“Quite a haul today, comrade!” The animal control officer received the clever retort with meek aplomb, as
he unloaded his catch of two male and one female mongrel dogs. Such was a typical day’s haul from the
streets of Moscow. The capital city of Russia experiences some of the widest extremes of temperature
changes in the world, and a stray mutt must adapt or face a bleak demise. Such appeared to apply to the
crew brought in today, since the oldest of the lot was a female cur of estimated two to four years of age.
Even Soviet Russia had its humane society, and animal control was very busy year-round. It is believed
among those that study such things that it was the Russians who initially managed to domesticate the dog.
Breeding wild dogs and foxes for their luxuriant fur had produced several varieties of mild-mannered
dogs. Many thousands of these had escaped their breeding facilities and now inhabited the slums of large
cities like Moscow and Leningrad and Stalingrad.
The Russians had found that handling wild dogs and foxes came with much risk to life and limb, so they had
managed to breed out some of the “wildness” by encouraging mating among the tamer of the breeds. The
resultant progeny produced a variant of mottled furs and tamer dogs. After many thousands of years of
breeding dogs for their fur, the Russians now found their cities inundated with escaped, abandoned, and
otherwise unwanted strays, and so it was the animal control officers’ duties to gather these in.
Soviet Russia had their animal shelters also. To be sure, during the early 20th century, Russia was
relatively poor, so permanent housing for these vagabonds could not be provided, so many if not most of
these waifs ended up succumbing to the deed, the dreaded needle. But occasionally one would be
adopted or otherwise found to have some use, and such it was for the female of the group that on this
particular day she received a special visit.
Two gentlemen dressed in typical Russian garb made a visit to the local pound and inquired about any
strays that had been recently captured, which may have the appearance of hardiness and strength. It so
happened that the men took the female and one of the males, and having made a token donation to the
society left with their prize.
Much training was in store for the two, which were gathered with a few others of their lot, where many
weeks and months of rigorous training lay ahead. There was a mission – a special mission, which required
the services of a dog. Not just any dog would do, no, a dog of special character, one that had stamina and a
capacity to learn was needed for a very risky, dangerous, and secretive mission. We all know how
secretive the Soviet machine was during the Cold War era, but this particular mission was to become so
classified that most of the knowledge of what was involved with this mission has only come to light within
the past year or so.
The Soviets had need of a dog – a dog of inordinate stamina in the face of temperature extremes and
deprivation of food. The Russians had an urgent need for such a dog, if one could be found. The dog must
have a very even temperament; must not be skiddish or otherwise scare easily; must be gentle around
humans; intelligent enough to learn; strong enough to endure hardship; and brave enough not to cower in
the face of the unknown.
So the Russians settled upon the female of the lot. She passed the training and in time fulfilled her
mission, a mission which took place more than 50 years ago. Recently, in April of 2008, the Russians finally
acknowledged the bravery and selflessness of this stray, taken from the streets of Moscow, by erecting a
monument in her memory. Who was she? What was her name? And what was this most secretive and
dangerous mission, so classified that it is only within the past year that we are allowed to know of its
particulars? The name given to her at the time of her mission was Laika, which in Russian means, “the dog
that barked.”
Today I would like to pay homage to an abandoned and unwanted stray named Laika. She was eventually
captured from the streets of Moscow, and from there entered the employ of the Soviet Space program.
Laika became the first living organism (aside from bacterial contaminants) to venture into orbit around the
earth. Laika was actually aboard Sputnik II, which went into space in November of 1957. Sadly, Laika would
not survive the full duration of the flight, but enough precious data was gathered from sensors attached to
her body, that it was deemed likely that a man could survive the launch into space and even beyond.
Laika eventually did receive recognition, however, in the form of a monument that 50 years subsequent to
her death was erected and dedicated to her memory.
Through all the years of orbital space flight that have passed, and among all of the world’s various
countries who participate in this activity, with all of the firsts and accomplishments and accolades earned,
and among all the many creatures who have participated and been a part of space flight and actually
ventured into space – the mice and the chimpanzees and the dogs and the humans, it remains a singular
distinction that it was none of these – no, it was …, well, it remained to a dog – a vagabond stray, an
abandoned and unwanted mongrel, an unremarkable and otherwise undistinguished cur to be the very first
one to do so.
| The Dog That Barked Daniel Taylor |