Lucy and the Rocket Dog

by Will Buckingham

  Astrid saw something change in Lucy’s face. “Who is Laika?” she asked.

  Lucy sighed. “It’s a long story,” she said.

  Astrid shrugged. “I’ve got lots of time,” she said.

  So Lucy told her about how she had built Prototype I, and about Laika, and about that fateful evening in the garden, and it felt good to be telling Astrid all of this. Then, when she had finished, Astrid grinned at her. “Wow!” she said. “She must be some dog! Do you think she’s ever going to come back?”

  Lucy gave a sad smile. “It was so long ago, Astrid,” she said. “Laika is long gone.”

  And Astrid thought that she saw tears in the corners of Lucy’s eyes, so she changed the subject and thought of a really, really difficult question to ask. “You know empty space?” she said.

  “Yes,” said Lucy, smiling and wiping her eyes.

  “How empty is it really?”

  “Well,” laughed Lucy, “that’s a really big question….”

  She was still explaining the answer when Astrid’s mom and dad came to the fence and called her in for the night.

  The space pod started to make strange noises.

  Ker-chunk! it said. Ker-chunk, ker-chink!

  The space pod was slowing down.

  “Woof! Woof!” said Laika….

  Vrrroooooommmm! Ker-chunk! Ker-chink! the space pod replied.

  Laika looked out of the window, pressing her nose to the glass. Then she saw something familiar. It was blue and green and perfectly round.

  BALL, she thought.

  BALL!

  And she thought of Lucy. Where was Lucy to throw and catch? She barked, to see if Lucy answered, to see if she would reappear to pick up the blue-and-green ball and toss it through the air.

  But Lucy did not appear.

  BALL! Laika thought again.

  And she started to bark. “Woof! Woof! Woof!”

  In the window the ball became bigger and bigger.

  “Woof! Woof!” said Laika. “Woof! Woof! Woof!”

  It was one of those beautiful September evenings, when things are just a little bit frosty and the stars seem exceptionally clear. Lucy and Astrid were sitting and looking through the telescope. Because it was getting cold and would soon be winter, they were both wrapped in blankets, and when they breathed out, their breath hung on the air, a fine mist.

  The grass beneath their feet was slightly damp. The stars were twinkling in a friendly way, and the moon was just a sliver. Over their heads, space—deep, dark, black, mysterious space—went on and on, as it always does.

  They were looking at Mars, which was particularly bright that evening. Lucy was explaining about the canals on Mars, which were not real canals, even though people once thought they were. But then Lucy realized that she felt a little chilly, and she glanced at her watch and thought to herself that she would really rather be in bed, tucked up and warm.

  Just as Lucy was about to say, “It’s getting cold. We should call it a night,” Astrid, who had her eye to the telescope, let out an odd little cry.

  “Lucy,” she said, “there’s something strange up there.”

  Lucy looked through the telescope. Astrid was right. Somewhere in the blackness of space there glimmered something strange, like a small star that really shouldn’t have been there. Or a planet. Something shining brightly in a place where there should have been only darkness.

  Lucy shook her head a little because she thought she was imagining things. But she wasn’t imagining things. The star or planet or whatever it was did not disappear.

  “Perhaps it’s a satellite,” she said to Astrid. “Let me take a look.”

  The star or whatever it was looked like a bright, shining dot. Lucy hunched over the telescope for a few seconds, then turned to Astrid. “I don’t know what it is,” she said. “I really don’t have the foggiest idea. Take another look.”

  Astrid looked through the eyepiece again. “Me neither,” she said.

  What Astrid had seen was puzzling. It didn’t seem like a planet or a star or a satellite. There was something funny about it. Something very funny indeed.

  Then at exactly the same time, both Astrid and Lucy realized the star was getting bigger. Very slowly, almost so slowly that you didn’t notice, it was getting bigger.

  Lucy frowned. She could smell the smells of the night: soil and nocturnal flowers and secrets.

  “It’s getting bigger,” said Astrid. She looked up because she didn’t need the telescope anymore. It was definitely getting bigger. And fast, too. Soon it was almost as large as the moon.

  “Oh, yikes,” cried Lucy, spilling her cocoa. “It’s coming straight for us.”

  At that exact moment there was a kind of rushing sound. Astrid staggered to her feet. “What is it?” she gasped. “What is it?”

  “I don’t know,” Lucy whispered in awe.

  And if somebody who has spent a lifetime looking at the skies says that she doesn’t know, then it must be something very unusual indeed.

