You were back on the roof, still searching the sky. One month later, the Russians had done it again. This time you dragged an astonished Spot up with you.
    “There’s a dog up there,” you declared, pointing at the sky. “Flying around the earth in a spaceship. How does that make you feel?“
        Spot, unsure of his footing on the tiles, was probably feeling exactly the same as his more famous Russian compatriot. He would have felt even worse had he known that there was no plan to bring Laika down again—the Sputnik in which she travelled was designed to burn up in the atmosphere.
    “Come on,” Howie protested. “It’s clouding over, and Gunsmoke’s gonna start.“