SHELTER DOGS WORK IN PRISON DOG

PROGRAMS

Prison Dog Programs

Rebecca L. Rhoades ~ ASPCA

Sentence for Salvation

Behind the walls of correctional institutions, inmates find a renewed sense of purpose
through working with injured and rescued animals.

In our nation’s correctional system, more than one million men, women and young adults
are living their lives in confinement. They’re there for a variety of reasons—anger, drug
abuse, robbery, murder—but in time, most will get a chance at a better future.
Meanwhile, 15 million prisoners of a different sort are facing a possible death sentence.
They’re animals with whom we share our world—dogs, cats, horses and even wildlife.
They’ve committed no crime, but they will be punished unless someone steps forward
and gives them a second chance at life.

Both groups face isolation and rejection, but when their paths merge, they often give each
other hope, as one prisoner becomes the salvation of the other.

Death Row Dogs

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At the Ashland County (OH) Humane Society, Taffy is just days away from euthanasia.
The young blue heeler/beagle mix needs obedience training and socialization, and his
luck is running out.

A few days later, Taffy is relaxing in the cell of Eric Roberson, an inmate at the
Mansfield Correctional Institution, a maximum security prison in Ohio. Taffy and
Roberson are one of almost 30 inmate/shelter dog pairs participating in the Tender
Loving Dog Care program at Mansfield. The program provides the inmates with the
opportunity to train and socialize otherwise doomed dogs, who are then adopted into
good homes.

Roberson, who is serving 24 years for a 1992 murder conviction, has been in the program
since Jesse Williams, deputy warden, special services, introduced it in 1998. He’s given a
new life to 22 dogs; an additional 200 have also been saved.

“These dogs didn’t fit into society or they failed to meet the standards of somebody out
there,” says Roberson. “They’re just like us. By working with the dogs, we’re giving
them a chance to get back to a life that some of us might never see.”

Once matched with a dog, the inmates are fully responsible for the dog’s care: feeding,
grooming, housebreaking, obedience training. After a few months of round-the-clock
care, the dogs are ready for adoption. And according to Williams, there’s a waiting list “a
mile long” of families waiting to adopt one of these special dogs.

Soon Taffy, like the other Mansfield dogs once sentenced to die, will find a new home.
That time often comes too soon for the men who train and bond with them. “It’s like
saying goodbye to your best friend,” says Roberson.

Where the Wild Things Are

In Marysville, OH, Sharon Young is serving time for aggravated murder. Once an angry
woman, she had little compassion for other beings. “Ten years ago, you wouldn’t have
wanted me near your pets,” she says. Now she is responsible for almost 400 animals each
year.

On any given day at the Ohio Reformatory for Women, the basement of the housing unit
is filled with injured or orphaned wild birds, squirrels, opossums, ducks and rabbits.
Citizens rescue the animals and give them to the Ohio Wildlife Center (OWC), a private
rescue organization that, in turn, sends them to the ORW to recover.

In 1994, Sue Anderson, a longtime volunteer at the OWC, was overwhelmed by the work
of caring for the 4,000 sick, injured and orphaned animals who came through the center
each year. When a friend who worked in the Ohio prison system suggested a partnership,
Anderson jumped at the opportunity.

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Inmates in the program are trained by Anderson to care for the various animals, and with
the help of detailed guidebooks, they provide 24-hour nursing care. The women have to
learn about the proper diet for each animal, which can include hand-feeding mealworms
to birds, and such difficult techniques as tube-feeding baby opossums. As program aide,
Young oversees all of the program’s activities, from documenting the intake and release
of each animal to monitoring feeding schedules and keeping health records.

Once recovered, the animals are returned to the wild. “Our goal is to get as many animals
healthy and back into their natural habitats as we can,” says Young. “It’s difficult to see
them go, but it makes you feel proud to know that you’ve done something good and
really miraculous.”

Recently, OWC expanded its program into the Marion (OH) Correctional Institution, a
men’s facility.

On the Right Track

It’s tempting to wonder if the lives of the men and women who participate in animal
welfare programs behind bars would have been different if they’d had such opportunities
during their youth. Monique Koehler, founder of the Thoroughbred Retirement
Foundation (TRF), believes the answer is yes.

