Dog Days of Summer

Circa 1st century CE, Ariccia, Italy

Marcellus strolled through his cornfield, becoming lost within a sea of green and yellow stalks that overran a corner of Ariccia, just south of Rome. He took a stalk of corn between his hands and pressed a blade to its shuck, creating a small vertical slit to catch a glimpse of his crop’s condition. He punctured a kernel with his fingernail—the liquid was clear, like water.

“Sirius, be merciful this year! Turn this water into milky nectar,” Marcellus pleaded, his head hanging heavy in remembrance of last year when a sultry summer had wrecked his corn, turning it to animal feed. “Let the dogs days of summer be kind,” he begged before resealing the shuck with the pressure of his palms.

Marcellus left his field and walked to the city center where the townspeople had gathered around a small shrine, beautifully strung with wreaths of fresh blooms and overwhelmed by votive offerings of gold vases, coins of silver, and bronze statuettes depicting dogs both small and large. It was a day of ritual sacrifice in honor of Sirius, the Dog Star—the brightest star in the constellation Canis Major—which arrived in the morning sky after many months of hiding behind the sun.

In the age of the ancient Egyptians, the annual arrival of the Dog Star, appearing around the summer solstice, was most welcomed. Sirius was the Nile’s watchdog: the star’s appearance signaled the immanent rise of the Nile River, which flooded the riverbanks and fertilized the Nile valley. As summer approached, Egypt’s priests would gather within temples dedicated to Isis, the goddess said to embody the power of Sirius. They would commune with her statue, oriented toward the Dog Star, keeping their eyes fixed on a jewel placed in the goddess’ forehead. When Sirius reemerged in the sky, peaking out from behind the sun just before dawn, its light shone upon the gem and caused it to glimmer. The priests then ran out from the temple, news of the Nile’s immanent rise being fresh on their lips.

But among the Greeks and Romans, the rise of Sirius, whose name means “scorching,” was not celebrated so much as feared. The star’s brightness, thought to be indicative of its overbearing heat, wielded the power of destruction—its heat was capable of shriveling crops and bringing ruin to farmers, families, and towns. In order to appease the Dog Star, and to stave off a season of devastating heat—known as the dog days of summer—the Greeks and Romans sacrificed a dog as soon as Sirius was spotted.

“Make way for the dog!” a priest yelled over the crowd, prompting Marcellus and his fellow townspeople to divide down the center. The priest’s assistant, dressed in a white tunic belted with a rope, approached with a ruddy dog in tow.

“Be glad, scorching Sirius,” the priest yelled as the dog, held down on an altar of stone, was slaughtered, its throat being cut with one swoop of a blade. The townspeople lifted their hands in jubilation. Cymbals clashed, castanets jingled, and a choir of youths began singing.

“May your sinister influences be averted by your delight in this sacrifice!” the priest yelled. “May the heat of your star be tempered, and the dog days of summer be mild.”