  Lucy didn’t know what to do. She could have said, “Let’s go inside,” but the thing was coming toward them so fast, and it was so hard to tell where it was going to land, that there seemed no point in going in. Perhaps it would land on the house; then they would be squashed inside. Perhaps it would land on Astrid’s house, which would be unfortunate for Astrid’s parents. Perhaps it would land in the street and make a big hole. Perhaps it would land in the garden. Or perhaps it would change course at the last moment and go scooting off in another direction entirely, back up into the sky, or sideways.

  Astrid and Lucy gazed up at this thing in awe and terror. There was a huge rush of wind. The trees bent over as if they were about to break, and there was a terrible ROOOAAAARRRR!

  The thing came blazing down from the sky—it was clear now that it was some kind of ball-shaped thing, the size of a garden shed, but perfectly spherical. And then, without any warning, it slowed down and landed with a loud THUNK! only a few yards away from where Lucy and Astrid were standing, in the middle of the vegetable patch, squashing a particularly fine bean plant that Lucy had been looking after all summer and that was, until just a moment ago, hanging with hundreds upon hundreds of enticing green beans.

  Thunk! Kerplunk! Hiss!

  The thing, whatever it was, let out a big jet of steam. There was another clunk, and a big lump of metal fell off one side, squishing a particularly fine zucchini plant.

  Astrid was shaking. “Are we still alive?” she asked.

  “I think so,” said Lucy.

  “Astriiiiiid!” It was Astrid’s parents, running into their garden, looks of panic on their faces. “What’s going on?”

  “It’s all right, Mom,” called Astrid. “It’s just a spaceship.” Astrid, it turned out, was the kind of girl who didn’t lose her head in an emergency. “I’m going to have a look.”

  Lucy reached out a hand. “Careful, Astrid!” she said. Astrid’s dad was clambering over the fence to try and stop her. But Astrid was already out of reach, heading toward the steaming sphere. The thing was made of some kind of metal, but with various lumps and bumps and flashing lights. And on the part facing them was a door.

  There was a quiet shooshing sound. The door slid open.

  Then Lucy heard a voice that she had not heard for a very, very long time.

  “Woof! Woof!” went the voice. “Woof! Woof! Woof!”

  Astrid stopped. She leaned forward in astonishment with her mouth open. “A dog?” she whispered.

  “Laika?” asked Lucy. And although her voice was very different from that of a ten-year-old girl, it was still recognizably Lucy’s voice.

  “Woof!” went a voice from inside the strange metal ball, a voice that was inescapably familiar.

  “Laika!” cried Lucy. Then she left her telescope and ran past Astrid toward the spacecraft. She put her head through the doorway. Inside she could see Laika, who was in a terrible tangle, with various bits and pieces of spaceship caught up around her
tail and around her legs.

  “Laika!” Lucy said. And she put her arms around the dog and untangled her, then lifted her gently out of the spaceship. “It’s been so long!”

  Astrid, her mom, and her dad looked on with utter amazement.

  But Laika, being a not very clever dog, was not particularly amazed; she was just extraordinarily pleased to see Lucy. She sniffed at her excitedly, licked her face, wriggled in her arms, and made all kinds of happy, squirmy dog noises. Lucy put Laika down on the grass. Laika was heavy, and Lucy was not as strong as she used to be. And then, there in the garden by the space dogs’ little space pod, she put her arms around her dog, and then Astrid and her parents watched as Lucy, who had not seen Laika for a whole sixty years, and Laika, who had not seen Lucy for a whole four weeks, stood underneath the sickle moon and the friendly stars and the here, there, and everywhereness of space, and the two of them hugged, and they hugged and they hugged.

  “Astrid,” said Lucy at last, “come and meet Laika.” So Astrid came over, and the two of them fussed over the big, untidy dog, who seemed so very pleased to be home.

  It was two in the morning when Lucy eventually got to bed. Astrid’s mom and dad were a bit overexcited to see a space pod land in the neighbor’s garden, and they had to meet Laika and say hello, and reassure themselves that everything was all right and that nothing else terrible or alarming was going to happen that night. They were a bit confused by everything because they didn’t see how a dog who had disappeared sixty years ago could suddenly reappear. But Astrid rolled her eyes and said, “Dad, Mom…it’s just relativity. I’ll explain everything to you.”

  Astrid’s mom smiled a tired smile. “Not now, young lady,” she said. “It’s quite late enough. You need to go to bed. You can tell us tomorrow.”

  Lucy smiled at them. “Well,” she said, patting Laika on the head, “I suppose we should be getting to bed as well.”

  They said good night. Astrid, her mom, and her dad went back next door. And Lucy and Laika went inside.

