Into the Cosmos Page 22
mise had been painless. They announced that developing a way to return
space capsules to Earth safely was now a top priority and indicated that
many more dogs would fly in space before the first human was sent.36
Laika’s satellite, which American reporters had dubbed a “rocket-shaped
dog house,” remained aloft until April 15, 1958, when its decaying orbit
caused it to reenter Earth’s atmosphere and incinerate. Although other
dogs would perish in the quest to make space travel a reality for humans,
Laika was the only one deliberately sent to her death.
Over the next two years dogs remained central to Soviet efforts to
master space, with work proceeding along two fronts. Scientists resumed
vertical launches into the upper atmosphere using dogs to gather data
about the effects of weightlessness, radiation, g-forces, and extreme tem-
peratures on living organisms. Engineers continued to design larger ve-
hicles for orbital deployment and develop insulation and braking mecha-
nisms that would make the safe return of these crafts possible. In August
1958, Belianka (Whitey) and Pestraia (Spotty) survived a suborbital flight
that carried them nearly three hundred miles above the Earth. Like Laika,
the dogs underwent extensive training to accustom them to the cramped
conditions of the space capsule, the noise of its instruments, and the vi-
bration and pressure they would experience in the initial phases of the
flight. Although their flight was widely acclaimed, their fame paled in
comparison to that of Otvazhnaia (Courageous), who weathered five sub-
orbital flights to “great heights” between June 1959 and July 1960, earn-
ing her the moniker “world’s most travelled space dog.”37 In the London
Times a picture of Otvazhnaia and the rabbit (Marfusha) that had been
her crewmate ran directly adjacent to a photograph of (Malcolm) Scott
Carpenter, one of the seven men in training for flight on an American
satellite.38 The Soviets pointed to Otvazhnaia’s continued good health and
Marfusha’s litter of healthy kits as evidence that humans could also be
protected from the potential environmental dangers of space.39 “Space
Is Getting Closer,” proclaimed a Soviet headline after the dog’s third
flight.40
Meanwhile, a spacecraft had been developed with a system of retro-
rockets that would serve as a braking mechanism and allow it to re-
enter Earth’s atmosphere. The first “spaceship” ( korabl-sputnik) that was
142 Amy Nelson
launched in May 1960 carried a “dummy astronaut” but no dogs. It failed
to respond to ground control and was never recovered. In July a test of
the second Vostok spacecraft ended in disaster when a booster rocket exploded during the launch, killing the two dogs on board.41
Success came on August 19, when a ten-thousand-pound spacecraft
carried Belka (Squirrel) and Strelka (Little Arrow) on seventeen orbits and
returned them safely to Earth after twenty-four hours in space. Although
an assortment of rats, mice, fruit flies, and plants accompanied the two
dogs, acclaim for becoming the first living beings to return safely from
orbital flight focused almost exclusively on Belka and Strelka. The dogs
made front-page headlines in the United States and the Soviet Union for
days and were the subjects of a press conference at the TASS building
in central Moscow on August 22. Dressed in civilian clothes, Gazenko
and Liudmila Radkevich presented the dogs, still clad in their flight cos-
tumes, to an adoring public and the Soviet media. TASS broadcast the
affair on the radio, and that evening Soviet citizens watched the celestial
travelers on television.42 American and French correspondents delivered
photographs of the dogs to media outlets in the West, where information
about the dogs and the details of their training, behavior, and response
to the flight were eagerly sought after. The dogs’ “normal” behavior in
public, television images showing their calm reaction to weightlessness,
and the Soviets’ assurances that postflight physiological tests (including
electrocardiograms) revealed no abnormalities suggested that spaceflight
was safe for canines and might soon be a reality for humans as well.43
The articulation of this expectation in Soviet headlines, such as “A new
step on the path toward human space flight” and “Astronaut, get ready to
travel!” was underscored when a photograph of the dogs appeared on the
cover of Ogonek over the caption “Space, expect a visit from Soviet man!”
(figure 6.1).44
Following the triumph of Belka and Strelka’s safe return, several ad-
ditional missions were scheduled to perfect the ground control and brak-
ing mechanisms and to reconfirm that humans could expect to survive
the conditions of rocket launch and weightlessness without any ill effects.
The first of these launches suggested that the new systems were far from
foolproof. On December 1, 1960, a five-ton spacecraft carrying two dogs
went out off course during reentry, activating a self-destruct mechanism
that kept the capsule from landing in foreign territory.45 A second launch
later that month began auspiciously, but the third-stage rockets misfired,
Cold War Celebrity and the Courageous Canine Scout 143
Figure 6.1. Fans greet Belka and Strelka before their press conference, August 1960.
