People frequently suggest I write a column about some subject or another. Sometimes I do. Not usually. But after a recent remark about the dog days of summer, two people asked me to run an old column explaining it all. This is the kind of week I really need a break. So I am. The hardest part was finding a nearly 20-year-old column. This is it.
Orion, the hunter in Greek and Roman mythology, was a giant of a man. During Orion’s time, anything over five feet five was considered a giant of a man. Orion would never have made the NBA cut or even played for a mediocre college team. But I digress.
Orion never left home for a hunting trip without three things, four if you count his plaid shirt: his bow; arrows—yes, those are actually many things if you want to get literal about it; his dogs, ditto; and a large skin full of wine he’d nip at to calm his nerves, sharpen his eyes and make him seem far wittier than he really was in case he ran into a fair damsel he wanted to impress.
Since the prey he often pursued were the seven daughters of Atlas, it wasn’t like he never ran into damsels. Atlas laboured under the illusion he supported the heavens on his broad shoulders. Being obviously crazy, he gave his daughters names like Merope, Sterope, Alcyone and Electra. Because no one in ancient Greece could keep all the girls’ names straight, they simply referred to them as the Pleiades, the ancient Greek word for “girls borne of a crazy man and given bizarre names.”
Anyway, Orion became obsessed by the Pleiades and hunted them like there was no tomorrow. This made Orion the first recorded stalker in history. The Pleiades really didn’t enjoy being stalked by a giant of a man who wore plaid all the time, was usually drunk and always had a couple of smelly dogs with him. They were like, “Gag me with a spoon, who is this guy?” So they ratted Orion out to their father Atlas who said, “Gimme a break. I’m keeping the heavens up, you girls aren’t getting any younger and I don’t see a lot of other guys sniffing around wanting any of you.”
Realizing they couldn’t count on their crazy father for help, the Pleiades turned to their friend Diana. Diana was a real looker. She was also really good with a bow and arrow and she, too, had a dog. If Orion hadn’t been drunk all the time, he probably would have realized Diana was a much better prospect for his amorous advances and put the moves on her, but he was obsessed. It probably didn’t help she was also the goddess of virginity in a land where men were men and sheep were worried.
To make a long story short, Diana killed Orion, remained a virgin and was immortalized in song by Paul Anka—not a giant of a man himself—which fulfils my CanCon quotient for this week’s piffle.
Orion and his dogs became constellations in the night sky. Ironically, so did the Pleiades who finally pissed Zeus off. Zeus, being the big kahuna of ancient Greece and having a lot to keep track of, couldn’t keep the girls’ names straight and got tired of them always harping at him: “No silly, I’m Sterope; she’s Merope.” Zeus, who was a real joker, set the girls among the stars to get them the hell out of ancient Greece and relieve their crazy father of his main terrestrial worry, letting him concentrate on holding the heavens up.
So now—and presumably forever—Orion and his dogs Canis Major and Canis Minor endlessly chase the Pleiades across the night sky of the northern hemisphere from November to April.
But Siriusly, this isn’t about Orion at all but about his big dog, Canis Major. It’s lost to history exactly what the Greater Dog’s name was so why don’t we just call him Scooter, a real dog’s name, not one of those unfortunate peoples’ names dogs get hung with these days. Scooter and his buddy, whose name is also lost to antiquity, were important enough to the story that they became their own constellations, always leading Orion onwards towards his elusive prey. Well, actually, they’re leading Orion toward the constellation Lepus, the Hare, because any sane dog would rather chase rabbits than sniff around a bunch of girls. They just didn’t have the heart to tell Orion they had their own agenda.
The brightest star in Scooter is Sirius. Sirius is, quite naturally, called the Dog Star. If you were drawing the constellation Scooter, Sirius would be Scooter’s nose. Kind of like Rudolph the Reindeer… who isn’t a constellation but we all know the song.
As an aside, in the never-ending battle of dogs and cats, the sky is just filled with dogs. Besides Orion’s, there are Boötes’ Hounds, Canes Venatici, so many dogs in the night sky it’s amazing there isn’t a constellation of some guy scraping poop off the bottom of his sandal up there. There are no constellations depicting the domesticated cat. Only lions... and tigers... and bears, oh my.
Historically, the ancient Egyptians—who’d heard the story of Orion and Scooter from Roman travelling salesmen—associated the rising of Sirius with the flooding of the Nile, known in ancient Egypt as the season of wet feet. Legend has it that in years when Scooter didn’t rise, the Nile didn’t flood and the dogs had nothing to drink. I’m not sure I believe that.
In modern, enlightened times, now that we’ve evolved beyond such myths and no one knows the names or locations of any constellations, we still celebrate Scooter and his dog nose Sirius. In the wee hours of early July mornings, the Dog Star rises with the sun. Since the sun is a lot closer, we can’t see the dog’s nose rise with it so you’ll have to take my word for it.
Scooter poking his nose up with the rising sun happens to coincide with the onset of hot weather in most parts of the Northern Hemisphere. Especially now with warmer temperatures than ever. It is because of this coincidence we call these days the dog days of summer.
For those of you who thought the dog days were named that because dogs get lazy and finally cut us some slack about taking them out for a walk all the time, now you know the truth.
