Intermezzo: The Zombie Dog Walkers of Summer

 

One of my favorite pet peeves of this dreaded season is what I call the "zombie dog walkers of summer," who take to the streets en masse, shambling through the neighborhood. While it is true that there are always people walking their dogs year-round, I've found that summer brings out a unique brand of dog walker, one where the dog often seems to be walking the human. Unlike the routine dog walker, the zombie dog walker appears to shamble along behind their dog with their arms held listlessly at their sides, seemingly unaware of their motive or purpose.

It's an eerie thing to observe these zombie dog walkers. Their attention is rarely fixed on the dog but rather shifts constantly, as if they're relentlessly scanning the neighborhood for their next meal. With them, though, I suspect it won't be brains, but rather the neighborhood gossip that's essential for a suburban zombie feast. 

Their peculiar behavior is further enhanced by their propensity to speak in tongues. If an observer is lucky, it is possible to catch these zombie dog walkers of summer communicating, but not with passerbys, or even with other zombies, but with some unseen spectre! I have occasionally seen a zombie shambling behind its canine charge while it loudly chatters away despite being entirely alone on the street. With what is it communing?  

How did these zombies come to be? My first theory was a contagion. I suspected that the mere act of owning a dog spread some sort of zombifying virus from the dog to the owner, one that only became active during the hot and humid summer months. But I quickly dismissed such a pathological explanation. To see so many of my neighbors reduced to such a pitiful state, I was convinced something darker was at work.  Something as dark as the sun.

We don't often think of the sun as dark, but it is.  Of course, it doesn't appear dark, but it does have sunspots as black as night on its surface. While astronomers would be quick to point out that sunspots only appear dark against the bright photosphere of the sun, I suspect the truth is that sunspots are windows to the dark soul of the sun.  It must always be remembered that the heat of the sun kills more people on this planet in any given year than all the other weather phenomena combined, including the coldest of cold winters. 

Did you think it was a mere coincidence that the Aztecs worshipped the sun? In their mythology, the sun was the god Huitzilopochtli, a deity linked with warfare, conquest, and the practice of human sacrifice.  

Are you seeing where I am going with this?

This is the true origin of the zombie dog walkers of summer.  It isn't something as mundane as RNA in search of a cellular host.  This summertime blight is part of a plan of conquest implemented by the Father of Summer Lies.  It is the sun at work in all its malevolence. 

Their skin desicated by UV rays - another deadly gift from Tyrant Sol! - their minds baked to drooling obedience, and their free will crushed by an endless barrage of summertime ads bought and paid for by Big Sun, the zombie dog walkers of summer are the spearhead of an army of cultists hellbent on assuring that only their master's creation, summer, is to be worshiped, all other seasons be damned. They are the solar shock troops.

But what about the dogs, the sine qua non of the eternal Huitzilopochtli's searing plan?

At first, I suspected that they were mere props for the zombies.  However, I now suspect something else, something more sinister. The dogs are four-legged sunspots, the eyes and ears of the sun itself. Did you think it was mere happenstance that many dogs are named 'Spot'? No!  They are the sun's familiars; biological surveillance devices sent out into suburbia to identify the defiant shut-ins who spur the witchcraft of the Fiery Orb. The zombie leashholders are concessions to the reality that dogs can't talk, a hindrance to dealing with the inevitable confrontation with a chatty jogger or what-have-you without raising suspicions.  I also suspect that the dogs act as some sort of antennae, relaying specific orders to their zombie handlers. These are, most likely, simple commands, such as which part of the neighborhood to target, which path to take, et cetera.  This explains the occasional nonsensical chattering I have observed. It is the zombie acknowledging the order or, due to his state of imbecility, asking endless questions and requesting many clarifications for even the simplest of directives. 

It must never be forgotten that the dogs are the real masters, with the human zombies merely facilitators of their evil sun-god's master plan. Dogs are not man's best friend.  They are the sun's. 

That is the dreadful truth behind the origin of the zombie dog walkers of summer.  I tell you this as I huddle in my study, the shades drawn down tight to block the light of the sun from penetrating my inner sanctum. My cat and I know the truth. Now you know, too. We will never submit to the zombie dog walkers of summer. Will you?