Let’s talk about the dog days of summer. Not because it’s sweltering (though it is for some already) and not because your AC unit is giving you side-eye from overuse, but because I’ve been pondering whether dogs really know or care that it’s summer?

The phrase “dog days of summer” is one of those odd little expressions we toss around like frisbees at a picnic. It comes from the ancient Romans, who linked the humid stretch of July and August to Sirius, the Dog Star. When Sirius rose and set with the sun, it was thought to bring about heat, lethargy, and maybe a few hallucinations. (Which sounds suspiciously like what happens after you’ve been stuck in traffic for an hour with no AC and only a half-full iced coffee for company.)

But back to the real dogs. Mine don’t seem particularly fazed by the heat. Sure, they avoid hot pavement and give me that judgmental “why must we exist outdoors?” look, but their summer routine is suspiciously similar to their winter routine: nap, squeak toy, bark at ghosts, nap again, lick the couch cushion, nap some more. Rinse and repeat. Seasonal affective disorder? Never heard of her.

Maybe we humans are the ones truly affected by the dog days. We slow down, get grumpy in line at the grocery store, and start thinking big thoughts while staring at oscillating fans. We complain about the heat but also dread the creeping end of summer. We’re in an odd purgatory of “let’s savor this” and “dear heavens, make it end.”

In some ways, we envy the dogs. They’re unapologetically lazy, find joy in the simplest things, and never question whether they’re living their best lives. Meanwhile, we write blog posts wondering whether the sun has made us loopy or if this is just what life is now: a never-ending loop of melted popsicles and existential dread.

So maybe the dog days of summer are less about actual dogs and more about giving ourselves permission to pause. To flop down under a ceiling fan. To sigh dramatically for no reason. To stare into the middle distance and wonder what it would be like to live as freely and blissfully as a dachshund who thinks he’s king of the backyard.

Here’s to the dog days long, hot, slow, and just weird enough to remind us we’re alive. And maybe need a nap.