heeler labrador mix who crosses her front legs when she sits on all fours. She has white fur covering her paws as if they were painted on to give a socks-like effect. I can't go past without patting her. She's so chubby with a thick coat of black and white fur that looks like she's wearing, well ... a tuxedo, hence her name. Black on top and white underneath with a black stripe across her throat that looks like a bowtie. Now she starts whining and making eyes at me, like a toddler who wants something from its mother. I call her by the nickname I gave her.

"Tuxy luxee! What's the matter? You look sad. How come you're sad? You want to go for your walk don't you? I know .. not today. I'm sorry."

I'm somehow spellbound by her and the next thing I know, I'm outside stroking her unkempt fur out of guilt. She's not even mine. I'm a cat person for goodness sake but find her so loveable, intelligent and obedient. She knows she normally gets taken for a walk after breakfast and patiently rests her head and paws on the brick's edge of the sliding door, watching every move we make. Now what was I doing before I got distracted? That's right, making a cup of tea. 

"Bye Tux, gotta go."

She tilts her head to one side as if understanding what I said. Back to work. My phone alarm goes off. It's a reminder I have a teleconference in 15 minutes. The meeting is short and sweet, I resume writing an article for a magazine. Then the mobile rings, it's a colleague with an enquiry. I stupidly take the call outside to avoid distracting my housemates who are all home as well. There, lying on her doggy couch and sitting up after hearing my voice, is Tuxy. I'm tempted to rub her chubby tummy with my foot while talking on the phone ... off comes my shoe, much to her delight. I swear she's smiling because her jaw opens and I can see her teeth as she manipulates me into doing what she desires. Tuxy - 2, me - nil. 

Work beckons me and I return to my laptop and type like there's no tomorrow. An hour or so later, I was done, two days ahead of the deadline and bang on lunch time. Up I get to go to the kitchen and who happens to be there on the tiles looking at me ever so lovingly but Tuxy. I acknowledge her.

"Who let you inside? You look cranky. How come you're cranky? You want some food? Are you hungry?"

Strangely enough, Tuxy answers back in her own doggy language with short bursts of whining. Very smart dog. I find her a dog treat from the kitchen pantry to cheer her up and hand-feed it to her as she tilts her head back slightly to devour it.  

"There you go, happy now?"

She stares at me and raises her snout, moving her overweight body from side-to-side in a Stevie Wonder-like manner to indicate she wants a pat on the head. Tuxy - 3, me - nil. 

It's now early afternoon and I review what I've achieved since the start of my work day from home. One magazine article, answering a colleague's enquiry and attending a brief teleconference. I had such high hopes at the start of my day. This didn't bode well for me. I wanted to achieve so much more. The goal seemed attainable before I began my work day but now was ever so elusive thanks to a mutt. Suddenly, the neighbour's dog begins to bark, which sets off a chain reaction with Tuxy letting out a deep growl. I open the door to let her out and she charges towards the back fence. I  knew I would have to take time out, again ... someone had to let her back inside or she'd begin to get vocal in a way no one could refuse her wishes. 

"Quickly, go get them, Tux! Your boss (the Rottweiler across the road who sets off the other dogs) is calling you."  

I wait for her to gallop back and forth along the fence like a horse on Melbourne Cup Day. For a fat dog, she can run quite quickly when defending her territory. At least she gets some form of exercise. It's a funny sight to watch because she's overweight and rampages like a bull from one end to the other, then furiously digs up the dirt when she sees another dog walking with its owner on the footpath.  Apparently, any dog lover will tell you that her particular breed has a tendency to dig. Our backyard looks as if we hired an excavator with potholes around the edges of the fencing, thanks to Tuxedo. She quickly heads back to the patio and does her usual whiney please let me in noise.

"In you come. Now, stay on your couch. Shh ... I have to focus OK?"

She stares into my eyes as if begging for one last pat and tummy rub.

"Alright, you win ... just one more Tuxy luxee."

Tuxy - 4, me - nil.  

The afternoon rolls around and my motivation to achieve another two magazine articles slowly wanes. Maybe, I need to get some fresh air to think or just catch a glimpse of the dog. By this time of day, Tuxy is taking her afternoon siesta on the cool tile flooring. She has one eye open just in case someone feeds her a treat. Talk about fear of missing out. I'm tempted to give her another round of tummy rubs. Might as well, I've lost the will to be productive because of her presence. This time, Tuxy gets a pat with all the trimmings -- full-body massage, tummy rub and head massage. What have I become? I'm a slave to a canine. Thanks Coronavirus. You've done me no favours and turned a cat person into a dog-loving one. If this was day one, then I'm in serious trouble. Whoever said working from home was a good thing was either lying or an introvert who evidently had no dog or any cuddly pet for that matter. Wish me luck for day two!