The men and women who train these dogs also have to meet rigid standards. They must live up to a certain code of conduct and work well with others. They must prove their kindness and respect for the prison staff before they are given an animal. Some of those who have stepped into the role of dog trainers have long rap sheets that include crimes such as murder and kidnapping. Many were once considered men and women who could not be reformed or rehabilitated. That all changed when the dogs came to visit. The convicts in this program live to love, and the dogs they train take that love to the world in a wide variety of remarkable ways.
One canine graduate of the program is now assisting a boy who has cerebral palsy and uses a wheelchair. Another attends college with her wheelchair-bound adopted mom. Several dogs are used in reading programs in elementary schools and others have become the hands of men and women badly injured in war. They are pets and therapy dogs. They serve in homes and hospitals. They are teachers and mentors. And this transformation from unwanted and discarded dog to valued family member of society began under the tutelage of people most had deemed worthless.
The program Rule was inspired to create now operates at the Maximum Security Unit at Tucker, the Ouachita River Correctional Unit in Malvern, the North Central Unit at Calico Rock, Randall Williams Correctional Facility in Pine Bluff, and the Hawkins Center for Women in Wrightsville and the Tucker Unit. This program has saved hundreds of dogs from euthanasia while touching thousands of human lives. Yet what these unwanted canines have done outside the walls pales in comparison to what they have accomplished inside the prison units. Their impact behind the bars goes beyond heroism and into the area reserved for miracles.
She was an attractive, dark-haired woman with little hope and less direction and had already served a fifteen-year stretch when she saw the first dog brought into her prison unit. The diminutive, slightly built young woman, who had literally lived half her life behind walls, was suddenly flooded with long-forgotten memories of one of the few happy moments from her troubled youth. In a life filled with abuse and neglect, there had been a single steady friend she could trust—a stray dog that had somehow found and befriended her. As she studied the wagging tail and happy face of the new prison arrival, she wondered if the spirit of the dog that had once loved her unconditionally could be found in this visitor too.
The female prisoner met with Rule and the professional trainer and asked to be placed in the Paws in Prison program. When accepted, she quickly proved to be more than just a solid trainer; she was gifted. While behind bars she prepared animals as pets and assistance dogs and grew so good at her craft she was certified as a professional canine trainer. When this once-directionless woman left prison, she immediately found work with one of the nation’s top pet supply companies as a master trainer. The dogs who lived in prison with her did not just give her a reason to live, they paved a new life filled with purpose and joy.
Another miracle happened when a big, broad-shouldered solemn man with a deep sadness in his eyes saw the dogs first walked into his unit. This middle-aged ex-Marine had once served his country with honor and had been recognized as one of his nation’s finest soldiers. Yet after he returned from several tours in the Middle East, he had problems dealing with everyday life. An anger and rage that he could not control began to boil in his gut. He fought demons he could not see or understand, and one night he didn’t walk away from a confrontation and killed a man.
Locked away in prison with little hope of ever tasting freedom again, the former Marine was eaten up with guilt. Deeply troubled by the shame he had brought to his family and the branch of the service he had been so proud to call his own, he could barely look at himself in the mirror. Worst of all, there was nothing he could begin to do to once again serve others in a positive way.
Paws in Prison gave the brooding man something to focus on. When he asked if he could become a part of the program, he was told he could earn his way there through his attitude and behavior. He did. And now the man who will never again taste freedom trains dogs for roles as assistants to other Marines who came back from war severely handicapped. His trained canines are opening doors and providing new opportunities for men and women who had thought their lives were over.
Another of the program’s remarkable trainers was in his fifties when he saw his first Paws in Prison dog. Short, graying, slightly stooped, the man had spent almost his entire adult life behind bars. Because of three different violent crimes, he knew he would not get out from behind the walls until he died. With this depressing reality holding him in a vice-like grip, he had given up. Over the past decade he had even lost his ability to walk and now had to use a wheelchair. He was totally dependent upon the staff and other prisoners for even his most basic needs.
When those around him began to train dogs, he asked the warden if he could become a part of the program. The answer was an immediate no. A man in a wheelchair could not do what was necessary to train a dog to be a service animal or even a pet.
A month later this now-determined man stood for the first time in a decade and took his first steps in a walker. When he found out that was not enough, he worked harder. In just eight weeks he was walking. A month later he was able to run and he earned his way into the program.
This lifer has trained half a dozen dogs that have become incredible family pets. He has worked with small animals and big ones, those that were high energy and those that moved slowly, shy dogs and outgoing canines, and those that were beautiful and others that weren’t. And all of them had one thing in common with him. They too had been discarded and given up on by society.
In these three cases and scores of others, Renie Rule’s vision has given both dogs and convicts a reason to live. Paws in Prison has also become one of the most remarkable rehabilitation programs in the nation. Those who once defied authority suddenly found peace, security, and value through the love of shelter dogs. By teaming unwanted people with unwanted canines, Rule gave both a reason to live and love.
Several years ago, my wife and I were moved to adopt a beautiful male collie. As I looked at this rescue dog I found it amazing that most felt he should be put down. What was his crime? He was born completely blind.
