January 22, 2006
By Amy Matthew
The Pueblo Chieftain

As modern and well-maintained as today's prisons may be, their reality still seeps through at every glance: Locked doors at every turn. Cameras. Guards. Lots and lots of cold metal.

Photo: Arturo Acuna, 25, an inmate at Huerfano County Correctional Center in Walsenburg, hugs Colt, a 7-month-old Labrador retriever. Acuna and Colt are part of a foster program that allows inmates to train puppies that eventually will become service or therapy dogs.

It's not an environment that normally inspires optimism, but there are exceptions. At the Huerfano County Correctional Center, for instance, hope walks through the door on four legs, happily wagging its tail.

The privately run Walsenburg prison, a medium-security facility, partnered with CARES, Inc., a canine-assistance organization in Concordia, Kan., to establish a foster puppy program in 2003. The prison takes care of all expenses for the dogs, including veterinary care. It's a growing trend in prisons across the country, according to Angela Moreland, the correctional center's program director.

In Walsenburg, inmates are paired with a puppy (some as young as 6 weeks) who will be by their side constantly for at least three months. The men teach the dogs 40 commands, using a CARES training manual.

Once the dogs have graduated, they return to Kansas for secondary testing. Most dogs will then be placed in one of five categories, said Megan Lewellyn, the CARES canine assistance director: service dogs for mobility-disabled people; therapeutic dogs for people with hidden disabilities like autism, ADHD or bipolar disorder; professional therapy with schools or nursing homes; medic alert, for those with diabetes or epilepsy; and hearing alert.

To be accepted in the foster program, an inmate must have at least one year left on his sentence and can't have any negative reports on his prison record. Nineteen men are currently involved, said Moreland.

"If they're going down the wrong path, putting them with a dog changes that," she said. "They know if they act up, they lose the dog."

Watching the men with their furry students, it's difficult to tell who benefits more from the pairing, humans or canines. It's probably a tie.

"This is something I needed in my life," said Arturo Acuna, 25. "It's shown me a lot about myself."

Acuna's frisky shadow is Colt, a 7-month-old black Labrador retriever who likes to play and really, really likes to nap.

"He sleeps a lot, like me," Acuna said, smiling.

Colt is Acuna's second dog. The first, Ink, was also a black Lab, and gave Acuna a stark lesson in responsibility.

"I told my dad it's like having a kid," he said.

Acuna handled the pressures, though.

"Arturo spent so much time with the first dog, he graduated early," said Moreland.

Lyric, a 10-month-old golden retriever, rests quietly at the feet of Milligan (who wanted to be identified only by his surname), her soft-spoken handler. Milligan, 56, wasn't sure he wanted to join the program at first.

"My hesitation was (due to) this environment," he said.

Moreland said Milligan's indecision isn't uncommon. The prison holds more than 700 inmates, so the men worry about the dogs’ safety and about their own possible reaction to a person who might mistreat the animals. "One of my first questions to applicants is, ‘How are you going to handle it if someone comes up and kicks your dog?’ ” Moreland said. "I don't want them to be in a situation they can't handle."

The likelihood of someone mistreating the puppies is quite small, Moreland and Milligan said. In fact, the dogs’ effect is usually the opposite.

Photo: Lyric, a 10-month-old golden retriever, rests at the feet of her trainer, Milligan, in the Huerfano County Correctional Center. Lyric has been with Milligan for eight months. At the end of January, the puppy will leave to begin the second phase of her training in Kansas.

"It's amazing what dogs will do for people. You see the change in these big, tough inmates when they see the dogs," Moreland said. "A lot of them don't want to be part of the program, but they like having the dogs around."

"They're a great benefit. They help ease the tension," said Milligan. "I knew Arturo before he came here and they've helped him tremendously. As a friend of his, I really appreciate that."

The dogs are allowed in every area of the prison except the kitchen. Lyric, for instance, wanders the administrative offices during the day, since that's the area in which Milligan works. The puppy was afraid of women when she first arrived, but now can usually found next to Kim Brightman, the prison's public information officer.

"Lyric's pampered by everyone," Milligan said.

Lyric's time at the prison will end Jan. 30, when she completes her training and heads back to Kansas. Milligan admits it will be difficult to see her leave.

"You're with them 24 hours a day. It's like having a best friend," he said. "But it helps knowing that she's going to be able to help someone else."

As pampered as they are, the puppies do a whole lot of work while they're at the facility. They learn the simple commands like no, stay, sit and heel, but also learn tasks like opening doors and flipping light switches. HCCC staff members take them to their own homes and out in public so the dogs learn how to act in different environments.

"They're not toys. They're being trained for a purpose. We have to be representatives for CARES and the facility," Milligan said.

The training is filled with positive reinforcement - something many of these men probably didn't get in their lives previously, but still are able to give. Lewellyn said the program, which CARES also has with three correctional facilities in Kansas, benefits everyone.

"A lot of inmates thank us for the opportunity to give back to society. They tell us it's great to have someone who won't judge them," she said.

Milligan said the things he's taught Lyric - patience, acceptance, discipline - have influenced other areas of his life, and he's full of praise for Kurtz and Moreland for permitting the facility to take part in the foster program.

"I realize now what I need to do to help someone else. With guys in a prison setting, that's one of the best things we can have," he said. "There are good things that happen in prison. Anything like this (program) that you bring in benefits society."

For Acuna, who also sees the program as possible vocational training, the dogs are guides to a future that's miles away from where he used to be.

"This has helped me shed my image. I'm more than my past; we're more than just inmates," he said. "We did a bad thing, but we don't have to stay bad. We can do something to help people."

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