The Dog Days of Summer
Published in
4 min readJun 29, 2024
In the days before air conditioning was affordable or even available to most homes, summer days were spent in the sun-scorched fields or sweltering factories; and evenings were spent on the porch. In the south, older folks always referred to the hottest and most humid days of the season as “Dog Days”. I never asked how that term came to be and assumed it had something to do with the dogs who were too hot to chase the birds and squirrels. With a few clicks online, I discovered that the period of July 3rd through August 11th, when the “dog star” Sirius rises with the sun, is historically referred to as “dog days .” Sirius is part of Canis Major’s constellation, Latin for “the greater dog.”
I enjoy movies like “The Long Hot Summer” or “Fried Green Tomatoes .” While the stories are entertaining, the scenes of the south as they were so many years ago mentally transport me to my childhood and the lazy days of summer that seemed to go on forever.
With exceptions, people were more tolerant of the heat than we are today with our modern air-conditioned homes and vehicles. For most of us, fun in the hot sun includes an ocean spray, a dip in a refreshing pool, or maybe a timed dousing by a lawn sprinkler projecting an occasional rainbow.
When I was young, and the thermostat’s indicator rose to extraordinary heights, I remember how wonderful it felt to sit under a big shade tree where the ground was swept clean, and grass didn’t dare exist. The dogs would lay their bellies on the cool earth, only moving their tails if being stepped on, which was an absolute certainty. Lemonade quenched the thirst, and hand-held advertisement-adorned cardboard fans with thin wooden handles helped move the still air onto our glistening faces. Windows were always open, and a car or wagon moving fast on a dry dirt road introduced the inside of the house to that red-colored dust that had to be escorted back outside by a straw broom.
Mosquitoes must love the heat and humidity of the south because their numbers seem to grow each year. In the 1950s in Savannah, when I was young, large trucks drove through the hot streets fogging bug spray into the air a couple of times a day; still, the mosquitoes seemed to move in cloud formation everywhere. I seldom walked out the door during those summer days without my mom giving me a slathering of oily 6–12 insect repellent to fend off those little flying vampires.
In contrast, the lightning bugs entering early summer dog days are a delight, as aggravating as the accompanying mosquitoes are. My memories of warm summer nights and catching those precious little lantern-adorned insects are some of my favorites. Mom would give me an old jar, and we would punch holes in the lid. She always reminded me to let them go before coming inside for the night. I wish I could say I always did.