In 1994, Koehler helped launch a program at the Charles H. Hickey School in Baltimore,
MD, a residential institution for young men ages 12 to 20 that pairs troubled students
with retired thoroughbreds. The Hickey program is modeled on one that TRF started at
Wallkill (NY) State Correctional Institution in 1983. “We need to seize the opportunity to
let the animals help these kids find something good in the world,” says Koehler.

“When I came here, I had an anger problem,” says Samuel H., age 16. “Working with the
horses has really helped me out. It’s given me a good perspective on animals, on how to
treat them properly.” For Allen R., also 16, the program offers something to look forward
to each day. “You really want to get out there and work. I’d never been around an adult
horse before. I like working with them.”

As part of the Hickey School’s only “living” classroom, the students are responsible for
all aspects of care for the farm’s 29 horses. They feed them, groom them, exercise them,
tend to their injuries and study their physiology. “A lot of the horses come from the
racetracks,” says farm manager Andre Wheeler. “Some are in great shape, some are in
poor condition, some are maybe a week or two away from dying when we get them. It’s
the care of these young men that helps turn these horses around.”

Similar programs are in place at the Blackburn Correctional Complex in Lexington, KY,
and at Marion County Correctional Institution in Ocala, FL.

Big-House Hounds

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Each year, more than 24,000 greyhounds are retired from the racing circuit, according to
the National Greyhound Association. Some are adopted as pets through rescue groups,
but many more are euthanized. In Kansas, a lucky few go to prison.

About one year ago, Rich Booher, a corrections counselor at Ellsworth Correctional
Facility, saw a local news report about racing greyhounds who were going to be
euthanized. Since the inmates at Ellsworth were already training assistance dogs for
Canine Assistance Rehabilitation Education and Services, Booher suggested fostering
greyhounds and training them for adoption.

“There was a need,” says Booher. “We’re always looking for ways for our inmates to
give back to society, and thousands of greyhounds are put down every year.” So Booher
contacted Deborah Sanford of TLC Greyhound Adoption, and soon greyhounds were
frolicking with inmates in the recreation yard and sleeping in cells. Each hound has a
primary and a secondary handler, who teach the dog house manners and basic obedience.
Most hounds leave the program after six to eight weeks knowing how to walk nicely on a
lead and respond to commands such as sit, stay, down and come.

Almost immediately, other facilities within the Kansas Department of Corrections were
inquiring about fostering greyhounds, and the program quickly spread to the Hutchinson
and El Dorado facilities. Currently, some 30 greyhounds are being cared for in the
Kansas system.

“We’re able to accomplish a great deal with the dogs because we’re with them 24 hours a
day,” says Booher. “If you have that much time to devote to an animal, there’s a lot of
reinforcement, and they learn very rapidly.”

Recently the Hutchinson facility expanded its animal welfare programs to include
gentling and socializing wild horses in conjunction with the Bureau of Land
Management’s (BLM) National Wild Horse and Burro Program. “BLM has quite an
effort going on to adopt out these horses,” says Sam Cline, deputy warden. “But they’re
usually difficult to adopt because they haven’t had much training. We’re working with
the horses to make it easier and safer to place them with somebody in the public.”

Since summer 2000, participating inmates have worked diligently at building barns and
stables, fencing in paddocks, laying rock to create roadways and hauling supplies and
equipment. In March 2001, Hutchinson received its first shipment of 100 horses.

“We’re saving horses and changing men,” says Cline. “That capsulizes what we’re trying
to do.”

New Leash on Life

The Maricopa County Sheriff’s Office (MCSO) in Phoenix, AZ, offers a variety of often-
controversial programs designed to rehabilitate its inmates—tent communities, chain

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gangs, pink underwear—but in May 2000, Sheriff Joe Arpaio decided to open one of his
jails to help rehabilitate some of the silent victims.

With space at local shelters at a premium, the sheriff’s office needed to find additional
housing for the animals seized by its Animal Cruelty Investigation Unit. The 30-year-old
First Avenue Jail, no longer used to house inmates due to plumbing problems, provided a
solution.

Known as the MCSO Animal Safe Hospice (MASH), the facility houses dogs, cats, ducks
and other animals until their cases have been adjudicated and they’re able to be adopted
out to the public. Each dog has a private cell, while the cats live communally in one of
the day rooms. So far, about 90 animals have been through the MASH program.

Caring for the animals are women who are serving their time in the tent cities. For 12-
hour shifts, the inmates work with the animals, tending wounds and illnesses, cleaning
cages, teaching basic obedience commands and helping them overcome fear and
aggression.

