The Dog Days of Summer are Not Over

Author's preface: If you think you know where this story is going, I promise you do not. I urge you to give it a chance and stick with it all the way to the end. It is a bit of a long slog and may test your patience, but I think you will find it worth the effort. No matter how you feel about the ending I guarantee you will feel something.

The dog days or dog days of summer are the hot, sultry days of summer. Historically, they were the period following the heliacal rising of the star system Sirius (known colloquially as the "Dog Star"). In Hellenistic astrology this system is connected with heat, drought, sudden thunderstorms, lethargy, fever, mad dogs, and bad luck.

Curt had finished his work for the day early for once, and finally had a chance to pull back the curtains on the ocean facing window of the small room where he spent a good portion of most days when he was home. Unfortunately, these days, that was less often than he would have liked. His job called for a mix of travel and remote work, and in recent months, had leaned very heavily in the travel direction. However, when he was home, the room served as his office. He had learned shortly after moving in that if he did not close the curtains tightly each morning before the sun rose, the sight of the beach and ocean, which sat only one hundred yards or so away from the house, were simply too distracting for him to get anything done. As a consequence, most days he worked in very dim light and when he pulled back the blue velvety curtains the brightness that instantly illuminated everything momentarily blinded him, and caused him to sneeze several times. Curt had realized from a young age that the sun would often make him sneeze, especially when emerging from a very dark environment into a sunlit space. He had found it strange enough to warrant spending a bit of time looking into the condition. A quick internet search revealed that, like an estimated 10 to 35 percent of the population, he had a seemingly harmless disorder called “photic sneeze reflex.” The article he had found on the condition cited the ancient Greek philosopher Aristotle as the first to reference the phenomenon during the fourth century B.C., but it wasn’t until the mid-1950's that scientists described it in the medical literature. He had spent long hours pondering the evolutionary significance of such a condition, what survival advantage it might bring, and could think of none. If anything, it would seem to be a disadvantage. In his head he imagined an ancient pre-human running quickly but quietly to evade a large predator in a dark cave, suddenly bursting from the mouth of the cave into the sunlight thinking to have found his freedom, only to let loose with several loud sneezes, immediately giving away his position and being eaten for his troubles. Given this seemingly very large problem from a survival perspective, he thought it very odd that the condition hadn’t been weeded out over the millennia. As a research scientist Curt's brain was generally pre-disposed to scientific explanations for natural phenomena. However, in this case he had failed to find a satisfactory evolutionary explanation, and it bothered him more than a little bit. He reminded himself that just because no explanation had yet been found, that did not mean there was none to be found, and was confident that someday, someone would crack the mystery of the photic sneeze reflex. As he gazed out the window, he laughed quietly at his train of thought and the images in his mind. First the prehistoric man killed for his sneezes, then a future Nobel awards ceremony where the prize is awarded to an outstanding young doctor for his contributions to solving the mystery of the origins of the photic sneeze reflex.

Curt's mind often moved in strange directions, jumping from topic to topic rapidly, and proceeding in a mostly non-linear direction from beginning to end, or end to beginning, or middle to end, or any combination thereof. His speech followed a similar pattern and when he did talk, which was not all that often, he spoke very quickly in a disjointed and seemingly haphazard fashion. Others, found his mode of thinking and speaking disconcerting and difficult to follow which is probably one of the reasons he had so few close friends. He could count them on one hand actually. But he had the love of his life; his wife Anne, and the other loves of his life, or so Anne would say, his two dogs, both gifts from Anne as puppies, the shepherds Mynos and Mythos. He was happy, basically content, and so very grateful for them all.

