The Education of the President’s Dog Quincy, by Anthony Luebbert
Citing needs of companionship, both those of the dog and of himself, the first President astronaut convinced Congress and NASA to allow him to bring his black and white spaniel, Quincy, to space with him for his inaugural flight. At take-off, the dog and the President sat in the cab of the spacecraft, both wearing bowl-shaped glass helmets and awaiting the launch, with the two dozen swallowtail caterpillars they brought along to test pupation in zero gravity. The President gave the command and he, Quincy, the crew, the caterpillars, and the enormous vessel rocketed through Earth’s atmosphere and relaxed into an orbit at an altitude 250 miles. It was 2045.
Quincy and the President, unbuckled, floated from their seats. The sensation of weightlessness startled the dog, who swung his legs at the unreachable floor and let out a yelp. The President took off his helmet and chuckled, saying, “It’s all right, Quincy.”
Quincy hung in the air. He looked at the floor below him, at the glowing instrument panels that surrounded him, and then quizzically at his owner who held out his hand to the dog. Quincy raised his paw to shake hands as he was trained to do. Then, propelled backwards by the force of the gesture, he floated away from the President and towards the caterpillars, which were suspended in their tiny terrarium. Quincy admired the insects very much as he moved slowly towards them. When they finally collided, he upset the entire contraption with his snout as it pressed against the glass front. The lid of the box came off, setting the larvae free in the cabin.
The swallowtail caterpillars, colored yellow, black, and white, bore the loss of their home well as they tumbled out into the air, but they curled up into small balls when they smelled the man and the dog nearby and realized with their tiny brains that they flew with wings they did not yet have.