Sammy has become one of the most remarkable animals I have ever met. He is able to navigate our home as well as any sighted dog. He can chase squirrels and still miss every tree in our yard. He is gentle, compassionate, and loving. And he is always smiling. I have never seen an animal or human enjoy life as much as does Sammy. This blind dog that most felt should be put down is my hero because he teaches me and so many others that there is no reason to limit ourselves because of others’ perceptions. In his time with us he has inspired countless folks not just to see the potential of special-needs dogs but also to be better people.
Renie Rule did more than start a program; she created heroes out of dogs no one wanted. We have that potential too. We can help dogs become more than just companions; like the dogs that go behind bars and like Sammy at our house, they can be our teachers, spiritual guides, and even our heroes.
Several years ago I was asked to identify the best role model I had ever met. I smiled and quickly answered, “Lassie.” Why? Because Lassie lives a life filled with love, courage, forgiveness, compassion, and acceptance. And every dog has that same potential. If you don’t believe me, then go meet the unwanted canines that have been trained by those who are a part of Paws in Prison! Dogs are more than pets; they are modest and unassuming heroes in the making that are just waiting for the opportunity to awe in ways we cannot begin to imagine.
2
tenacity
he never surrendered
Let me tell you the secret that has led me to my goal. My strength lies solely in my tenacity.
—Louis Pasteur
I
t had been just over a year since John F. Kennedy had been gunned down in Dallas, Texas, and the country was still immersed in a cloud of confusion. The great social upheaval that was sweeping Americ
a was being covered by television. Millions were bombarded daily by events that seemed to shake traditional thinking to the core. A young, suddenly politically active generation was protesting against the war in Vietnam. African Americans, inspired by Martin Luther King, Jr., were marching in the streets demanding equal rights. The Beatles and other British acts controlled the music industry pushing Elvis, Sinatra, and other U.S. artists to the back burner. TV and movies were beginning to take on an edge that left many people uncomfortable. America’s sense of greatness and opportunity that had defined the 1950s had given way to a period of 1960s pessimism. This dark cloud of insecurity and apprehension had invaded every corner of the country including Tacoma, Washington. It seemed what America needed was a born-and-bred hero but what the country had was a crop of anti-heroes. In many ways this was a sad and depressing time.
With Christmas just days away, Marvin Scott, a gray-haired man in his sixties, was trying to ignore the national malaise and praying his furniture business would pick up. Scott’s dark-rimmed glasses, black, conservative suit, white shirt, and muted tie made the Tacoma store owner appear almost as gloomy as the national mood. Yet far from being a somber, withdrawn person, Scott was actually outgoing and charming. He had a zest for life that few men nearing retirement age possessed. Though usually hidden by his dark coats, he possessed broad, rugged shoulders and a flat stomach that also proved his vibrant and inexhaustible energy. Because of having to move the heavy furniture he sold, he was also a strong man who retained his optimism when it seemed the whole country had chosen to embrace a cynical spirit. Though he didn’t know it, he would need each of those traits and a remarkable dog to just survive until the holidays.
Scott lived in one of the most beautiful places in the country. Spanaway, Washington, sprang to life in the 1890s as a tourist resort. Back then people from all over the world took the train to the small community to visit Mt. Rainer. As the visitors got off at the train station, the picturesque, snow-covered mountain loomed in the background leaving them in awe. Most snapped photos and bought postcards and took the story of the area back to places like Kansas City, Chicago, Dallas, and New York. A few decided the area was so breathtaking they wanted to see it each morning when they awoke. Hence, over time, the small town was transformed into a quaint community filled with people who loved outdoor life.
Over the decades Marvin Scott watched the town grow and prosper while also keeping an eye on the unchanging Mt. Rainer. He often spent hours on the dock just three hundred yards before his lakefront home relishing the incredible vistas nature presented to him. What he saw while enjoying Lake Spanaway never grew old. And usually when he was on the dock or walking around the lake, Scott was accompanied by a mutt named Patches.
Patches was anything but a purebred dog. The white-and-brown fifty-pound mass of fur defined the term “medium-sized mongrel.” Scott freely acknowledged his canine was a mix of collie and malamute with likely a few other things tossed in, but the man believed that gave the dog character. In an age where everyone wanted a certain breed and was paying big bucks for that privilege, the furniture store owner took special pride in having an animal no one would pay money to own. In Scott’s way of thinking, Patches defined America and its individual spirit.
From the collie side of his family, Patches had developed a real instinct for herding. The problem was Scott didn’t own any sheep, goats, or cows. So the dog constantly tried to unsuccessfully corral the ducks and geese that lived around the lake. He also leaned into Scott when they walked together.
From the malamute side, Patches received a stubborn nature that caused Scott even more grief than having the dog try to herd him on their walks. Malamutes simply have a mind of their own. Much like a cat, they decide which of their master’s orders were important and which could be ignored. Added to this independent streak was brute strength. Malamutes had been bred for generations for to pull heavy freight across Alaska’s deep snow, so the dog was as strong as he was stubborn.