His eyes had finally adjusted to the bright sunlight and he was able to gaze out the window without squinting. About 75 yards below him, at the base of the cliff face upon which his house sat, he could see the bright white sand of the beach, and beyond that, the ocean which expanded out into the seemingly infinite distance. He cracked the window just a hair and fresh, salt scented air rushed in, along with the sounds of the waves crashing upon the shoreline. It thrummed in his ears with a rhythmic intensity he found mostly soothing. Sometimes however, at night, when he lay in bed struggling to fall asleep, the constant noise would become almost too much for him to bear. His brain would find patterns buried deep within the sounds of the waves, and he would hear strange voices. The voices; he thought they sounded like announcers, spoke in the cadence of old-timey radio broadcasts, like the kind that were common in the days before television. What they actually said was never quite intelligible, but along with them he could hear cheering crowds. The rising and ebbing excitement evident in the announcers' voices synced perfectly with the roar of the crowd. Taken together, it gave the impression that he was listening in on a radio broadcast of a sporting event, like a football game or boxing match, from the 1950s. Whenever this got particularly bad he would complain to Anne that he wished the ocean would "shut the hell up for once" so he could get some peace and quiet. Hearing this she would never fail to remind him of the fact that people actually spent money for recordings of ocean sounds to help them fall asleep. "And you are going to complain about it. You are impossible sometimes, baby," as she spoke, she would look directly at him and smile and laugh in that enchanting and beguiling way only she could. At that moment he missed her very badly and it reminded him that he owed her a phone call, and also that she would not be back home until the day after tomorrow which just then felt like the far distant future. For now, however, he had decided to take advantage of his shortened work day, the beautiful weather, and Anne's absence to do something he very much loved, taking his two shepherds Mynos and Mythos to the beach for some much-needed R&R.

The dogs loved the beach almost as much or more than he did and he figured they all could use a bit of exercise and time out of the house in the fresh sea air, under the pleasantly warm afternoon sun. The German shepherd Mynos in particular was a certified beach fanatic mostly because it was one of the places she knew she was sure to get a good dose of her favorite activity, frisbee. She was nuts, insane really, about frisbee, and had been since she was old enough to run. Even the sight of a frisbee would cause her eyes to light up, her mouth to drop open in a pant, and her tail to waggle furiously in excitement and anticipation. Curt thought that if it were a propeller, she would fly hundreds of feet in the air given the intensity with which it swung back and forth, and up and down. The dog would get so worked up that Curt had to keep any frisbees hidden from sight until only the moment before he was ready to actually throw one, lest she become so excited and unruly as to be almost unmanageable. For the most part she was very well trained and obedient, mostly thanks to Anne's strictness and patient oversight, but much of that went out the window where frisbees were concerned. To Anne's everlasting dismay Curt was far more lenient with the three-year-old Mynos, and Mythos their four-year-old Anatolian, than she would ever tolerate. Constantly she chastised him for his own shortcomings with respect to the dog's behavior. He liked to joke that he got as much punishment about not punishing the dogs then they ever got from either of them. But the ribbings she gave him about the dogs were (almost) always good natured and delivered with the best of intentions, and he tried very hard to follow her advice. As much as it pained him to admit, she was more often right than wrong, and he did have a soft streak in him, especially when it came to the dogs, that they never failed to use to their advantage.

Like himself, they knew Anne had no such weakness, and in fact, could be very hard, sometimes too hard in Curt's estimation, on both the dogs, himself, herself, and everyone else. There was a coldness in Anne that he feared, and he would often chastise her for a lack of empathy or sympathy. Even though it scared him, he envied her ability to take and deliver pain without complaint or concern. He liked to say that she would have made a very good torturer as other people's pain had little effect on her, and if she felt they deserved it, there was even a certain joy she took in it. This aspect of her personality was the one thing about her that Curt would never understand and worked tirelessly to suppress. He felt it was one of his duties as her husband, but also as a human being, to remind her just how dangerous that way of thinking and (not) feeling about others could become. That said he could not argue that it had served her well in her chosen career path, and given her the strength to make it through a very difficult childhood, and become the wonderful woman he knew and loved today. In the end their contrasting styles averaged out to a fairness that everyone, dogs included, seemed content with, and had resulted in a mostly happy marriage and two still young but basically well behaved and fun dogs, one of which loved frisbee more than anything else in the world.

