July 19: Dog days of summer

 So here we are smack dab in the middle of the dog days of summer, which are supposed to end in early August. For the second summer in a row, things have sucked because of buggabugga and as this stupid pandemic ends, we're heading into a new normal that could be defined by climate change. I'm hearing reports of clams that are boiling in lakes, crops that spoiled because of the heat, and runaway forest fires. The preachers on the Christian radio station I listen to are wont to say that these are heralds of the end times.

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Walking to the office today, I saw the sun disappear. Seriously, it was like a magic trick. The sky was overcast, just a sheet of grey-white, and the sun appeared like an orange dagger, not a sphere at all. Slowly, the sun faded from few, as if being embraced by smoke. I wished I'd filmed it.

Kiddo woke up sick on Sunday morning. His dumb ole dad had let him spend too long at the splash pad the previous day. Probably had a touch of heat stroke. I remembered one time last year when he and I swam in the lake at Island Park from the late morning until sundown. We were both sick that evening. When will I learn?

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Last year, around this time, I couldn't wait for the summer to be over. Once again, I can't wait for the summer to be over. It's too hot, my budget is stretched, and the days are filled with empty nothingness. Thank God for the splash pads. Thank God that kiddo doesn't demand the latest trendy toy or designer clothes. Thank God that the best things in life are what makes him happy.

I long for the fall. I long for cooler weather and the predictable routine of school. I long for the days when I'll start getting booked to magic shows again. I hate that I feel like I'm stumbling into idolatry. Don't want to put my faith in Ba'al or my own "talent." I could have a stroke tomorrow. You never know.

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In the United States, the Dog Days of Summer run from July 3 until August 11. Here is what the Farmers' Almanac says about the Dog Days of Summer:

 "The phrase is actually a reference to the fact that, during this time, the Sun occupies the same region of the sky as Sirius, the brightest star visible from any part of Earth and part of the constellation Canis Major, the Greater Dog. ... They referred to this time as diēs caniculārēs, or “dog days.”"

Darn it all. Silly me thought it got its name because that's when dogs do most of their panting.

 

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 I like it when dogs pant. I don't know why. I just do. I like seeing a dog lying in the shade on a hot day, breathing heavy, thin pink tongue lolling out of its mouth. 

My family owned dogs for most of my life. My dad had a St. Bernard named Saint when I was born. After that there were three dogs in a row named Spanky. Then another St. Bernard named Lobo, a collie named Sheltie, a shihtzu named Gizmo, and a yellow lab named Kipper. They are all gone now. Most of them were good dogs. My dad could tell you more.

But I have been an apartment dweller for more than 20 years now. I have never owned a pet in all that time. I still like dogs, I prefer them to cats, but my lifestyle won't let me own one. This doesn't make me as sad as I thought it would.

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My dad says that it's great to watch baseball games when it's super hot out. I wonder if the players feel that way. Jim Bouton probably didn't. "What could be better than a Fourth of July double-header in Kansas City?" he asked in his book, Ball Four. "Anything up to, and including, a kick in the ass."

Love that line. It's a touchstone.

What could be better than being stuck in the office late on a Monday night in the Dog Days of Summer writing about two municipal councils?

Anything up to and including a kick in the ass.

But life isn't all bad. I just enjoyed a Dr. Pepper and it's supposed to rain this week. So booga booga booga.