Having never previously witnessed a total solar eclipse, Gertie (the Permapup) was intrigued when she found out we were heading for Sullivan, Mo., on Aug. 21, 2017.
I had described to her how we would be directly in the swath where the moon would completely obscure the sun from shining on the Earth’s surface, and we would be in the “zone of totality.”
“So is the moon mad at the sun?” Gertie said.
“No, I think the two celestial bodies are getting along just fine,” I said. “I’m pretty sure God saw to it that they would have a pretty good working relationship.”
“So what’s the deal then?” Gertie said.
“I’m no scientist or math genius,” I said, “but it’s pretty much all about angles.”
“You mean like when my snout opens to about 45 degrees to allow a piece of chicken to enter my mouth, and then shuts down to about zero degrees when it’s inside?” Gertie said.
“Um, something like that,” I said. “It’s a bit more complex, but I guess that’s the general idea of an angle.”
The city of Sullivan was hosting one of dozens of “eclipse viewing” parties taking place around the state at its spacious fairgrounds. Me, a friend and one of my daughters arrived early and set up our day camp on a large grassy area, and then settled in to wait for more friends and relatives to arrive.
We ended up with about a dozen friends and family members in our group, and were among a crowd of about 500 at the Sullivan Fairgrounds by the time the moon vs. sun show began at about noon. At one point as we were all hanging out with excited anticipation, someone noticed a van parked nearby that was colorfully painted with radio station numbers and letters.
But there was no sound blaring or any sign of station employees.
“I’m surprised they’re not doing a live remote and playing nothing but sun and moon songs,” I said.
“Yeah,” Gertie said, “like ‘Sunshine on My Shoulders’ by John Denver, ‘Here Comes the Sun’ by the Beatles and ‘Seasons in the Sun’ by Terry Jacks.”
“Wow, you remember ‘Seasons in the Sun’?” I said.
“Yeah,” Gertie said, “and maybe ‘Bad Moon Rising’ by Credence Clearwater Revival, ‘Walking on the Moon’ by the Police and ‘Moon River’ by Frank Sinatra.”
“Wow, what are the odds?” I said. “Old Blue Eyes is on a Pembroke Welsh Corgi’s playlist.”
I pointed out that ‘Moon Shadow’ by Cat Stevens would absolutely have to be on the list.
“We’re about to spend some time in a moon shadow, you know,” I said.
“The guy’s cat is named Stevens?” Gertie said.
“It’s not Steven the cat or Steven’s cat,” I said. “It’s the name of a – oh, never mind.”
As the moon moved steadily into place in front of the sun, the neighborhood star began looking like a cookie with more and more bitten off. Our whole group, including the Permapup, donned solar glasses and stared skyward to take in the incredible sight.
“You know,” Gertie said, “the last total solar eclipse to affect the United States Lower 48 took place in February 1979.”
“Yes, I do know that,” I said. “I watched it in eastern Washington and it was downright awesome.”
“I think there was another in about 85,000 B.C.,” Gertie said. “Where did you and your pet saber tooth tiger watch that one from?”
“Very funny,” I said. “But we missed that one because a herd of mastodons was blocking the trail to the viewing party.”
“Old jokes never get old,” Gertie said. “Unless you’re old, I guess, because if you’re old, then it’s no fun being told you’re old, especially by someone who’s not old enough to be old.”
“Wow,” I said, “that’s, uh, pretty hard to argue with.”
As more and more of the sun went behind the Earth’s orbital companion, shadows of everything in the area took on eerie, irregular shapes – especially those of the people in our group. My wife, Wendy, likened their odd, spindly appearance to those weird, skinny things that blow up and down outside tire or cellular phone stores during promotions.
Gertie got into the spirit of the moment by flailing her paws and tail around.
“Look, I’m an octopus!” she said. “Now I’m a giant spider! Now I’m one of those weird looking guys on souvenirs from New Mexico!”
“Ha, you mean Kokopelli,” I said. “He’s a mythical Native American god of fertility and prankster who’s usually depicted playing a flute-like instrument.
“Anyway, that was nicely done, Ms. Shadow Dancer. May all your eclipses be this funny.”
“And may all your Kokopellis be Coco-Puffy,” Gertie said.
As the moon fully covered the sun at about 1:30 p.m., darkness ruled, stars and planets shone and the eclipse was total. The crowd literally clapped and cheered, and everyone took off their safety glasses to look at the sun’s corona with naked eyes as it ringed the moon’s dark silhouette.
“You know, Corona is very popular in both the U.S. and in Mexico where it’s made,” Gertie said.
“Uh, this isn’t about beer from south of the border,” I said. “The corona being referred to here is the part of the sun’s atmosphere that’s clearly visible right now. The sun is surrounded by layers of gases, and the corona is the outermost portion.”
“I know, I know,” Gertie said. “Corona is a Latin word that means ‘crown.’ And the temperature of the sun’s corona is several million degrees Celsius, which is way hotter than its surface, which is only about 6,000 Celsius.
“That’s a strange-but-true fact, but the sun’s outer atmosphere really is far hotter than its surface.”
“OK, now that’s the canine fountain of knowledge we’ve come to know and love,” I said.
“And the sun is a G-type main sequence star that is thought to be brighter than about 85 percent of the other stars in the Milky Way galaxy – most of which are red dwarfs,” Gertie said.
“Wow, there must have been some pretty ‘sunny’ days in Corgi school,” I said.
“Just sayin’,” Gertie said.
When totality was over and the whole process worked in reverse, everyone shared an overall feeling of awe and amazement. As we made our way home in the heavy freeway traffic, conversation was mainly about the heavenly spectacle we had just observed.
“That was as cool as I had hoped,” I said. “It’s interesting as heck that another total eclipse is going to pass over part of Missouri on April 8, 2024. Lord willing we’ll have to see that one, too.
“You know, not many Corgis have seen one total eclipse, let alone two.”
“Seven years, huh?” Gertie said. “Sounds doable.”
“Let’s hope so, girl,” I said. “I like the idea of taking in my third ‘once-in-a-lifetime’ event in one lifetime.”
“What are you, a cat now?” Gertie said. “That’s a lot of lifetimes.”
“No, I meant – oh, never mind,” I said.
Doug Davison is a writer, photographer and newsroom assistant for the Houston Herald. Gertie is a female Pembroke Welsh Corgi. Email Gertie at ddavison@houstonherald.com.