In contrast to the hyperactive, frisbee loving German Shepherd Mynos, Mythos was the picture of reserve and calm. He was a big dog, very big. Anatolian shepherds, also known as Kangals, are one of the oldest, arguably the oldest, dog breed in the world, and are legendary for their size, strength, and power. They have the most powerful bite force of all dogs, ten times that of a pit bull, and can crush bone like candy with their powerful jaws. Curt had once seen Mythos reduce a two-foot pig femur to a powdery dust in under two minutes, with seemingly very little effort, so he knew that what was said about them was no hyperbole. Their size and strength served them well historically and they found uses in war, but mostly in times of peace, as livestock guardians protecting flocks of sheeps on the Anatolian plains from large predatory cats and hyena. Having seen what Mythos was capable of, he knew it would be folly for any but the biggest and strongest of predators to test a Kangal in one-on-one combat, and by and large they do not, though they will sometimes work in packs to distract and harry individual Kangals while others sneak in behind to carry away their kills. Despite their size and strength, they are the epitome of gentle giants and generally have a friendly disposition. Mythos was wonderful with other people, especially children, and had a gentleness of character that was very out of sync with his appearance. Unfortunately, that appearance was so fearsome that most people's first instinct was to shy away, turn from him, or, if they had any, quickly hustle their children aside. Whenever this would happen and Mythos noticed, the look on the dog's face, and the puzzlement and hurt evident in his eyes, would cause Curt's heart to break. Mythos had a repertoire of facial expressions that was as expansive or more so than any human Curt knew. Those expressions were a direct reflection of the dog's emotional state and always available at the surface, and, if one knew what to look for, ready to be interpreted. It was exactly like a language, but a language based entirely on visual cues, without sound. A language for the deaf, but without the overt and obvious symbols and gestures of human sign language. And, rather than communicated primarily by movements of the arms and hands, it was communicated almost entirely by the eyes and face, and partly by the tail and body. Curt had learned, or felt that he had learned, through years of close observation, to see the dogs mind, his emotions and thoughts, in real time. As they moved through his brain, they were projected onto his face like waves of water projecting on the surface of the ocean. Like ocean waves they were slippery and elastic and constantly ebbing and flowing, but also regular and repeating. They crashed upon Mythos' face just like the waves that crashed upon the beach at the base of cliff not more than a hundred yards from where Curt stood staring absentmindedly out his office window.

Curt had owned and been around many dogs in his life. In his estimation, most of them were of average intelligence, some above average, and a very few, way above average, but none could hold a candle to Mythos in that regard. Kangals are known for their intelligence, and are said to be capable of understanding at least 500 words and likely many more. He felt however that one statistic did little to convey the true depths of their abilities when it came to understanding and communicating with any human they deemed worthy of the effort. Mostly he thought Mythos communicated a sort of bemused disdain. He was a lot like a cat in that way. He knew his place and he knew yours, and his was always just a notch higher. Strangely, unlike every other dog Curt had ever known, Mythos' behavior did not fit with traditional dog pack hierarchy or whatever other dog in the wild theory of behavior is commonly said to apply to dogs as pets. This was as baffling to other dogs as it was to most humans. Mynos never really knew her place vis a vis the big dog, sometimes he would behave as if she were alpha showing her ultimate deference and respect, other times he would dominate relentlessly and mercilessly. Curt thought he really did not give a shit. Pack hierarchy was not a concept that was a concern for him. He smiled as he imagined a meeting between Mythos and Cesar Milan, the famous dog whisperer and evangelist for the dog pack hierarchy theory of pet dog behavior. That was something he would pay money to see and was willing to bet serious money such a meeting would not end well for Mr. Milan. Curt's smile became a chuckle then a laugh as he pictured Cesar Milan storming out of his house cursing Mythos and vowing to "never, ever, work with a so-called dog like that again."

Finally, Curt had gathered up what he needed for his day at the beach with the dogs, including three of Mynos' favorite frisbees, a small portable bowl for dog water, and his day pack which held water for both himself and the dogs. He leashed both animals and together they walked out of the house towards Curt's beat up but still (just barely) running truck. The two dogs piled in the back seat as soon as Curt opened the door, Mynos jumping right up and over the bigger Mythos' back in her excitement. Her tail was waggling furiously as was usual whenever a chance at frisbee was clearly in the near future. Mythos barely noticed the intrusion on his personal space and, in contrast to the excited Mynos, ambled slowly to the door, hopped up with what appeared to be a great effort and sat quietly waiting for Curt to get in the driver seat and start the truck. Mythos's expressive face was a good match for his acting abilities, which were always on full display wherever physical effort was concerned. He had a way of making the simplest of physical movements, like jumping up a mere six inches into the backseat of a car, seem like a Herculean task. Once Curt had tried to put a sled dog harness on Mythos thinking he would get him to help haul rocks up off of the beach, a task which required ascending a roughly 200 yard heavily inclined dirt hill. Curt liked to polish the beach rocks and use them for various creative projects around the house. After much struggling and cursing he finally managed to get the harness attached to the dog, added just a few rocks to the sled, maybe 20 lbs worth, and tried to lead Mythos up the hill, pulling this small load. Mythos took four steps, decided he did not like the job, and promptly sat down, staring at Curt with a look that said, over my dead body. He tried coaxing the dog with treats, commanding with raised voice, pulling, pushing, even demonstrated how to pull the sled himself. In the end he only managed to get Mythos to lie down in the dirt, a position from which he then refused to rise. Anne called Mythos lazy and constantly berated the dog for it. She liked to say, mostly but not totally jokingly, that he was a working dog on welfare and would never work a day in his life. Despite the appropriate and amusing metaphor, in Curt's estimation his wife was only partly right. Mythos's laziness was not like that of the much maligned and stereotyped lazy welfare recipient who sits around his house rather than work because it easier than having to get up and go to a job at 8am each day. He just can't be bothered to put in the effort, because he lacks the will to do so. In contrast, Mythos's 'laziness' was all about will, his will being stronger than yours, or at least stronger than Curt's. Once he decided he was not going to do a thing, he was not going to do it, and he dared you to try and do something about it.