“It gives the women a sense of accomplishment when they can help an animal overcome
his problems,” says section commander Sgt. Dave Williams. “At the same time, the
animal is helping them overcome their problems.” One inmate was asked how she felt
about living in a tent while the animals live in air-conditioned quarters. “They didn’t do
anything wrong,” she replied. “I did.”

After the case is adjudicated and the animals have recovered from their injuries, they are
spayed or neutered and put up for adoption. MASH is a no-kill shelter, and all of the
animals remain in the care of the inmates until they can be placed in suitable homes.

As animal welfare programs continue to grow within the U.S. system of corrections, there
are those who believe that such programs place the animals in danger and shouldn’t exist.
But the benefits far outweigh any potential, and to date unfounded, negative effects.
“Correctional institutions provide an ideal environment to change [animal] behavior,”
says Stephanie LaFarge, Ph.D., director of ASPCA counseling services. “The animal
doesn’t feel like he’s in jail…just the opposite. What we think of as a negative
environment, the animal thinks is wonderful.

“Animal advocates need to support these programs,” LaFarge continues. “They’re

helping animals who are otherwise relatively undesirable, and giving them a good chance
at a new and better life.”

As testament to the rehabilitative properties of such programs, more and more

correctional institutions are realizing what Jesse Williams of Mansfield has known all
along—that these programs not only provide training and socialization for the animals,
but also for the prisoners.

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“Anything that’s good is hard to keep to yourself,” says Williams. “But these programs
do a lot of good things, not only for the animals and for the inmates, but for the
communities as a whole.”

PRISON DOG PROGRAM TOUCHES MANY LIVES

The Prison Dog Project transforms
the lives of many people
Sr Pauline Quinn at Washington State Prison

The Prison Dog Project is a program that brings dogs with unsocial characteristics that
render them inadaptable into correctional facilities to be trained by inmates. Started in
1981 by Dominican nun Sister Pauline Quinn, the program has been adopted throughout
and outside the U.S.

One of the reasons the program has been successful is it transforms the lives of many
people and animals at once.

It touches the lives of prison inmates and guards, people with disabilities, society as a
whole and the dogs. Animals form a natural bridge between people that has affected the
relationships between prison guards and inmates, inmates and the public and people with
disabilities and society. Animals, especially dogs, break the ice and foster communication
and connection.

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In the project, prisoners are responsible for the care and training of dogs to be good
citizens or for service for training schools, people with disabilities or law enforcement.
Prisoners learn skills such as dog training and grooming and earn money providing
services to private dog owners. This income is used to train service dogs that go to people
with disabilities free of charge. Some inmates become so expert that potential employers
want to hire them upon release.

The presence of dogs in prison has had therapeutic effects relieving tensions and reducing
violence. The relationship between prison guards and prisoners is improved. The
unconditional love from dogs has helped prisoners access long buried feelings and
armored hearts. Prisoners speak of the reward of knowing they’re preparing the dog so it
can pass its restorative effect on to a future owner. Prisoners get in touch with a sense of
meaning and purpose doing something that regenerates them while also helping others.

The Prison Dog Project decreases the waiting list for assistance dogs and helps people
with disabilities get dogs faster, opening up accessibility and social contact. The dogs
also help society connect with the disability community.

The project helps society by redeeming and rehabilitating prisoners enabling them to
become happier, healthier members of society. The prisoners learn or reclaim
responsibility, tolerance, patience and other qualities beneficial to society.

The project saves the lives of dogs that would otherwise be euthanized. They are given a
second chance by being trained to be good citizens or for service and returned to society.

The Prison Dog Project relies primarily on donations and supplies from the public in
order to continue and expand.

Service dog trained by prisoner aids soldier

HILAND: The inmate who instructed the animal says
the experience taught her compassion.
By KAYLIN BETTINGER

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Last winter, Army Pfc. Landon Garrett was injured snowboarding, leaving him with two
fused vertebrae and a temporarily paralyzed right side. Garrett now has a new friend to
help him recover. On Tuesday, he received a service dog, Sha Ren, a Shar-Pei mix
trained by inmates at the Hiland Mountain Correctional Center in Eagle River. The
training is part of a program that turns behaviorally challenged dogs from Mat-Su Animal
Shelter into lovable pets, or in a few special cases, service dogs.

And while the recipients of the service dogs may be getting help from the dogs, the
inmates who train the dogs are also beneficiaries.

