Ruffyard: October glows with ritual, my friend – bonfires rising, sparklers swirling, fireworks painting the heavens. Humans marvel as the darkness blooms with light.
Doggins: And yet while they look upward, many of us shrink downward. The bangs are not music to our ears but thunder without clouds. My chest clenches, my paws tremble. For dogs like me, beauty above is terror within.
Ruffyard: Strange, isn’t it? The same sky that dazzles with wonder for them fills us with dread. Their laughter floats on the crackling air, while our silence hides under tables, in corners, and in quaking shadows.
Doggins: Still, I do not fault them. Traditions anchor the seasons – fires to gather round, stories to retell, sparks to remember. Humans need their rituals, as we need our pack. But must those rituals wound the hearts that beat beside them?
Ruffyard: A true pack does not forget the weakest tail. If joy for some means fear for others, the circle is broken. What kind of celebration leaves half its family shivering?
Doggins: There are gentler ways. Fireworks that whisper instead of roaring. Displays announced so no one is caught off guard. And most of all, a hand upon trembling fur, reminding us we are not alone.
Ruffyard: Perhaps traditions can change without losing their glow. Flames can warm without mimicking cannons. Sparklers can shine without sending shadows of fear across the floor. Community can sparkle with compassion as brightly as with fire.
Doggins: Yes. When every heart – two-legged and four-legged – can stand together in peace, then the night is whole.
Ruffyard: Let the sky glitter, let the fire burn. But let no soul be left trembling in its light.