A dog is a pitiful thing, depending wholly on companionship, and

Host: The dawn had not yet broken. A thin veil of mist curled over the riverbank, where the trees stood like silent sentinels. Somewhere in the distance, a dog’s howl split the cold air, its sound echoing off the empty warehouses by the water. The city was asleep, but the world felt awake — watching, breathing, listening.

On an old pier, two figures stood. Jack, tall and still, his hands buried deep in his coat pockets, stared at the rippling reflection of the moon. Beside him, Jeeny, her dark hair glistening with the fine dew, watched a stray dog pacing by the shore, its ribs visible beneath a thin coat of fur.

Jeeny: “Listen to that cry, Jack. Lovecraft called it a ‘pitiful thing’ — a dog without companionship, lost except by its master’s side. I think he was really talking about us.”

Jack: “About us? No, Jeeny. He was talking about weakness. About what happens when a creature forgets how to stand on its own. That dog doesn’t need pity. It needs strength — the kind that comes when you learn to survive alone.”

Host: The dog stopped, lifted its head, and stared at them. Its eyes, two pale orbs, reflected the moonlight like fragments of glass. The wind shifted, carrying the smell of iron and wet wood.

Jeeny: “You call that strength? Isolation isn’t power, Jack. It’s starvation of the soul. Look at him — he’s searching for a heartbeat, a voice, any sign that he’s not alone. Isn’t that what we all do, beneath our pride?”

Jack: “You romanticize dependence. That’s the problem. People cling to others to avoid facing what they are when the lights go out. Solitude is a mirror, Jeeny. Most people just don’t like what they see.”

Jeeny: “Maybe they don’t like it because no one taught them how to look with kindness.”

Host: The river murmured, the surface shivering beneath the faint touch of wind. A train horn wailed across the water, a lonely note that faded into the mist.

Jack: “Kindness doesn’t keep you alive. Look at history — civilizations rose and fell because people depended too much on each other. The moment the pack scattered, they starved. The dog without a master — he’s the image of man without faith, without order. Lovecraft understood that. Alone, we lose meaning.”

Jeeny: “No, Jack. Alone, we’re forced to create meaning. Lovecraft saw terror in solitude because he was afraid of what he found there. That’s why his worlds are filled with madness. But solitude isn’t madness — it’s an invitation.”

Jack: “Invitation to what? To hear your own heartbeat until it drives you insane?”

Jeeny: “No. To learn it’s still beating even when no one else listens.”

Host: A gust of wind rattled the rusted chains of the old dock posts. The dog crept closer, its paws leaving faint prints in the wet wood. It sniffed, hesitated, then sat, as if seeking permission to exist.

Jeeny: “Do you see how he waits? He doesn’t need a master — he needs connection. There’s a difference.”

Jack: “Connection is just another leash, Jeeny. You call it companionship, but it’s still control — invisible, maybe, but binding all the same.”

Jeeny: “Then tell me, Jack — why do you come here every morning, to this same pier, at the same hour? Don’t you realize that’s your own way of howling for something?”

Host: The words hung in the air, soft but cutting, like a blade drawn in moonlight. Jack’s face tightened, his jaw set. He turned from the water, his voice low.

Jack: “You think I come here because I’m lonely?”

Jeeny: “I think you come here because you can’t admit you are.”

Jack: “No. I come here because it’s the only place where the world doesn’t talk back. The river doesn’t judge. The wind doesn’t pretend to understand. Solitude is honest. People aren’t.”

Jeeny: “But that’s exactly why we need people — because they do misunderstand. Because they challenge us to speak, to reveal what we wouldn’t otherwise say. The dog barks not just from need, but from recognition — it knows there’s someone out there who can hear.”

Host: The dog lifted its head and barked once — a sharp, lonely sound that echoed across the riverbank. For a moment, both Jack and Jeeny fell silent, watching as the sound faded into the fog.

Jack: “He’ll wear himself out barking at ghosts.”

Jeeny: “Or maybe, somewhere, someone will answer.”

Host: The dog stood, trotted to the edge, and looked out across the dark water, as if expecting an answer from the void. The scene was both hopeless and sacred, the kind that lingers in the heart like a faint ache.

Jack: “You know, Lovecraft wasn’t wrong. The dog is pitiful — we all are. Depending on others to tell us who we are. Without them, we wander, bark, and wait for meaning. Maybe solitude doesn’t build us; maybe it reveals how fragile we’ve always been.”

Jeeny: “Maybe fragility isn’t weakness. Maybe it’s proof that we’re capable of needing something beyond ourselves. That’s what makes the dog’s howl beautiful — not its pain, but its faith that someone might hear.”

Jack: “Faith is a dangerous thing. It keeps the lost wandering in circles.”

Jeeny: “And yet, those circles keep them alive. It’s when the barking stops that death begins.”

Host: The sky began to lighten, a thin line of pale silver breaking along the horizon. The dog, as if sensing the coming dawn, lay down, its body curling into a small, shivering shadow. The mist parted, revealing the faint outlines of the city across the river, its towers like watchers awakening.

Jack: “So, you think companionship saves us?”

Jeeny: “No. I think companionship reminds us that we were never meant to be saved alone.”

Jack: “That sounds poetic. But what happens when the master dies? When the pack disappears?”

Jeeny: “Then you howl once more, not for help — but for memory. Because even in loss, the act of reaching out makes you human.”

Host: The first light of morning touched Jeeny’s face, her eyes reflecting the faint warmth of it. Jack watched her — the stubborn tenderness, the quiet defiance in her voice. Something in him softened, like ice beginning to crack beneath the sun.

Jack: “You always find the mercy in things.”

Jeeny: “And you always look for the flaw. Maybe that’s our pack, Jack — one to see the shadow, one to see the light.”

Host: He smiled, a rare, almost trembling gesture. The dog lifted its head, watched them for a moment longer, and then trotted off toward the trees, disappearing into the mist. Its bark did not return, only the quiet, rhythmic lapping of the river against the wood.

Jack: “Maybe we’re all just dogs by the river — barking into the fog, hoping someone’s listening.”

Jeeny: “Then let’s make sure we’re listening to each other, at least.”

Host: The sun finally broke, scattering gold across the water, turning the fog into a veil of light. The pier, once cold and silent, now glowed faintly, as if forgiven. Jack and Jeeny stood there, two small figures in the vast morning, their shadows stretching long and side by side — not masters, not strays, but simply companions against the void.