Curt had never much cared for frisbee. Even in college when a group of his friends had become enamored with frisbee golf he always took a pass whenever they asked him to join. He just did not see the point. Frisbee seemed to be a whole lot of effort, mostly in the going someplace to play, for very little gain. It was not challenging mentally or physically to throw or catch and he found it really rather boring. However, in spite of that, for reasons he never fully understood, he had always wanted a frisbee playing dog, and with Mynos his long-held dream had finally come to pass. In contrast to the naturally gifted Mynos, Curt had never been very good at frisbee. Eventually he came to realize that was probably the real reason he did not like it very much, but after playing up to five times a week with the dog he had gotten quite skilled, at least at the throwing part. His frisbee catching skills never had a chance to develop since, no matter how much he might wish it, he could never quite figure out how to get Mynos to throw it back to him. Mynos was a naturally gifted frisbee player from the first time he threw one in her general direction. She was so good that it seemed to be an inborn talent. Almost like frisbee playing was in her genes, had been selected for over eons of evolution. Of course, he knew that was not possible, frisbee being only a fairly recent invention of man, but it was uncanny really just how good she was. Over time Curt had come to develop a feel for the throw and knew each time he released it exactly how far it would go, how high, or how low, or what direction. He knew how to use the wind to make it fly higher or further and to make catches more challenging for Mynos. But, no matter how hard he tried to make it for the dog, he was continually amazed at how little effort it seemed to take on her part to run down just about any throw he could make. She loved to showboat too, especially for an audience. Whenever people or other dogs were around Mynos took her game to the next level and never failed to make a spectacular jumping and twisting catch four feet off the ground. He swore she would strut after making a particularly acrobatic catch, running back and forth showing that she had the frisbee in her powerful jaws to anyone who happened to be near, exactly like an NFL receiver showboating to the crowd after making a spectacular diving catch in the endzone.

They made the short drive to the beach without incident and the two dogs decamped from the car in a similar manner as they had entered. Mynos leaping over Mythos in her excitement, Mythos slowly, torturously, lumbering down from the seat to the ground. As was usual, neither dog had waited for a command from Curt before moving to exit, and he berated them both for their insolence, thinking Anne would be quite proud of his commitment to civil behavior. Neither dog seemed all that concerned by his tongue lashing and all three quickly forgot about the whole incident as Curt led them by their leashes down the long dirt ramp to the beach. In reality it was Mynos that led them all down the ramp, pulling at her leash excitedly knowing that she was only moments from her most favorite activity in the world. The beach was semi private and generally sparsely populated. Today was no exception and there was not another soul in sight. Curt let Mynos off her leash as soon as they reached the bottom of the ramp and she immediately began running in tight circles around him and Mythos, kicking up sand as she went. He knew he would have to throw the frisbee at least once before he could focus on releasing the big guy from his own leash so he quickly reached into his bag and let the frisbee fly as far as he could manage. He did not even look to see if Mynos managed to make the catch, though almost certainly she did, before turning to unhook Mythos from his leash. Once free, Mythos ambled slowly away and sniffed absentmindedly at a recently dead bird, one of three Curt saw, then slowly followed Curt as he walked away up the beach in the direction of his frisbee throw. He tossed the frisbee to Mynos twice more and she made two spectacular flying grabs, and had just let fly a third throw when he noticed the sudden change in the weather.