  Once she got over her excitement at being home, Laika curled up on the sofa and went to sleep. Lucy sat for a long time, watching Laika sleep. She wondered where her dog had been for so long, but there was no way of telling. So she just sat and watched as Laika snoozed. It should have felt strange, after these sixty years, to have her dog back. But in actual fact it just felt right.

  —

  Laika was dog tired after her long journey. She only woke up after lunch the following day, which gave Lucy some time to go out and buy a leash and some dog biscuits and all the other things you need to look after a dog. In the pet shop she also found a lovely blue-and-green ball that she thought Laika would like.

  As Lucy ate lunch, Laika ate breakfast. And then, because it was a beautiful afternoon, they decided to go for a long walk. Lucy left the house, knocked on Astrid’s door, and invited them along as well. When everybody was organized, the five of them—Lucy, Laika, Astrid, and Astrid’s mom and dad—walked out of town and into the countryside. When they let Laika off the leash, she hurtled around and around in circles, leaping into the air. Astrid threw the ball, and Laika fetched.

  It was such a beautiful afternoon that everyone wanted to keep walking forever. They climbed stiles and followed footpaths, and at last they came to a small hill that looked over the fields and the hedgerows. Together they climbed the hill. “Phew!” Lucy said as she reached the top. “That was quite a climb. Let’s have a rest.”

  Astrid’s mom opened her backpack and took out some snacks that she had brought along. They munched in happy silence. Then, looking at the sun sinking over the horizon, Astrid’s mom said, “We should be heading back.”

  “Of course,” said Lucy. “But I think Laika and I will stay a bit longer. We’ve got some catching up to do.”

  “You will be all right getting back on your own?”

  Lucy grinned. “I’ve got Laika to look after me.”

  “OK,” said Astrid’s mom. “Well, good luck.”

  They all said goodbye, and Lucy watched Astrid, her mom, and her dad as they walked away down the hill.

  Lucy and Laika sat side by side. Lucy leaned into Laika and felt the warmth of her body. Laika seemed calm and happy. The sky grew dark, and above them stars began to appear.

  Lucy thought about how strange it all was, how strange and big and confusing and wonderful. She thought about the way that time goes all stretchy and bendy when you go very fast. She thought about how Laika had left her, all that time ago, and how she had now returned sixty years later. She thought about her mom and dad and how she missed them. She thought about her Nobel Prize, which didn’t really matter that much, or not as much as other people believed. She thought about Astrid and her mom and dad. And she thought about space, its here, there, and everywhereness. How good life is! she thought.

  And Laika leaned in toward Lucy. She thought, briefly, about the space dogs, about three-eared rabbits, about the adventures she had lived through but only barely understood. Then she thought…

  LUCY, LUCY, LUCY.

  “Oh, Laika! Laika! Laika!” said Lucy, giving the dog a squeeze. She had tears in her eyes, but they were tears of happiness.

  And so there they sat for a long time: on top of the hill, an old lady and a well-traveled dog, sharing an autumn night, while up above their heads the Milky Way appeared, a river of distant suns so vast and endless that none of us—whether person or dog—could ever count their number.

  I do not know if it is really possible to build a spaceship in your back garden and send your dog to the stars, although for your dog’s sake, I suggest that you do not try. Nevertheless, I should say something here about the name Laika, and the story that inspired this book.

  A long time ago, in the year 1957, when people were first building rockets to go into space, and when they were wondering if it would be possible to use rockets to send people into space, somebody had the idea of trying it out with a dog first.

  The dog who was chosen to be a space pioneer was named Laika, which means “barker.” She was a bit smaller and less untidy than the Laika in this story but—according to those who knew her—every bit as friendly. After some training, the real Laika was put into a rocket and blasted off into the skies in a spacecraft called Sputnik II. But here the story becomes much sadder because, in real life, Laika never came back.

  A few years later, it was not dogs who were going into space, but people; and most of them did come back. But I have always felt sorry for that poor little dog Laika, the original rocket dog. After thinking about her for a few years, I eventually decided to write a story about another dog named Laika—a dog who not only went into space but also managed to find her way home.

  It takes quite a lot of work to send a dog into space, even a fictional one, so I am grateful for many people’s help over the years of writing this book. Amongst the readers who gave advice on early versions of the story are India and Liberty Abbott; Grant Denkinson, who advised on the science; and my agent, Marilyn Malin. I am also grateful to Kelly Delaney at Knopf for her enthusiasm for tales of space dogs and time dilation, and for her perceptive editorial advice. Finally, I am beyond grateful to Elee Kirk, with whom I have been privileged to spend so many years gazing at the night sky, and talking about the here, there, and everywhereness of space. Elee died shortly before the book was completed, but her influence on the story is here, there, and everywhere, and is quite impossible to measure.

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