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Puppies Behind Bars by Nicole Tourtelot, Photos by Ian Wingfield Part of the Mission Series Homage to Volunteerism Sponsored by Microsoft and Extensis Article rating: 8.17

[Editor's note:  The following piece is a story that will be featured in an upcoming book, Mission to New York.  The book focuses on founders of humanitarian efforts throughout the city and is part of a larger series, called the Mission Series.  Thanks to the underwriting funds of Microsoft and Extensis, these books will serve as a tribute to volunteerism; the volunteers will be photographed by such professionals as Steve McCurry, Joyce Tenneson, Vincent Versace, Teru Karuyama, Matthew Jordan Smith and Art Wolfe, all of whom are donating their time to the program.]

Puppies Behind Bars trains inmates to raise puppies as guide dogs for the blind and explosive detection dogs for law enforcement. The puppies spend their first years living in cells with their raisers, who are responsible for their training, daily care, and well-being.

For most incarcerated men and women, daily life is pervaded by a profound sense of hopelessness. Removed from society and left to wrestle with their demons, most inmates resign themselves to the toxic environment in which they are forced to survive. In such harsh conditions, many hearts inevitably harden, overtaking any remaining vestiges of humanity and making rehabilitation nearly impossible. Participants in the Puppies Behind Bars program, however, are granted a unique opportunity to apply themselves to the daunting, yet enormously rewarding task of raising a potential seeing-eye dog. The mission of the program states a "core belief that incarcerated individuals can contribute to society, [and] that people can take responsibility for their own lives." These two simple tenets of the Puppies Behind Bars philosophy infuse every aspect of the program and are directly responsible for its tremendous success.

In 1997, when Gloria Gilbert Stoga first pitched her idea for a program where puppies would be trained by inmates, guide dog schools were adamantly opposed. Entrusting convicted criminals—many of whom had taken lives—with puppies who would be trained to save lives was not a risk they were willing to take. Undeterred by their lack of confidence in her vision, an intrepid Stoga proposed an experiment. "I told them, 'I will buy 5 puppies you think aren't going to make it. I'll give them to you if they succeed. If not, you haven't lost anything." The first puppies were raised by inmates at Bedford Correctional Facility, a maximum-security women's prison. Two of the five puppies (all of them originally deemed unsuitable for training by the schools) became guide dogs. "I knew that we would be judged more critically than anyone else raising guide dogs," she says. "So we would have to be extraordinarily good." Once she was able to prove to the schools that the puppies could, in fact, thrive under inmate care, Stoga began expanding the program.

Fishkill Correctional Facility, a medium-security men’s prison north of New York City, is one of six institutions where Puppies Behind Bars has been successfully implemented . The hill-top cluster of uniform, red brick buildings overlook a wide expanse of the Hudson Valley; a view marred only by the chain-link fence dressed in seven layers of razor wire.

Inmates roam the prison grounds in packs and look on enviously at the men and their dogs. Alfonso, whose first puppy "Tillman," has been away for two weeks on a swap, calls out to a fellow inmate who is not in the program, but shuffles by in the lunch crowd, "My son...he's back!" In order to expose the dogs to as many different environments as possible, they are sent out on "swaps," where they are switched between prisons for a few weeks. The dogs arrive with "raiser letters," which instruct their new trainers about the dogs' feeding schedules, medical concerns, grooming instructions, and warnings about particular fears or weaknesses.

During the puppies' first 18 months, they are not old enough to receive formal training as guide dogs. They do, however, need to be trained for obedience and socialization. During this early phase of the pup's life, the constant care and attention that an inmate trainer provides would be hard to demand of someone in the outside world. Guide dog schools consistently report that the dogs trained by inmates do markedly better than those raised on the outside. The puppies rarely leave their trainers' sides, accompanying them to puppy class, rec time, work—whether it be in the barber shop or an administrative office, and school. After training the puppy for 14 months, the inmates must tearfully send off their charges to be tested for entrance to a guide dog school. If the dog passes, he will begin training, and will eventually become the daily companion of someone who desperately needs him, and whose life the dog will also dramatically improve.