Source: Pravda, August 23, 1960.
triggering an emergency-landing mechanism. After a four-day search
the craft’s canine passengers were recovered cold, but alive, in a remote
region of Siberia near the Tungus meteorite crater.46
Space dogs next appeared in the news in January 1961, when the birth
of Strelka’s six healthy puppies provided further proof that space travel
posed no reproductive health risks. Two successful orbital flights with
dogs and dummy astronauts in March raised expectations that a flight
with a human passenger was imminent. When Chernushka (Blackie)
was successfully recovered from her spaceship on March 9, a cartoon in
Krasnaia zvezda depicted a space dog walking out of its ship and handing off a suitcase of “data on the results of spaceflight” to a space suit–clad
human.47 Zvezdochka’s (Little star) safe return on March 25 after eighty-
eight minutes in orbit was hailed as the “latest great victory of Soviet
science.” A few days later, the Academy of Sciences hosted another press
conference to show off the two newest space travelers as well as Strelka’s
furry, barking brood (figure 6.2).48
As the focus of the Soviet space program shifted to manned flight,
some hallmarks of the space dog program remained, even as the dogs
receded from the limelight. Like the space dogs, Yuri Gagarin’s name
was announced only when his historic voyage on April 12 was under way.
Also like the space dogs, and despite his extensive training as a pilot and
144 Amy Nelson
Figure 6.2. Strelka’s puppies check out “space mice” at a press conference, March 28, 1961.
Source: RGANTD, 1-19651.
astronaut, Gagarin was a passenger rather than the pilot of his spacecraft,
which was controlled from the
ground. Flying in the same craft used by
Chernushka and Zvezdochka, Gagarin acknowledged the role the dogs
had played in bringing about his triumph. Others concurred that “man’s
path to space had been laid by his faithful friend, the dog.”49
But inevitably, once human spaceflight had been accomplished, the
centrality of nonhumans to that endeavor began to be minimized in the
master narratives of the space race. A significant step in this process was
taken as early as June 1961, when officials from the Soviet embassy pre-
sented Pushinka, one of Strelka’s puppies, to the Kennedy family along
with a model of a nineteenth-century whaling ship carved from wal-
rus tusks.50 Her mother might have been a “fearless space scout,” but
Pushinka—“a fluffy white puppy of distinguished parentage but undis-
tinguished breed”—was merely a memento of the Soviets’ temporary su-
periority in the race for the stars. Pushinka later had puppies sired by
Caroline Kennedy’s Welsh Terrier, Charlie.
Cold War Celebrity and the Courageous Canine Scout 145
Although the Soviets continued to send animals into space through
the 1980s, Gagarin’s flight marked the end of an era, as the fame and
bravery of human cosmonauts quickly overshadowed the celebrity of
the space dogs. In 1966 canine cosmonauts claimed a final milestone
when Veterok (Little wind) and Ugolek (Little coal) spent twenty-two days
aboard Kosmos 110, setting a record for canine spaceflight—one that was broken by humans in Skylab only in 1974.51 Unlike their predecessors,
however, these dogs were identified more as experimental animals than
as canine celebrities. Indeed, the research on Veterok’s and Ugolok’s re-
sponse to long-term spaceflight supplemented a much larger study of
the effects of prolonged radiation conducted on 330 anonymous dogs at
the Institute of Bio-Medical Problems beginning in 1965.52 The renown
enjoyed by Pushinka and her puppies as presidential pets exploited the
space dog legacy, even as it tokenized the contribution of the individual
dogs who helped make space travel a reality for humans.
Constructing the Canine Hero
In a pithy assessment of the synergy between technological advances
and the global distribution of the sounds and images that made them
“real” to ordinary citizens in the postwar period, Svetlana Boym has as-
serted that for Soviet citizens “the ‘Space Age’ began not with Gagarin’s
flight but with the moment the flight was reported. From then on, the
age was associated with the triumph of communism on Earth.”53 No less
than Gagarin, the space dogs’ fame was inextricably linked to the nearly
immediate mass distribution and endless recirculation of their images
on film and in photographs as well as their satellites’ distinctive “bleeps,”
which were monitored by amateur radio operators around the globe.54
That fame drew on a number of interlinked discourses, including
changing human attitudes toward dogs, the traditions of Russian-Soviet
science, and superpower rivalries. Most obviously, the canine cosmo-
nauts served as ideal foils for a regime intent on protecting scientific
secrets and trumpeting its accomplishments.55 The dogs’ names, photo-
graphs, and some details about their training and temperament could be
broadcast safely, without compromising the security of the human forces
behind the missions’ success. Focusing attention on the dogs also made
it less obvious that little other meaningful information about the space
program was available. Immediately after the launch of Sputnik 1, the
146 Amy Nelson
Figure 6.3. “Orchestrating Celebrity”: Otvazhnaia and a rabbit pose for cameramen.