Inmate Dana Hilbish, 50, was Sha Ren's main trainer. She said being a trainer in the
program taught her compassion and how to let go.

"She wasn't ever mine, but she'll always be here," Hilbish said, holding her hand to her
heart.

Sha Ren was only 6 weeks old when she was found in the Mat-Su during a cold snap in
2006 and was only 8 weeks old when Hilbish began training her. Hilbish trained Sha Ren
to retrieve objects and bring them to her owner at a raised height, open doors and carry
items for her owner.

The service dog training program is an offset of SPOT, a program through Hiland
Mountain Correctional Center. The program, which started in 2006, has graduated over
200 dogs.

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When Cheri Hagen, instructor for SPOT training program, saw programs in other prisons
working to train service dogs, she said she thought, "why can't we?"

To find potential service dogs, trainers look for exceptional qualities and intelligence in
Mat-Su Animal Shelter dogs that come through SPOT. When they see a candidate for the
service-dog program, they begin training, which can take up to two years. Often the dogs
aren't able to perform tasks down the line and are given back to the animal shelter for
adoption, like the other dogs in SPOT. So far, only three service dogs have graduated
from the program. The third is Sha Ren.

Pfc. Garrett said the dog-training program has worked wonders for him. He hopes to
make a full recovery and begin training with the Army again within a year. If his hopes
are realized, he said, he would give Sha Ren to another injured soldier who needs her just
as much as he does today.

Jail Inmates Take In Shelter Dogs

WSBTV.com Oct. 12th 2010

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GWINNETT COUNTY, Ga. -- A local animal shelter and a jail is teaming up to
help ease the problem of overcrowding at animal shelters and help keep more
animals alive.

Dennis Kronenfeld of the Society of Humane Friends, a no-kill, low-cost spay and
neuter shelter in Gwinnett, has joined with Gwinnett County Sheriff Butch Conway
and the Gwinnett County jail to help give some inmates a new opportunity.

"I'm excited about this. I've been wanting to do this for a long time," said Dennis
Kronenfeld of the Society of Humane Friends.

Kronenfeld said the plan has the inmates, who are screened, care for dogs that are
about to be put down. He said the plan saves the county money it would spend to
euthanize them.

"It allows people to think of something other than themselves. It enhances their
nurturing and that kind of thing, so absolutely it helps the prisoner too,"
Kronenfeld said.

According to Kronenfeld, his shelter will provide food, training and veterinary
services for the pets, until someone decides to adopt them. They will start with five
dogs and 10 inmates.

"Nothing in there will be euthanized. It will be there until we get it a home,"

Kronenfeld said.

The program is a go and it starts in four to six weeks, according to Kronenfeld.

Innovative prison program teaches man and

dog
Jeff Klinkenberg ~ St. Petersburg Times

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CRAWFORDVILLE — At Wakulla Correctional Institute in North Florida,
inmates carry dog biscuits. Convicted robber Kevin A. McMullan, inmate No.
962556, reaches into his pocket and finds a treat for Pooh. A husky Labrador
retriever-chow mix, Pooh gobbles the offering a little too enthusiastically. McMullan
presses him firmly to the floor to calm him. Settling, Pooh licks McMullan on the
hand. A couple of months ago, things looked bleak for Pooh. At the animal shelter in
town, he was a candidate for euthanasia. He was big and undisciplined and nobody
wanted to adopt him. Then Pooh became part of a new program at the prison and
got another chance. McMullan got one, too. They both owe second chances to a man
named Jay King.

King, 63, is one of those dog whisperers you hear about. During a training session,
he is likely to lie on the floor so he can get a dog's-eye view of the world. He prides
himself on understanding how a dog thinks. He rewards and never punishes.

Years ago, when he was a mail carrier in Tallahassee, he seldom met a dog he
couldn't befriend. Even a ferocious dog that charged out of a yard, popping its jaws
and snarling, was open to his charms. He'd kneel and hold his hands out for a
careful sniff. "Hey, big boy! How are you? You protecting your territory? What a
good boy!'' Then he'd reach into his pocket for a treat.

"I believe in Milk Bones,'' he says. "I never needed pepper spray.''

A while back, two women from the Citizens for Humane Animal Treatment in
Crawfordville heard about a program in Texas called Paws in Prison.

They wondered if it might be worth trying in Northwest Florida. The women, Susan
Yelton and Cathy Sherman, drove to Wakulla Correctional Institute near
Tallahassee to chat with the warden.