The classroom where the men receive puppy instruction seems out of place in the prison; with its checkered floor, painted paw-prints, murals on the wall, and small desks where the inmates sit, listening intently to the instructor and taking copious notes. Light pours into the basement room from small barred windows above the diligent students, whose dogs lie next to them, sleeping or chomping noisily on smoke bones.  Though 25 men are enrolled in the program, only 18 have dogs to themselves. The others attend classes, live on the unit, and help the others to raise their dogs. Keith, who has served 9 years of a manslaughter sentence, has high hopes for his second dog, "Mark." "The ultimate is to have a dog that becomes a guide dog," he says. He sees a strong connection between the limitations of his own situation and that of the blind person whose disability prevents him from going out. Looking on at Mark as a proud father would, Keith beams, "he's going to open that door for him."

In order to qualify for the program, inmates must have at least two years left before their earliest release date and no disciplinary infractions. In addition, no one who has committed a crime against a woman or child is eligible. Prospective puppy-raisers go through a rigorous screening and interview process. The inmates are responsible for more than just daily care of their puppy (which includes feeding, bathing, nail-clipping, and a nightly full-body massage). They must attend class three times a week and know their puppy manuals backwards and forwards. To stay in the program, participants must maintain a 70% average in the classroom, where they are tested once a week on particulars of puppy training such as the "six-step sit" and how to "jolly" a dog.

The men all agree that saying goodbye to a dog they've seen grow from a young pup, who has been by their side as a friend day in and day out, is the hardest part of the program. Knowing that their dogs will be helping others who desperately need them, however, helps to soften the blow.

Roughly 30 percent of the inmates in the program are serving time for homicide. Ian, who has been at Fishkill for 6 years, has been in the program for ten months and is raising his first puppy. "The dogs bring out a lot of compassion," he says, "He becomes your friend, makes life easier here, and makes you feel good. Nobody will love you like a dog." The unconditional love between the dogs and the inmates creates an entirely different mentality and spirit among the prisoners. "There's more of a community here,” Ian continues, “because we have to raise each other's dogs." Not only do the inmates take a communal approach the dogs, they live together on a special housing unit where priorities are drastically different from typical prison life. The puppies come first, then the program, and then the inmates, who eagerly and unanimously sing its praises; each one gratefully affirming that the program has changed his life for the better.

For Vinnie, who has served 17 years of an 18 to life stretch for homicide, the program has made his time at Fishkill infinitely more bearable. Like many of the other inmates, Vinnie spent the first 14 years of his sentence in a maximum security prison. "You don't see anything but 40 foot walls. I came here, saw the dogs, and dove right in." Currently raising his third puppy, "Quinn" (who spends most of his time cradled in Vinnie's arms), Vinnie has had to rebound from the tragic death of his first puppy, who was put under anesthesia to be spayed and never woke up. Vinnie received the news while raising his second puppy. "It was heartbreaking," he says. Though distraught from the loss, Vinnie continued in the program and began taking correspondence courses. A year ago, he finished his veterinary assistance course, and has already begun another course in grooming.

What sets Puppies Behind Bars apart from any other humanitarian program are its mutually beneficial components. The inmates contribute selflessly to raising dogs who will serve others, and regain their dignity in the process; the dogs receive unequalled care from their trainers, and the guide dog schools receive superior dogs, perfectly primed for the next phase of their training. Across the board, the men agree that it is the opportunity to give back while incarcerated, that changes a person. "I've done a lot of wrong in my life," Keith admits. "This is one more nail I can pull out of my heart." 

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	I LIKE YOUR DOGS I HAD ONE BLACK LAB SHE DIE 2008. WE LOVE TO SHE ME BABY Posted by: carol Feb 21, 2009 @ 5:51 PM EST
	do you kill the poor puppies and the adults too. if you do you should let them go and give away why don't you sell the animals. Posted by: kyra anderson Oct 15, 2009 @ 4:15 PM EST

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