Source: RGANTD, 1-19550.
identities of the people most responsible for its success were classified
as top secret. For many years Korolev, Tikhonravov, Valentin Glushko,
and Mstislav Keldysh were never identified by name and were referred to
in the press only by such anonymous titles as “chief designer of rocket-
space systems” or “chief theoretician of cosmonautics.” Public speaking
about the program was delegated to politically reliable spokespeople with
little direct involvement in its operations. The veil of secrecy extended to
specific information about the design, function, and physical location of
spacecraft as well as the broader objectives of the space program.
Of course, information about the dogs also was carefully controlled.
Their anthropomorphic celebrity was crafted to facilitate a connection be-
tween the dogs and ordinary people who were interested in space explora-
tion or might have a pet dog at home. In most cases the first photographs
of the dogs were published when their mission was announced, usually on
launch day. Invariably, these were close-up “headshots,” clearly modeled
on the formal portraits of humans that often accompanied news stories.
Sometimes these images were fairly nondescript and served primarily to
link “a name with a face” and provide “proof” that the individual existed.
In the case of Laika the angle of the image and the pose of the dog in the
photo published on November 5, 1957, were carefully calculated to convey
Cold War Celebrity and the Courageous Canine Scout 147
a sense of the dog’s confidence and alertness. In contrast, postflight pho-
tographs showed relaxed, happy, and often panting pooches. Photos of
Otvazhnaia lounging underneath Marfusha, the rabbit, and next to her
canine comrade, Malek, betrayed no sign of the animals’ involvement
in rocket launches. They could have been members of a circus act or an
unusual trio of pets. When the dogs were displayed for journalists, their
handlers described their behavior and relationships in anthropomorphic
terms, insisting that Otvazhnaia’s name (Courageous) reflected her brav-
ery and enthusiasm for flying in rockets. They also poked fun at Malek’s
“cowardice,” noting that he had whimpered as the crane lifted his capsule
onto the top of the ballistic missile that would send him to the outer
reaches of the atmosphere (figures 6.3 and 6.4).56
Anthropomorphism was just one strand of a media campaign that
tapped the multivalence of dogs in Soviet society, framing the canine
cosmonauts simultaneously as brave scouts and ordinary heroes while
deploying visual associations with technology and spaceflight to maxi-
mum effect. On the one hand, the space dogs’ handlers portrayed their
charges as “normal dogs,” emphasizing their interest in treats, petting,
and other “normal dog” behavior. They were described as “quick-witted,
obedient, and healthy,” suggesting the desired traits any dog lover would
seek in a pet. After Strelka’s puppies were born, photos of the canine
“family” emphasized Strelka’s attentive maternal instincts, the puppies’
physical vitality, playfulness, and that inescapable “cute factor.”57 On the
other hand, “the most famous dogs on earth,” wore flight suits to their
press conferences and were photographed standing atop scientific equip-
ment. Cartoons of the dogs suggested
that spaceflight was challenging
but fun. When journalists viewed television images of the dogs lying in-
ert and helpless in the first moments of weightlessness during the flight,
they were told that the dogs were “resting” before settling down to their
“breakfast.”58
In addition, the dogs’ triumphs competed and were intertwined with
other Cold War milestones. In the Soviet Union news of Laika’s voyage
in Sputnik 2 vied for top billing with photos of Mao Zedong greeting
Khrushchev and other dignitaries assembling to commemorate the for-
tieth anniversary of the Bolshevik Revolution. In both the Soviet Union
and the United States, news of Belka and Strelka’s successful return ran
on equal footing with coverage of the sentencing of the American U2 pi-
lot Francis Gary Powers to ten years in Soviet prison. President Kennedy’s
148 Amy Nelson
Figure 6.4. Zvezdochka, the last space dog before Gagarin, March 1961. Source: RGANTD, 1-19639.
inauguration received scant notice in Soviet newspapers, which elected
to run photos and news of the birth of Strelka’s puppies instead. Clearly,
political agendas in Moscow and Washington drove a considerable part of
the dogs’ fame.
Cold War Celebrity and the Courageous Canine Scout 149
Besides being the focus of a carefully crafted media campaign, the
space dogs tapped into a broader tradition of canine renown in the Soviet
Union. The mass circulation press and popular science publications in-
variably portrayed them as courageous “scouts of the cosmos,” validating
a model of canine heroism that mirrored popular constructions of canine
virtue and informed a resurgence of pet keeping in the Soviet Union after
World War II.59 Although the Bolsheviks had stigmatized keeping pets for
pleasure and companionship as decadent and bourgeois, the family dog
made a cautious comeback in the postwar period.60 Among the many fac-
tors influencing this newer trend was an ethos of utility, which stressed
the practical value of dogs as “workers” who helped humans hunt wild
animals, herd livestock, and protect socialist property. Socialist ideology
also valued dogs’ contributions to the military during the war and their
long-standing importance to scientific research.