They said I was a dog.

I was named Blacky because when I was born, my grandfather told my dad to treat me like a bad dog. Blacky was the same thing to Dad as a dog. He used my name to show me how low I was in the chain of command. Lower down. Not quite right.

Only a dog.

By calling me that, my dad was trying to make fun of me and put me down, but he ended up complimenting me.

Blacky was a lost dog from Moscow, as you can see. On November 3, 1957, she was sent into space on Sputnik 2. She was the first living thing to go around the world.

The USSR knew how to launch a rocket into space, but they didn't know how to return it. This means that Blacky's plan was not going to work. As soon as Sputnik 2 went into space, it got way too hot for animals to handle. Blacky died a terrible death just hours after the race began. She died the same way she lived: less important, below, or not on the same level. Not followed. Not liked.

Only a dog.

I thought about how scared, hurt, and alone she was for hours on end. What would it be like to race through the dark in a metal bucket for the last few hours?!

It was strange and loud and hot all of a sudden. I had no idea what I was seeing.

I was saved from the mean streets and dropped into a busy, nice world. What must it be like to not know why I was alone? It's possible that I felt like a bad dog. I might think this was my mistake.