Another fine day. If it keeps up like this the weather might give a person a reason to live.

Jan to physical therapy and Dot and me to the Dog Park. Just a few corrections that I have been asked to post: Oscar weighs about 29 pounds not the mere 14 that I had written. I’m sorry O. and stand corrected. The other correction is that Ted’s dog is a “Chocolate Doodle” named Laika. Again, my apologies.

Today we made friends, with Pat and Charlie. Pat was born and raised in Sitka and she moved from Sitka around 1977 and returned sometime later. Charlie is a two year old of very mixed heritage mostly Chihuahua along with some kind of terrier with a wiry coat. Charlie looks old because of his white muzzle and his reluctance to play at first but once induced Charlie is a blast and a half. Charlie and Pat live together without any other humans or dogs, and it was good to make their acquaintance.

The weather remained good all weekend. I mowed the lawn short on Saturday and friends came by for a distanced dinner and lawn games that evening. We ate out on the deck and played a golf game and Bocce. We ate enchiladas, and a greed salad, and drank fizzy water. We ate ice cream for desert. Which was delightful. I was wondering why humans don’t play more as dogs do? We are competitive and I suppose we do try and show our dominance both male and female that way even as we throw the clay balls. Jan is a classic trash talker. So too our friends. But what would our lives be like if we started off my licking the other players faces and nipping at their lips, then running away? Wrestling…rolling around… peeing on the edge of the field? Of course there would have to be some social manners or prohibitions applied to butt sniffing or mounting the more dominant player… but why really? It would certainly make for different kinds of parties, and different kinds of after party conversations while the hosts were doing the dishes. “I wonder what’s going on with Mark these day’s? He was acting a little more “friendly” towards you during the game, don’t you think?”

“Oh Sweetie, you know how he is…. when someone is in heat.”

When good weather comes in a string of days, no need to put the toys away.

I read up a little on the first Russian Space Dog on the web this weekend. Its such a sad story but also kind of an epic. Basically if I understand it correctly: on November 3, 1957 the Russians fired Sputnik 2 into space with the first big animal to go into space. They gathered up a stray dog and stuffed him into a rocket and shot him into space. They said the dogs name was Laika. The word “Laika” means “Barker” but it is also the name for a type of dog that pulls sleds in the Russian far North. It seems to me that there are several breeds of these Liaka’s. Which seems kind of lazy all around for naming the first living creature into space.

As you would expect when the Americans got the news that Russians had accomplished the feat of putting life into space (lets remember that the Russians had routinely kicked American ASS in the early stages of the space race) the American’s issued a statement saying that they had sent “fruit flies into the upper reaches of the atmosphere, or sub-space in 1947” as if that was going to pee all over the Russians space boots? Which you have to admit is pretty pathetic for a Superpower. Fruit flies, almost in space? Come on just suck it up. Laika fucking RULES… admit it.

But the Soviets didn’t make the most of their hero dog. I mean, just start with the name. I imagine they just sent some guy out at the last minute, “You… Yuri… find me a dog! Quickski! He comes back with some mutt and they start stuffing him in the rocket. “Comrade, what should we call him? He will be famous when he comes back!”

Awkward Silence and someone covers the dogs ears.

“Ahh listen he doesn’t need a name. He’s not coming back. If he doesn’t blow up on lift off he’s going to burn up in space. We’re not telling anybody that we are a nation of dog killers. Jesus H. Christ. We’re just seeing if we can do this and the odds are really, I mean really low… no body ever needs to know about the dog.”

Communists… man, I tell ya.

“Boss, we got to call him something even just for our records.”

“Jesus. Fine. Call him “Barker".”

“Come on, Boss. That’s not even a name. That’s like a description.”

“Like the description of your new home in Siberia.”

“Okay seal it up boys. Let’s make some history!”

And they did. Telemetry showed that the stray dog’s heart was beating through lift off and during at least several orbits. The Russians went nuts and they had to brag about it to the world. Then they realized that they had to admit that they hadn’t designed any kind of re-entry system. They said that Laika was fine and died “Painlessly after a week in orbit with no discomfort after his capsule overheated”… which I think is a load of crap. After the cold war some communications leaked indicating that Laika probably died “two or three hours” after achieving orbit from stress related to temperature and lack of oxygen. But specific cause of death not known for sure." Official cause of death is still listed after four days from heat build up in the cabin. Still… it was a Raw Deal for Laika the greatest public relations coup the USSR ever had. I mean if you were going to lie anyway, I would have told the world that Laika died parachuting down onto Washington DC to assasinate President Eisenhower, with a knife in her mouth and Laika inadvertently swallowed it upon landing. Or something heroic sounding like that.

What we do know for sure is that Sputnik 2 stayed in space for 162 days and it’s reported that it was seen burning into the atmosphere over New York City and its charred remains came to earth somewhere in the Amazon Jungle. God bless her sweet proletarian heart.

The Space Race was a big deal for our country. Our current President wants to claim space, I guess all of it, for the United States. Space Force is just an Idea now. But I don’t know. My mother used to say that if Americans were asked to send their Pets into battle rather than their sons. That would be the end of war. I tend to agree. But in hind sight, the space race was mostly a blessed distraction from nuclear holocaust. It was a game to keep the violent children busy. The remnants are just the toys strewn out on the lawn.

In that spirit if we are to actually have a space force I would want to have the official patch on all uniforms have a picture of Laika on it with twin golf clubs crossed behind her…. and when the space cops get all dressed up and just as they are shot up into the heavens, they should be heard, barking and howling at the top of their lungs, in respect to the great stray Pioneer of Exploration.

Dark skies, salted stars

I am howling at the moon,

because I love you.

jhs

Here is a recording of me reading the first chapter of Walter Mosley’s Black Betty: