My wife and I had arrived at a prime viewing place – near the temple, the football pitch and the harbour. Zigzagging, we reached the crowd’s front row and gazed upward expectantly. Unauthorized fireworks are illegal in Hong Kong, yet Lamma launches each New Year with an impressive pyrotechnic display. Discrete police officers stay away.

We’d locked our family dog safely indoors. Most canines detest the tumultuous noises of the Chinese New Year holidays. Fireworks make our dog cower and tremble, even when hugged or petted reassuringly.

Folks at the Lamma Animal Welfare Centre had posted notices: “Every year dogs and cats get frightened by fireworks, run off and are never seen again. Please make sure that this doesn’t happen this year to your pets! Keep them securely indoors during the festivities.”

As expected, the fireworks erupted in glorious brightness and near-deafening noise. Firecrackers exploded. Smoke wafted. Yet in front of the crowd, his head tilted to the sky, stood a furry, brown dog. Although recognizing the animal as one who wanders freely in the village, I knew neither his name, nor owner.

Several times, the dog turned slightly, craning to view the show. Even when a chain of firecrackers erupted near enough to blast red wrappings at him, the dog never flinched. Evidently, no one enjoyed the festivities more. Amid the noise, I (almost) heard him thinking: “Jolly good show!”

Dogs on distant rooftops and balconies howled in fearful protest. Yet this silent fireworks-fan held his position, hoping for more, long after the human spectactors had strolled away.

Again, I (maybe) deciphered the dog’s thoughts: “Encore, encore!"


The dog looks for another sky show.

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