"We'd like to bring some undisciplined dogs into your prison and get someone to
teach the inmates how to train those dogs,'' Yelton remembers saying. "After the

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inmates train the dogs, we'll be able to find the dogs good homes on the outside. It's
good for the dogs, and the inmates will learn a new skill.''

"You have to be kidding me,'' Russell Hosford answered. "Do you mean dogs will
be living in the prison barracks with the inmates?''

"Yes.''

"For how long?''

"Only two months! But of course we'll want to make it a regular program.''

Soon after, they hired their dog whisperer. They told him he'd have to be a prison
inmate whisperer too.

Jay King, born in New York, speaks with a rich Bronx accent when he's relaxed.
When speaking formally to, say, a prison warden, the accent vanishes. When he is in
the company of inmates he becomes just another guy from the hood, replacing
"this" with "dis'' and "that" with "dat.'' He is part Chinese, part Hispanic, part
African-American and part American Indian. "I'm a Heinz 57 variety kind of guy,''
he says. "Just like most of my dogs, I'm a mutt.''

For the record, he and his wife, Sam, a nuclear chemist, have 13 mutts at home. In
Tallahassee he operates A Good Dog Academy, an obedience school, and gives
private lessons to desperate owners tired of chasing impudent dogs from the couch.
He has been at it for three decades. "I don't train dogs,'' he says. "I actually train
people to train their dogs.

"Helping a dog ain't brain surgery,'' he says, "but you have to be a psychologist.
You have to see the world from the dog's viewpoint before things are going to
happen. A dog only learns what the human teaches him.''

His mantra is "be kind.'' He likes to say that dogs and people are peas from the
same pod. We both want love. Sometimes to make the point he brings up serial
killer Ted Bundy, whose victims included two Florida State University female
students in 1978. After the poster boy for evil died in the electric chair even some
folks opposed to the death penalty slept better.

"I love Ted Bundy. Want to know why? Because he was a human being. I hate what
he did, but you have to wonder about what happened to him when he was a baby,
when he was a little boy, to make him go bad like he did. I'm guessing he didn't get
enough love. What would he have been like if he had been brought up different,
with love?

"Same thing with a dog. You give it unconditional love and affection, and man, the
love and affection going to come right back at you.''

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•••

King didn't know what to think when the nice women from Citizens for Humane
Animal Treatment offered to pay him a modest fee to teach prison inmates dog-
handling skills. But he was willing to give it a try.

Wakulla Correctional is not home to serial murderers and sex offenders. The 1,500
inmates who live in the modest dorms or barracks are often thieves, drug users and
con men who disappointed parents, teachers, girlfriends, wives and children on
their way.

They get here by requesting an assignment to Wakulla, a "Faith and Character''-

based institution, where inmates receive religious and life-skill instruction. They
learn languages, public speaking, writing, landscaping, carpentry, roofing and how
to start small businesses. The waiting list recently reached 600. The warden says
about 93 percent of inmates who finish their sentences at his prison stay out of
prison in the future. In other prisons, one out of three inmates come back.

"The idea is that when you get out of here, you're a better person," the warden says.
"You've learned something worth learning and you're qualified for some kind of
job.''

Nobody thought that "dog trainer" might show up on future resumes.

•••

Before he lived behind a double fence topped by razor wire, watched closely by
guards, supervised almost every minute of every day, deprived of the company of
loved ones, Kevin McMullan delivered seafood up the Atlantic seaboard all the way
to Boston, with a stop in Manhattan at the Fulton Fish Market. He also had a 20-
year cocaine habit. He held up a hardware store in Orange County in 2007.

Now he lives in the T-1 barracks. He is 41 and has short brown hair and hazel eyes.
Among his four tattoos is the name of a lost love, Ashley.

McMullan has four years left on his sentence. In June, he was among 36 inmates
who signed up for the new Paws in Prison program. "It sounded interesting to me.
You know, something new.'' Prison is a lot of things, but exciting isn't one of them.

The dog whisperer, Jay King, had a lot of questions. Had inmates signed up for his
program out of boredom? Were they too selfish and too antisocial to work as a
team? Were they capable of loving a dog? He had no idea.

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"Some dogs, and some inmates, have a problems with authority. To tell the truth, I
do too. But someone has to be in charge. Someone has to be the alpha dog. Me.''

