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Greek gods let the dogs out

Legend has it Orion, the hunter in Greek and Roman mythology, was a giant of a man. Of course, during the time of Orion, anything over five-foot-two would have been considered a giant of a man, Cyclops notwithstanding.
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Legend has it Orion, the hunter in Greek and Roman mythology, was a giant of a man. Of course, during the time of Orion, anything over five-foot-two would have been considered a giant of a man, Cyclops notwithstanding. Orion would never have made the NBA cut or even gotten a scholarship to a Pac-12 school unless they had a bow-hunting team. If the ancient Greeks and Romans had known anything about the southern part of Africa they would have known the Watutsi would have called Orion a runt.

Orion never left home to go hunting without three things: his bow and 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 all day long to calm his nerves, sharpen his eyes and make him seem funnier in case he ran into some comely damsel he wanted to impress with his witty repartee.

Since the prey he often pursued were the seven daughters of Atlas, it wasn't like he never ran into comely damsels. Atlas was also a giant of a man who laboured under the illusion he supported the heavens on his broad shoulders and, being obviously crazy, 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 confusing names."

Anyway, Orion became obsessed by the Pleiades and hunted them like there was no tomorrow. Orion was probably history's first recorded stalker but such things weren't considered socially unacceptable back then.

The Pleiades really didn't enjoy being stalked by a giant of a man who was usually drunk and always had a couple of smelly dogs with him. I think they were worried he might be as crazy as their father. So they complained to Atlas who said, "Gimme a break already, I'm keeping the heavens up. Besides, you girls aren't getting any younger and I don't see a lot of other guys sniffing around."

Realizing they couldn't count on their crazy father for help, the Pleiades turned to their BFF Diana. Diana was a babe, a real looker. She was also really good with a bow and arrow and she too had a dog. Actually, if Orion hadn't been at the wineskin so much and obsessed with the Pleiades, he probably would have realized Diana was a much better prospect and put the moves on her. Of course it didn't help that she was also the goddess of virginity and possibly gay, not that there's anything wrong with that.

To make a long story column-size, Diana killed Orion, remained a virgin and was immortalized in song by Paul Anka, who is not a giant of a man but does bring this back to Canada, if only tangentially.

Orion and his dogs became constellations in the night sky as did, ironically enough, 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 exclusively on holding up the heavens.

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 December through March and across the southern hemisphere between November and April, taking the summer off to vacation in the Greek Isles.

But Siriusly folks, where this is headed isn't about Orion at all but about his big dog. It is, unfortunately, lost to history exactly what the dog's name was but it sure as hell wasn't Canis Major so we'll call him Scooter, which I consider a very cool dog's name. Scooter and his smaller 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 and Orion wasn't smart enough to figure out they had their own agenda.

The brightest star in Scooter is Sirius. Sirius is, unsurprisingly, 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 anyway.

As an aside, in the never-ending battle of dogs and cats, the sky is simply filled with dogs. Besides Orion's mutts, there are Boötes' hounds, Canes Venatici, and so many other dogs in the night sky it's amazing there isn't a constellation of some guy scraping poop off the bottom of his sandal. There are no constellations depicting the domesticated cat. Just sayin'.

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, but 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 unless they've downloaded the Night Sky app, 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 or, if not mine, Night Sky.

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, occasionally even in Whistler. It's because of this cosmic 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, now you know the truth. Zippy the Dog was crestfallen when I told him the real story about Dog Days so you might want to keep it to yourself, though.