little barker By Kathryn Lee
O
n November 3, 1957, Soviet scientists launched the second artificial satellite into space — Sputnik 2. For the first time, a passenger would be on board: a small black-and-white dog named Laika.1 Laika’s origins are undocumented. She was a stray from the streets of Moscow, chosen because scientists believed her experience fending for herself prepared her for harsh space conditions. She was plucked from one hard life to an even harder one — one that few humans, let alone dogs, would imagine possible for themselves. Tetherless, loveless Laika had no name before she encountered the scientists, and they were equally at a loss for what to call her. They experimented: with names like Kudryavka, “little curly”; Limonchik, “little lemon”; Damka, “little lady.” These names stretch only as far as interpreters’ imagination, and died with some of the Sputnik scientists who knew Laika as they brushed their fingers over her downy coat and coaxed her into trusting them. But it is not hard to imagine that a little dog with onyx eyes, like little shining pearls of black, could have encompassed being curly, like a lemon and like a lady all at once. The scientists eventually settled on an intensely practical name: Laika, literally, “barker.” Gone was the timid affection of “little curly,” “little lemon,” “little lady.” This was a dog, an animal, a soon-to-be dead one at that, though Laika hardly knew it herself. After being scooped from the icy streets and placed under the scrutiny of dozens of men and women, what did she think? Was she grateful to be petted — was she petted? Was she confused — or did she luxuriate in the attention? Did her ears perk up at the sound of footsteps — did she whine at people to play with her, did she sleep on her side or on her stomach? Dogs in the flight program were spun in centrifuges and fed food in jelly form2 to prepare them for conditions in outer space. While there were many dogs in the program, scientists decided who would board Sputnik 2 less than two weeks before takeoff. Albina, another dog in the program, was rumored to have outperformed Laika in tests3, but had recently given birth. Her name is not the one that children around the world, slumped in hard plastic chairs in front of blackboards, learn. Albina’s handlers were too attached to let her go. Laika had no such defenders. So she — two years old, black-and-white, stray from Moscow, curly, little lemon, little lady — was chosen for the mission that would immortalize her. Civilians updated on the Sputnik 2 project — Soviet and otherwise — agonized over her survival. The Los Angeles Times reported that Laika would be fed poisoned food after orbiting for a week and die painlessly. It was important that Laika, floating thousands of miles above anyone that had ever known her, pass without suffering.
https://www.newyorker.com/tech/annals-of-technology/remembering-laika-space-dog-and-soviet-hero https://www.britannica.com/topic/Laika 3 https://www.smithsonianmag.com/smithsonian-institution/sad-story-laika-space-dog-and-her-one-way-trip-orbit-1-180968728/ 1
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4 ASIAN OUTLOOK