King thought Pooh might be a good fit for McMullan for the simplest reason. Pooh
is a large, strong animal and McMullan is a large, strong man.

Sleepy-eyed Joshua Allen, inmate No. U28856 , imprisoned on a drug charge, got the
high-energy golden Lab, Sunshine. A mellow burglar, Scott Wilcoxson, inmate No.
R49178, was assigned a mellow cocker spaniel, Captain. Robber Mitchell Lacey,
inmate No. U21361, with a tattoo that says "Crazy White Boy,'' took control of Jax,
a Lab-Rottweiler mix.

Howard Preston IV, inmate No. 469666 from Palm Beach County, who has a quiet,
gentle manner, received a high-strung redbone hound, Reba. "She wouldn't listen to
anyone,'' Preston says. "She was so shy. I had to earn her trust. I gave her a lot of
treats and massages.'' In his previous life, Preston manufactured and sold cocaine.
He also had a chihuahua, Trixie. He wants to train dogs professionally one day —
perhaps open his own obedience school — after he finishes his prison sentence in
2017.

•••

Sometimes the dog whisperer roams a room full of inmates like Groucho Marx in A
Day at the Races, bent and rambunctious, cracking wise. "Tell me your name again.
I have a good memory but it's short.'' At other times, King grows quiet and watches
the inmates work things out on their own. He's an old Navy man — he served in
Vietnam — and part of him recalls boot camp.

"All humans and all animals are pack animals,'' he shouts. "We're a pack. Say it!''

''We're a pack!''

"I can't hear you.''

''WE'RE A PACK!''

Twelve inmates get to be trainers. Each trainer has two assistants who do everything
from walk dogs to clean up. At night, the dogs sleep in wire kennels pushed up
against the bunks.

"Don't show fear,'' King says when lessons resume. "The dog will know you are
unstable. Fear is an unstable quality. Hyper is an unstable quality. In the wild,
unstable qualities will prevent the pack from finding food. So the pack will kill the
unstable dog. What's my point? You have to be stable to teach your dog stability. It
ain't rocket science.''

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He teaches inmates to use dog biscuits and praise to teach dogs to return to their
kennels. He teaches inmates the art of teaching their dog to sit, to shake hands, to
walk calmly on a leash, to come. "Listen, dogs want to please you. Take advantage
of it.''

He forbids corporal punishment for any offense.

When he notices a trainer admonishing an assistant in a harsh manner, he takes him

aside. "Be careful how you talk to another man. Count to 10 before you say
something that everybody will regret.''

•••

"My dream is to gradually spend less and less time at the prison," the dog whisperer
says a while later. "My goal is to let the current trainers train the next generation of
trainers. Then those guys will train the next generation. I hope this program
continues for a long time.''

Graduation day.

The first crop of dogs are leaving, headed hopefully for good homes and people who
will love them. A new pack of dogs will be coming in for eight weeks of training. The
first trainers King trained will train new trainers.

The recreation room on the prison campus gradually fills up. There are dog people
from Citizens for Humane Animal Treatment, wardens from other prisons, stone-
faced guards, VIPs from the Department of Corrections in Tallahassee.

They make speeches. They show a video of the Paws in Prison program. They snack
on cookies shaped like Milk Bones and eat crackers and salsa served in dog bowls.

A tape plays Pomp and Circumstance as inmates and dogs march proudly into the
room.

Each inmate receives a diploma and a kind word. Each dog receives a treat and a
kind word. That's it. It's over.

Out in the prison yard, on the wet green grass, inmates spend their last moments
with the graduating dogs.

"I know we're going to get new dogs to train, but this is really tough, man,'' says
inmate No. J22148, Robert E. Shull, 30, from Clay County, where he put a torch to
another man's truck in 2007. He'll be in prison until Feb. 15, 2010.

Hunkered in the yard, he hugs a Walker hound with all his might.

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"Hey,'' Shull says to Jay King. "HEY! He's going to be adopted, right? They ain't
going to put Walker to sleep."

"I promise you they ain't going to put him to sleep.''

"You sure?''

The dog whisperer grabs the blond inmate by both shoulders. He looks gently into
his eyes.

"Listen to me. I want you to hear me clear on this. He's going to be all right. He'll be
in a good home.''

Shull gulps and nods. A prison guard waits to escort Shull back to where he belongs.

"Goodbye, Walker,'' Shull says. "Be a good boy.''

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