Tough but not large, Patches was also tenacious. Once he set his mind to something he stuck with it. That meant if he decided to drag a large piece of driftwood up the steep, rock-covered bank to Scott’s home he would not rest until the task was completed. It mattered not to the dog that his human companion returned the wood to the lake almost as soon as it had appeared at the backdoor. Added to these malamute traits was the collie’s ability to problem solve. That meant the dog could figure out how to open latches thus getting into places he wasn’t supposed to be.
Winter was Patches’s least favorite season. He didn’t mind the cold weather; in fact, with his dual coats he thrived in it. What he hated were the short days. Having so little daylight meant that he and Scott couldn’t spend as much time down by the lake, and the dog sorely missed those bonding moments with his master.
On this December night it was just past ten and the temperature had already fallen to single digits when Patches noted the sound of Scott’s approaching car. Shaking the sleep from his head, the dog got up and ambled to the front door. After patting Patches’s head and then visiting with his wife, Scott moved to the kitchen window to glance down at the lake. He could make out the form of a patrol boat, almost hidden in the darkness, tied up at their dock. The almost gale-force winds appeared to be knocking it against the side of the pier. He wondered out loud if he needed to go down to the lake and do a better job securing the craft. His wife quickly assured him that it was a night not fit for man or beast and he should stay inside and let the local officers worry about their boat. She added that if it was no concern to them it should not be a concern to him either. As the woman would soon discover, those words of wisdom went in one ear and out the other.
Scott ate a late supper, glanced through the mail, and turned on the TV. Sitting in his chair he tried to relax but every time he heard the wind his thoughts took him back to the lake. Maybe the government folks weren’t worried about their boat but that didn’t mean he shouldn’t be concerned about the dock and pier. The wind, icing on the lake, and cold weather spelled a combination for disaster and, if he could prevent any damage from happening, he felt he should do it. The wind chill was well below zero; he fought the urge to act on his impulse for almost half an hour. Finally, at eleven, he looked over to his wife and announced he was at least going to go down to the lake and check on things. Putting on a heavy coat over his suit, grabbing his gloves and a hat, he walked out the back door into the unforgiving cold. By his side, ducking his head down low toward the ground to try and avoid the wind, was an eager and enthusiastic Patches. In the dog’s mind it was never too cold for a walk.
The rocks that covered the dramatically sloping ground leading to the lake helped prevent erosion, but tonight those tiny boulders made walking all but impossible. Scott’s dress shoes slipped with each of his steps. Several times he barely caught himself before falling. He was a third of the way to the water when he wondered if maybe his wife had been right. Perhaps what happened to the boat and pier didn’t matter. Yet as he turned back to look at the house the climb up appeared even less inviting than the walk down.
Though much more nimble than the man, Patches was sliding too. More than once the icy rocks’ uneven size and shape, combined with the strong, cold breeze sent the dog sprawling. Yet, unlike the man, he never looked back. His eyes were on the prize—a chance to walk around the lake with his master.
It took more than ten minutes for the two to make their way to the dock but only a few seconds for Scott to realize he had been right. The wind was pushing the boat against the pier. He needed to find a way to shove it back out into the lake a bit and wedge an object between the vessel and wood to protect them both. As he got closer something else caught his eye. The wind had blown lake water onto the side of the boat and dock and it was now frozen. If that layer grew thick enough it could do great damage to both.
Standing uneasily on the dock, leaning into the wind to keep his balance, his glasses now freezing over with spray, Scott full
y appreciated just how cold it was. It was as if the wind was blowing right through the layers of clothing and to his skin. As he took a deep breath of the moist air even his lungs began to ache. Whatever he needed to do, he had to do it quickly and get back to the house. If he didn’t he might be a candidate for frostbite.
Looking around he noted a small limb that had been pushed onto shore. Carefully making his way to it, he picked it up. It was well over four feet long, so it had the length he needed. It was also thick enough to do the job. Sliding across the frozen ground and back onto the pier, he skated toward the boat’s stern. Trying to lock his feet on the wooden planking, he aimed the timber at the boat and gave a powerful shove. Because the lake surface’s was now an almost invisible sheet of ice, the boat held solid. That should have been a sign for the man to simply give up and head home, but like his dog, the businessman also had a deep stubborn streak. He simply could not stop in the middle of a job; he had to finish it.
Just behind Scott, his coat bristling in an effort to fight off the wind and cold, Patches observed the man’s futile efforts. Pawing at the icy deck, the dog moved closer as if trying to understand the purpose in this exercise. Just as he sidled up beside the man’s leg, Scott again pushed against the boat. Once more the vessel was held solidly in place by the frozen water, but this time the man was not so fortunate. His leather soles lost their grip on the wooden planks, and he began sliding backwards. Tossing the timber to one side, Scott attempted to straighten up. Stretching his arms to gain balance, his body twisted. From the corner of his eye he spied the end of the pier and the floating dock that rested alongside it. If he didn’t find a way to stop he realized he would be falling the six feet down to the dock.
Service Tails Page 14