Henrietta Hay's Column

It's that time of year again when my brain goes into neutral and won't come out. Now I know why. The ancients called late summer the Dog Days. According to Brady's Clavis Calendarium written in 1813, this is believed to be an evil time when "the sea boiled, wine turned sour, dogs grew mad and all creatures became languid." These are the days when Sirius the Dog Star rises at about the same time as the sun. Ancients sacrificed a brown dog at the beginning of Dog Days to appease the rage of Sirius, believing the star was the cause of the hot sultry weather.

Languid. That's what I am, languid. That's a fancy word for "don't want to do anything but stay in an air conditioned room and read a good mystery." Probably as a result of reading British murder mysteries at an early age, the word languid always makes me think of a sweet young thing lying back in a punt on the Themes letting her hand trail languidly in the water.

Those of us, who have the urge to take it easy, but feel guilty about it, should realize that laziness is perfectly natural in any season and is shared by nearly every creature on the planet. Contrary to the popular opinion that ants and bees and beavers are industrious and always busy, they really spend most of their time doing nothing at all.

There is a new biological specialty called Time-budget Analysis. I'm not making that up. They are doing time studies on animals and find that while they occasionally do something useful, the animals mostly they sit or lie or sleep or wander around in circles. Those same experts, however, say that the animals' indolence is not aimless but usually serves a purpose, like conserving heat, or staying cool or guarding their territory. What it means in my Siamese is a complete mystery.

The summer brought its share of weird, or at least notable, stories.

The biggest mall in the world has just opened outside of Minneapolis-St. Paul. It has three miles of corridors, 327 stores and 100 odd restaurants, food stands, nightclubs and movie theaters. And in the middle of it all there is a giant amusement park. The builders claim that in four years it will attract more visitors that Disneyland and Disney World combined. I have a little trouble with the idea of traveling all the way to Minneapolis to see a shopping mall, but one never knows about Americans.

This sort of thing usually happens in the romantic climate of springtime, but this summer in the San Luis valley, two alligators built a nest and laid 50 eggs. The amorous parents live in a wildlife habitat just north of Alamosa along with some 80 other penned alligators. They live in a geothermally heated pool, but after dinner they lumber out onto the shore to enjoy the dry desert air and a view of the Sangre de Cristos, which is a far cry from their jungle homeland. Trivia item: If they eggs are kept at 89 degrees all the babies will be males; if the temperature is 86, there will be only females. Trivia item #2: They are sold for meat and hide and bring about $600 each.

This summer brought out the wanderlust in Bullwinkle. About 30 moose are loose in Colorado National Park this summer. They crossed the Continental Divide and have taken up residence in the upper reaches of the Colorado River. After two years of watching the opening credits of Northern Exposure we all know exactly what a moose looks like and have formed a wary affection for the clumsy beasts. The Colorado Division of Wildlife has a moose transplant program and its director, Gene Schoonveld says, "People love moose. Whenever anyone sees a moose Kodak's stock goes up." I've often wondered why the plural of moose isn't meese or mooses, but that's another subject.

This summer two Colorado scientists discovered what is thought to be the state's oldest living tree. It is 30 foot tall and 4 feet in diameter gnarled and killed off on its windward side. This Rocky Mountain Bristlecone pine is located at 11,000 feet in a national forest near Fairplay. It apparently germinated in 442 B. C. Athens and Sparta were fighting the Peloponnesian war at that time. and Buddha was still alive. That tree is 2435 years old and it is not in great health, but it probably has a few more centuries to go. Since it grows two inches in diameter each century, who knows how big it will become?

The dog days are about over, so it's time to get back in gear again. You can't afford to be languid in the fall.