In the ten minutes Curt and his two dogs had been at the beach the weather had deteriorated rapidly. The temperature had dropped by at least five degrees and a dewy, thick mist had rolled in off the ocean which quickly enveloped the beach making visibility poor at best. The last frisbee Curt had released disappeared into the mist only moments after he made the long throw, and Mynos running full speed in its direction disappeared with it. A few seconds later Curt heard a loud yelp of pain from the direction Mynos had gone. Mythos had heard it too, and the dog emitted a growl so deep, fierce and vicious that it made his hairs stand on end. Even though he knew it had come from his best friend, at that moment, for just a split second, Curt feared for his own safety. Suddenly the big dog took off at full speed in the direction of Mynos. So fast was he that it caught Curt totally by surprise, and his brain barely had time to register the dog had begun to move before he too was lost in the mists. Mythos was always very protective of Mynos, as he was of Curt and Anne, but for his German Shepherd companion his protective instincts ran the deepest. If something, or heaven forbid, someone had hurt Mynos they were going to be in serious jeopardy. An angry Mythos was capable of just about anything, and it would take nothing less than an act of God to stop him. He took off after Mythos, running as fast as he could. Before he made it no more than ten yards he heard a loud snap, then another, then a cracking sound, and a barely audible squeal or cry, then more snaps and cracks, and then even more. By the time he had made it twenty yards he must have heard at least 50 or maybe even a hundred of these snapping sounds and soft squealing noises. Through it all he could hear Mythos growling and snarling loudly. He finally reached the two dogs and saw what it was that had produced those sounds. Before him lay a field of dead crabs, more than dead, they had been ripped to shreds, torn asunder by the anger crazed Mythos. Crab legs and claws and shell parts were strewn everywhere. As he watched, stunned into silence, he saw one crab make a break for the water only to have Mythos catch it up into his huge powerful jaws and crunch down, then shake his head back and forth crazily, the crab disintegrating in his mouth as he chewed and shook. Saliva ran down the dog's mouth and flew in all directions. Mynos sat off to the side watching him, her head bowed, tail down between her legs. She shook like a leaf, and was as scared as he had ever seen her. He moved to her quickly and wrapped her up in his arms whispering to her that it was OK, that she was going to be OK, that she was a good dog. She looked at him, licked his face and relaxed some, but remained nervous. Curt spent a few more moments talking softly to Mynos and checking her for any injuries, thankfully not finding anything serious. Her nose bled slightly from one side where it appeared one of the crabs had snapped with a claw, likely when Mynos attempted to retrieve her frisbee. Once he was satisfied she was not hurt or in any immediate danger he looked over his shoulder, scanning the area where he had last seen Mythos. The huge dog had finally calmed down as there were no more crabs alive anywhere in sight. He looked at Curt and Mynos and ambled slowly over to them. When he got within ten feet or so Curt stood and walked toward him. Mythos looked at him directly in the eyes and Curt saw there something like sadness or guilt and a wish for forgiveness, but still tinged with an edge of anger and madness. It melted Curt's heart and he ran to Mythos hugging him tightly, exactly as he had done with Mynos only moments earlier. He dropped down to his knees and held the big dog's head in his hands, looked at him directly and said "It's ok boy. It's ok. Mynos is fine, and you are fine, it's time to go home." That seemed to bring some relief to the pain he saw in Mythos's expressive face, the sadness and anger ebbed away like the tide, and in its place returned the happy, goofy, strangely calm and meditative look that was his everyday face. That look calmed Curt's nerves as well, and he quietly and quickly attached leashes to both dogs, and hustled them away from the horrific scene of death and destruction that Mythos has created in his rage. He did not want to be anywhere near if anyone from the neighborhood or local beach patrol showed up and started asking questions. He had no idea exactly what he would say to explain it. They saw no one on their return trek to the truck, likely they had the poor weather to thank for that, and within minutes they were all packed into the truck on their way home.

