the Soviet Union. Here where the USSR hit up against South Siberia and Mongolia. You were in the west of the Tuvan Autonomous Soviet Socialist Republic. Grasslands and squat mountains as far as the eye could see. You emerged from a forest of white birches, and there you were.
The KGB Border Guard had set up its breeding grounds in these grasslands.
The facility, administered by the Committee for the Purchase and Rearing of Guard/War Dogs, was the largest anywhere in the USSR. It was outfitted with equipment for training inexperienced dogs before they were assigned to their units. During the past two years everything had been updated. Because there was a new man in charge. And because the five remaining children of those two dog heroes, Belka and Strelka, had been welcomed to the camp. They were no longer puppies. They were fully mature. Already they were creating the next generation. Getting pregnant, making others pregnant. The puppies were Russian laika, of course, but the facility head decided to mate them with different breeds. For the future—to create a corps of dogs loyal to the homeland. They would draw on these bloodlines, on the bloodlines of those five puppies’ parents, to establish a corps of the mightiest dogs on the planet. They had gathered magnificent males, magnificent bitches. These dogs contributed the use of their wombs, their sperm. A third generation of heroes was being brought into the world, litter after litter.
The space dogs’ grandchildren.
Woof! you barked.
I’VE ARRIVED! you announced.
Inside the breeding grounds, 213 dogs froze in their tracks. Dogs with standing ears raised their heads; dogs with floppy ears raised their tails. WHO HAS ARRIVED? they were saying. LISTEN TO HOW STRONG THAT VOICE IS! WHO IS IT WHO IS IT WHO IS IT? Each dog felt that the other dog, the one that barked, had been calling to her, or to him. YOU, YES YOU.
I’LL HAVE MY WAY WITH YOU! you barked.
I’LL MAKE YOU PREGNANT! you barked. You, Anubis, you barked.
TO LIVE!
And the dogs were afraid. Each time you barked in the breeding grounds, the dogs broke into a commotion. Some were struck with terror. Some suddenly went into heat. The bitches got wet between their legs, while the males leapt at their handlers’ legs and waists, at nearby poles, and simulated intercourse. People hurried this way and that, unsure what was happening. Woof! you barked again. And again: Woof! At last, you were almost there! But you weren’t yet inside. You were outside the fence. You stood three feet away. The fence was electrified. You had sensed that, of course. You were clever. You saw danger before it struck. You had made it this far, after all, from the Arctic Ocean. You had come, what’s more, by way of Alaska. And you had another strength too: you could read the workings of destiny before it became manifest.
So you waited.
For something…SOMETHING.
Barking all the while.
Barking. And it came.
Riding a horse.
A human.
“So you’re the one barking,” he said in Russian.
Woof! you answered.
“You want to go inside?” he asked. “Caught the scent of our bitches?”
Woof! you answered.
“You’re male?” he said, appraising you. “And I see you’re erect,” the young man who was in charge of the facility said, still atop his horse, impressed.
OF COURSE, you said.
The young man lowered his Kalashnikov automatic rifle, took aim.
But no gun was going to scare you off.
I’VE ARRIVED! you barked.
“You seem,” the young man continued in Russian, speaking entirely seriously even though you were a dog, somehow maintaining his dignity as a commissioned officer, “to be saying that you’re the dog, the breeder male, I’ve been waiting for. What confidence!”
I’VE ARRIVED! you barked.
“Is it true? Have you really come?”
IT’S TRUE! you barked.
“You’re built a bit like a wolf,” the young commissioned officer said. He had dismounted by now. You stood facing each other through the fence, which buzzed with electric current. “You’ve got wolf blood in you? Is that it? Did you know how close wolves are to German shepherds? You know about German shepherds? A breed created just sixty years ago, specifically to fight in war? They’re war dogs through and through. People wanted the perfect build for war, and they made it. That’s what a German shepherd is.”
Woof!
“Are you a natural…ideal?”
Woof! you answered.
“If you want a bitch, I’ll let you have one. She’s good. Young animal from a good line. But she’s not complete. She’s missing something. She’s not a soldier. You understand what I’m saying? I want a dog with a soldier’s pride.