Laika was the first living creature in space. She was a dog. Her picture, wavering frames on a black and white television screen, had never been forgotten by Tommy. Her long thin face, and the pert ears. The accomplishments of humanity were listed in a monotonous tone by the scowling Mr Morris; the classroom replied by rote. Ancient Greece. The birth of Christ. The printing press. The discovery of the Americas. The Renaissance. The Indistrial Revolution. The World Wars. Man on the moon. Tommy mouthed the words but he couldn't forget the dog. Starving to death in perpetual orbit. At home, his father drinking beer, his mother preparing dinner, Dominic reading Mad magazine in bed. Tommy started crying. Breathlessly, too fast, he told his story. -Laika, Laika, they just left her. It's horrible, horrible. He was screaming. And Artie was laughing. And his mother said, shaking her head, why are you worrying about a stupid dog? And Dominic, who had got out of bed to find out what the tears were all about, joined his father in laughter. -What do you care about some stupid mutt? And Tommy called his brother a cunt, and shouted to Maria that she was a stupid wog, and before he could say anything to his father, the man delivered the thundering slap. And then Tommy stopped crying and fell silent. When Somers, coughing, not looking at him, told Tommy that he was to be retrenched, that the corporation was downsizing to reflect the realities of the current ecomonic situation, Tommy's first thought was of Laika, a fuzzy black and white image of a sad dog in space.