He spoke only briefly with Anne by phone that evening. He said very little about the day he had spent with the dogs at the beach only mentioning that it had been fun and relaxing. "Were they well behaved?" she asked him as she always did whenever they came up in conversation. "Of course honey" he lied, just a little, then added quickly "Well, mostly. Turns out Mythos is not a big fan of crabs" and laughed. She laughed at that "What on earth are you talking about dear? Crabs?" "Nothing honey, maybe I will tell you about it later." With that they both fell silent. After a few brief moments of mutual silence Curt mentioned that he had begun to feel a little under the weather shortly before hopping in the shower, but added quickly that he doubted it was anything serious and that she shouldn't worry and that he loved her more than anything in the world. "I love you too Curt. I love you so much. Please take care of yourself. Three of my people also called in sick this morning, so there could be something going around. Take it easy and rest. I love you sweetie. Goodnight." were the last words he heard from Anne before retiring to bed for the evening.

He slept fitfully that night. His joints ached as if he had run a marathon and he tossed and turned. If he dreamed, he did not remember them. When he awoke, he knew immediately that the sickness he had felt coming on yesterday was something more serious than he initially believed. In fact, he was sweating profusely and had chills. His bones ached and his head pounded. He laid back down and fell asleep again for about an hour before managing to drag himself out of bed and downstairs to the dog's sleeping area. It was strange that they had not been at his door waiting for him as they usually did, whining to be let outside. Their absence bothered him more than a little and he moved as quickly as he could manage through the house calling their names as he walked. When only silence greeted him and they did not come scrambling up the stairs as they normally would he was scared and his heart skipped a beat in fear. He reached the bottom of the stairs turned the corner quickly and saw both dogs laying still, totally motionless in their kennels. Their lips had pulled back away from their teeth and pools of blood and vomit could be seen around each dog's muzzle. The fur on their necks was frozen in a raised position, as if each had shared the same hallucination just before death. Their eyes were bloodshot as if they had been sprayed with tear gas. Both were clearly dead, having died sometime during the night seemingly without making much of a sound as he had not heard anything despite his fitful sleep. As he stood there stunned, he was blinded momentarily by a wave of agonizing pain in his stomach and felt his heart start to race, though he did not know whether it was from whatever illness he had picked up or his shock and horror at finding Mynos and Mythos lying lifelessly in their crates. As the pain momentarily subsided a tidal wave of nausea overcame him and he vomited with force, fully ejecting whatever scraps of food and liquid remained in his stomach from the yesterday and the night before. His head pounded and even the low level of light in the room burned his eyes like the light of a thousand suns. Squinting his eyes, he saw blood in the vomit and on his hands from where he had wiped them across his lips. His vision blurred and he grew dizzy and he fell down on his knees. He managed to shuffle his way on hands and knees dragging himself to the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror. Droplets of blood were pouring from both eyes and from his ears. A growing purple blotch was rapidly appearing on his stomach. With a crash, he fell to the floor, unable to stand. Contorting in agony he managed to begin dragging himself toward the remains of Mynos and Mythos. He knew he was dying, knew this would be his end, and his thoughts turned to Anne. "Oh baby, I am so sorry. I love you" he whispered to himself hoping, praying that somehow she might hear him. He knew there was little chance of that and so instead focused on his two beloved dogs. He wanted to be near them. Wanted to say he was sorry, and tell them how much he loved them, scratch them behind the ears and kiss them softly on the head. He made it almost to them before losing the last of his strength. "I love you buddies. I love you. I am sorry." were the last things he said before he passed out, face down on the floor, hemorrhaging from every orifice, just a few feet shy of the dog's kennels. Approximately five minutes later, he died of vascular collapse leading to multi organ system failure.

EPILOGUE

Mercifully Anne never learned of her own husband's death before she too succumbed to the virus that the papers were calling Hemorrhagic Avian Influenza (HAI). She died in her hotel room, alone. Her three sick employees never made it back to work, and neither did some ten million more globally who would die from the virus. The only species that suffered more were birds. Some two thirds of the global population of most bird species, including chickens, died over the course of the next 3 months. Along with Mynos and Mythos it is estimated that nearly half of all dogs along with twenty five percent of all cats, both wild and domestic died in the pandemic. A host of other mammals suffered tremendous losses as well. Strangely, cattle and pigs were not affected by the virus, a fact which likely saved the remaining humans from even more deaths that surely would have occurred from worldwide starvation. Curt and Anne had no children and all but two of their blood relatives died in the pandemic. Anne's sister Lisa-Anne Sylveson and one of Curt's two brothers, Thomas Franklin. Along with many of the dead, including both people and animals, Curt, Anne, Mynos and Mythos were all cremated, and their ashes entombed in cement in unmarked burial sites near where they died.