Dog Days in Ancient Rome: Siriusly

Everyone is saying, “It’s a dog day afternoon.” It’s never a dog day day or a dog day morning or a dog day night. It’s always a dog day afternoon. Some people say the ancient Romans made up the expression, “dog days of summer” up in honor of Sirius, the Dog Star (that’s why it’s never a cat day afternoon). They say that a Roman afternoon gets so hot that all the people take a nap and all the dogs take to the streets and go crazy. But, that doesn’t make sense. Dogs get sleepy in the heat just like people do.

Take yesterday. I was looking forward to a walk. The afternoon had been a real Roman afternoon—the kind of heat that makes you think you’re locked in a brick-oven kitchen with no hope of getting out. So, you just lie there and pant and try not to think about life's trials. But, at around 7 o’clock, there was a cooling breeze, so I thought, “Okay, let’s go for a walk.”

At first it was nice. A little boy about as big as me ran after us calling, “Did you know that I like dogs?” “Did you know that I like dogs?” “Did you know that I like dogs?”

He said it about ten times. Joan asked him if he had a dog. He said his sister had had a dog, but the dog died. Joan told the little boy that he could pet me, but he just smiled and shook his head. He was a little scared, so I made sure to sit very quietly to show him that I was no one to be afraid of. He stared and smiled a great big smile.

Then he said, “Bye, Dog,” and ran back to his friends.

We kept walking, but I started to feel kind of dog-day-afternoonish, so we slowed down. Shane didn’t feel anything. He was just happy to be out enjoying the smells, the air, the rhythm of our steps against the gray asphalt. The rain from the day before had made a skinny jagged crack right down the middle of the road. Block after block, I stared at the new crack and wondered how such a big crack could sneak into such a new road. The Romans must have been great road builders, because their roads don’t crack and their roads are way more than a few years old. Of course, if our roads didn’t crack, our road builders would have to get trained for other jobs.

Suddenly, I heard a noise in the distance, and I planted myself right in the middle of the road. Was it a firecracker? A truck? Did someone drop something? Did someone get hurt? Would I be next?

There were a bunch of people laughing because Joan couldn’t make me move. She tried to bribe me with a biscuit, but I didn’t fall for it, and I didn’t even care when she gave it to Shane. She tried to lift me up from behind, but I ground my butt into the street. She didn’t know what to do.

“Does she always do this?” one of the women asked.

“Hey, look at the dog. She won’t move!”

“Hey, Mom. Look at the dog. She won’t get up.”

All the people watched and laughed and smiled. I was like their street theater.

Joan knew I was scared of something. But, she didn’t realize how hot it was. And that just made things worse. But, after ten minutes of nonviolent protestations, I realized that the only way to get home would be to get up and walk. So, I did.

We got back to our own yard, and I ran to the patch of mint and sat there panting for a long time while Joan took the clothes off the line and put out the garbage and brushed Shane. The mint was very cooling. The smell made breathing easier and my lungs felt lighter and cooler with each minty inhalation. I started to feel better. The dog day retreated into a memory and I was ready to go inside.

No, dogs don’t go crazy in the heat unless they’re very unhappy. And, basically, I’m a happy dog. What’s more, if I lived in Rome, I would do what the Romans do.

Best wishes, Juno