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Who is Laika? The heartbreaking real-life story behind Ireland's Eurovision entry

Who is Laika? The heartbreaking real-life story behind Ireland's Eurovision entry

Extra.ie​15-05-2025

Laika is having a party and you're all invited.
Norwegian singer EMMY is set to fly the flag for Ireland at the Eurovision Song Contest on Thursday night as she performs her song Laika Party in the second semi-final.
While many of us may be familiar with the song's catchy lyrics, do you know the real-life story behind the track? Laika is having a party and you're all invited. Pic: Corinne Cumming/EBU
Laika is arguably one of the world's most famous dogs to date.
She was the first living creature to be launched into Earth's orbit, on board the Soviet artificial satellite Sputnik 2.
The launch mission took place on November 3, 1957 and was revolutionary for the time. Laika is arguably one of the world's most famous dogs to date. Pic: Fine Art Images/It was always understood that Laika would not survive the mission, but for decades, many were uncertain about what actually happened to the beloved animal.
Laika was only two years of age at the time of her flight and was one of a number of stray dogs that were taken into the Soviet spaceflight program.
At the time, only female dogs were rescued from the streets as they were believed to handle confinement better than their male counterparts. It was always understood that Laika would not survive the mission, but for decades many were uncertain about what actually happened to the beloved animal. Universal History Archive/Universal Images Group via Getty Images
Laika trained for some time ahead of her mission, even being spun in a centrifuge to accustom her to changes in gravity.
She also learned to accept food in jellied form that could be easily served without the need for gravity.
After the launch was announced, Laika quickly became a global celebrity, with many curious to learn of her fate. Laika trained for some time ahead of her mission, even being spun in a centrifuge to accustom her to changes in gravity. Pic: Keystone/Getty Images
According to Soviet accounts, the dog was kept alive for six or seven days into the mission and then euthanised with poisoned food before her oxygen supply fully depleted.
However, in 2002, Russian scientist Dimitri Malashenkov revealed that the previous accounts of her death were in fact false.
Laika had actually survived only about five to seven hours after liftoff before dying due to overheating and panic.
Rest in peace, Laika, you would have loved the Irish entry for Eurovision 2025!

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IT remains a flame that will never burn low for anybody gifted a ringside seat for its mighty, ecstatic, hot-blooded, jaw-dropping, spine-tingling, seven-minutes-of-wonderment unveiling. In truth, we were more than a little tipsy that night, yet even through that long-ago fug of alcohol, the wave of rapture that invaded the packed bar where we witnessed - stupefied, teary, a chorus of astonished "holy f***s" the only words we could summon - Riverdance being midwifed into the world remains as vivid three decades on as Michael Flatley's immaculately waxed chest. It felt like a detonation of some new Irishness, a marriage of ancient dance and modern expression, something liberating and fresh invading both the evening and the heart with its riveting beauty, mesmerising a global audience of some 300 million. Before writing this piece, to reassure myself my memory wasn't playing tricks, I re-watched Flatley and, first, Jean Butler thundering onto the stage at The Point Theatre on April 30th 1994, the interval act at the Eurovision Song Contest. It is gobsmacking, electrifying, primal, emotional, an authentic "wow" moment that retains all its capacity to fire a lovely cascade of shivers down the spinal chord. A cocktail of fiddles and bodhráns, the lead dancers owning the coliseum, alone under the klieg lights, a triumph of athletic movement, rhythmic tempo, exquisite balance and beguiling cadence. Master and Mistress of the universe. The urge then was to lock away the memory, retain it for the rest of time, the same compulsion that might overwhelm an art lover on encountering a renaissance master's brushstrokes hanging on the gallery walls of the Louvre. At that moment it felt unsurpassable. Perfect. Before it became a commercial behemoth - one watched live by more than 30 million people (five times the population of Ireland) at some 15,000 performances in 49 countries, selling over 10 million DVDs worldwide) - there was this. Just this. A seven minute slot. A transfixed house erupting in spontaneous, orgasmic acclaim. An 'is this really happening?' sense of disbelief and awe. And, as the camera pans to a breathless Flatley, giggling as he accepts the rapture of the audience, the vertigo of new possibilities opening dizzyingly before him, an impossibly youthful Gerry Ryan asking his audience a rhetorical question. "What about that, stunning music, amazing dancing, was that or was it not the most spectacular performance you have ever seen?" Few who had watched Flatley's feet move as if fired from the mouth of a howitzer were inclined to raise a dissenting voice. 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Then Bill Whelan's score exploded into life and it was like every living creature in that bustling tavern had been hypnotised. There was never a moment over the next 500 or so seconds when our attention was allowed veer from the TV screen. It was that good, that instantly stimulating, dance as mainlined narcotic, a mood-altering Celtic opiate. Sense of place played a significant role in the elemental ache of joy. It was one of the few times since Italia 90 four years earlier that I had felt that sudden surge - call it patriotism, call it a sense of belonging, call it pride in our heritage - that fills a room to the brim with something I can only describe as heartsoar. We embraced and emoted as we had at the end of the game a few hours earlier. I think there might even have been an eruption of the dreaded Oles. It was a slightly self-conscious way of trying to mask the fact that we were all on the verge of sobbing. It really was that powerful. 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In some perverse way, I find the vast global ATM - churning out dollars and yen and all the currencies of the world - into which it has transformed, slightly off-putting. But, we'll always have O'Dwyer's. The emotions awakened by that seismic seven minute rumble in 1994 were sufficiently pure to last a hundred lifetimes. Its innocence; the bone-shaking delight of Flatley hot-footing across the floor with manic, charismatic glee; Butler's effortless elegance and natural-born class; the blur of feet; the way the music hit you beneath the rib cage; the astonishment as we observed the birth of something magical and, the way it made us all all remains gloriously evocative. Ireland would win the Eurovision that night - back then, as invincible as a team co-managed by Jim Gavin and John Kiely, we almost always won - courtesy of Charlie McGettigan and Paul Harrington performing Rock 'n' Roll Kids. Harrington watched the interval act from backstage and still recalls how the arena convulsed. 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It lifts you to a place of brighter light, this tumultuous choir of stick and ball and galloping athletes. At its best, it dresses itself in a cloak of myth. As Flatley and Butler did all those years ago. On Anna Livia's banks, they danced their dance and the ancient river was not alone in nodding its damp, splashing head in approval, in understanding it had witnessed the shifting of Irish art to the highest ground.

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