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The dog days have arrived. While we endured record-breaking heat in July, at least in the early part of the month a couple of thunderstorms broke up the heat. During these dog days, clouds wander in to tease us before dissipating under a relentless sun.

I am generally out the door for my three-mile walk by 7:15. An hour later, I am soaked with sweat and filled with concern for the fellows I pass at two houses being built on this one-street subdivision, across the county road from Three Geese Farm. They likely have been at it since 6 a.m., cutting and laying brick — hot, dusty work in the best of circumstances. I do my best to cease all outdoor work by 11 a.m.

I was curious about the term “dog days” and turned to Google, of course. The Farmer’s Almanac, which I consider a reasonably reliable source, said the phrase refers to Sirius, the Dog Star. That is the brightest star visible anywhere on Earth, part of the constellation Canis Major, or the Greater Dog.

Sirius rises and sets with the sun in the summer. It is in conjunction with the sun on July 23, according to the Almanac. The ancient Romans believed this alignment added to the heat (doubtful). They dubbed the 20 days before and after that alignment as dies caniculārēs, or “dog days.”

Trouble is that the dog days now last far longer and are more intense. This might be the summer we finally broke the planet.

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Since early June, I have driven to Pittsburg twice weekly for physical therapy as I continue the long process of recovering from shoulder surgery. I chose the UT-Health Science center there because I could start my rehabilitation quicker than was possible locally. The physical therapists and staff are invariably friendly and encouraging. From where we live, about halfway between Gilmer and Longview, it is a pleasant 40-minute drive largely along country roads. The facility is named after Patty and Bo Pilgrim, who financed its construction. Besides rehab, folks buy memberships there to work out or swim. It is one of many examples of Pilgrim’s philanthropy, which I admired if not his conservative politics.

Bo Pilgrim co-founded what became Pilgrim’s Pride, which briefly was the largest poultry producer in the world. The 2008 recession swept Pilgrim’s Pride into bankruptcy — too much debt and a plunge in poultry prices were blamed. Bo sold the company and retired. He died in 2017 at his palatial home on the southern outskirts of Pittsburg, once known as Cluckingham Palace.

The Pittsburg processing facility, now owned by a Brazilian company, is a few miles north of the fitness center. Until 2019, a giant bust of Bo Pilgrim stared out at drivers on U.S. Hwy. 271. It was a rather surreal sight. For 14 months, I drove from Longview to Mount Pleasant to run the Tribune, passing that giant bust twice a day. One day, the light was exactly what I had been looking for, and I pulled into the turning lane, put on my flashers, and stuck my camera out the window. The photo accompanies this piece. It was taken on a dog-day morning much like this morning, clouds skittering across, promising rain but not delivering.

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The first leg of my weekly journey to Pittsburg is down Mackey Road, then up Nuthatcher Road to Farm Road 1650, which ends at Hwy. 154, about five miles south of Gilmer. The route takes me through some pleasant farms, particularly the Melton Family Farm, which sports a lovely red barn, white cross fencing, and a recent crop of round hay bales. A pasture dotted with round bales always reminds me of Vincent van Gogh’s painting titled The Haystacks. I enjoy the contrast between the round bales and the recently shorn grass, the smell wafting through my open (albeit briefly) window.

Just down the road, a herd of Brahman cattle loll about in the shade, gathered up as if the leader is conducting a meeting. A cypress tree grows out of a pond, its knobby knees visible as the level is down with the lack of rain. In fall, that tree turns a brilliant shade of orange.

Autumn will arrive soon, and these dog days will recede into memory. At least that is my hope.

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