The Paw-shank Redemption

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he Paw-shank Redemption
Dwight inmates find dog teaching not just for canines

February 4, 2007

Angela Little sat at a small table, pretending to read a book. When the alarm clock sounded across the room, she ignored it. Her dog Hannah rushed over to her, jumped up, trying to get her attention.

Without saying a word, she gestured to the dog, followed her to the alarm clock and turned it off. Hannah got a treat and Little got a sense of accomplishment.
» Click to enlarge image

» Click to enlarge image

Hannah is in training to be a hearing alert dog. Her trainer, a native of Gibson City, is an inmate at Dwight Correctional Center.

"I figured if I had to be here, what better a program to be in," Little said.

The program -- Helping Paws -- is the first and only one in Illinois. The first dogs entered the prison in May 2000. Since that time, 116 dogs have passed through the fence at Dwight. Sixty-eight became companion dogs that did not have the qualities needed to be a full-fledged therapy dog. One dog became a demonstration dog, 14 became therapy dogs, 19 became service dogs, and one became a hearing dog. Additionally, four other dogs completed their basic training at Dwight and went on to be trained elsewhere. One became a search-and-rescue dog, and three became drug-detection dogs.
Career for future
For the women at Dwight, training the dogs is more than just something to pass the time in prison. It is a way to give back and a way to build the life they will start after serving their time.

"It's one of the only employment areas that does not hold them back because they have been incarcerated," Dwight warden Mary Siglar said.

Little has been incarcerated since 1996 after being convicted of first-degree murder. She has learned a lot while incarcerated, including making God a part of her everyday life.

"I don't regret coming here because it has taught me so much," she said. "I would gladly come here, but I would not let someone die in the meantime."

The death of Little's husband landed her in jail. She was convicted of hiring a 15-year-old boy to kill her husband.

Unlike many of the inmates, Little wants to tell parts of her story.

She does not think that there was anything that anyone else could have done to stop the actions that landed her in prison. But, she said, there was something she could have done.

"All I had to do was say no," Little said.

Little did not elaborate much, saying only she was not there when her husband died.
Tough trainer
Little is a petite woman with bright eyes and a demeanor that makes you think her caring for a dog is second nature. But, when she is with the dogs, she is a tough trainer.

Her mother-in-law was in a car accident and now uses a wheelchair. She was an active person before the accident, and Little knows a dog could help her to regain her independence.

"That always stays in my mind," she said. "I am a strict trainer and I don't let them get away with a lot because that is always on my mind," she said.

The Helping Paws cottage at Dwight has 14 rooms. Each houses two inmates and one dog. Just one of the women is a trainer, but her roommate helps out. Three cats -- Daisy, Nosey and Spice -- also live in the cottage, because the dogs need to learn to live with other animals as part of their training.

Although the warden and other employees cannot keep in touch with the inmates once they have been released, Siglar said they know of one former inmate who used her training to build a career once she was released.
Self-worth builder
Training the dogs offers more to the inmates than just an education for a future career.

"They enjoy it a great deal and it gives them a sense of self-worth," Siglar said.

Little has trained eight dogs, only two of which did not make it all the way through the program. She said the dog who touched her the most is Nala, who was her first hearing dog that she had for a year.

One of the reasons Nala is one of her most fondly remembered dogs is because her time training that dog changed her as a person.

"That dog helped teach me how to dig deep to find those (hidden) feelings inside myself," she said.

It was while training Nala that Little started attending church services and Bible study.
Downward spiral
Little said she was brought up going to church, but the time just before she was incarcerated was so awful that she stopped believing in God all together. Her brother and sister-in-law died and her mother-in-law was in a bad car accident. She believes this was the beginning of her downward spiral.

The first occasion in recent times that God rescued her was at the county jail following her arrest, Little said.

"I hit rock bottom in county," she said.

She then attempted suicide.

"In that moment, God saved me from that," she said. "He did not let me die. He sent a guard in and he saved me."

Today, Little is a different person.

Like many of the women in the program, Little had pets before she was sentenced to Dwight. She said her family used to breed dogs.
Prior exposure
Catherine Smith, who is from Chicago, not only had a family dog before she was sentenced, but had a therapy dog for her son, Larry.

Her son had a hearing dog but, after having surgery, did not need the dog anymore. Her son is 16 now.

She appreciates the job the dogs she is training will go on to do.

"I don't look at the past, I try to look at the future and what the dogs can do for someone else," she said.

She appreciates what the dogs are giving back to her, too.

"The dogs love you unconditionally," she said. "They don't care what you've done or what you look like."

Smith is training Buster, a boxer-Labrador mix.

Both Little and Smith are serving sentences for murder. Their cottage mate, Jozetta Phillips, has three charges on the inmate Web site -- murder, attempted armed robbery and forgery.

"I was on drugs and I had no responsibilities," Phillips said.
The gratitude
Today, though, she is training Pyke, an Australian shepherd mix. Like Little, Phillips said the program has given her so much.

"The program gives me responsibility," she said. "It gives me a feeling of caring for people, for handicapped people."

The program has given Phillips inner peace while she is behind prison walls. Like Little, Phillips also has made God a part of her daily life and does not fear the outside world, even though she was an addict before.

"It wasn't until I was down here that I realized that the Bible says you can be cured from addiction."

Phillips plans to use the skills she learned in prison to start her own business when she gets out.

Her mother, who still lives in Chicago and tries to visit Phillips once a month, told her a funny story the other day.

"She saw a blind guy on the bus with a dog," she said. "That dog saw her and tried to come to her and she said, 'that dog knows I am Jozette's mom.' "

Phillips doubts that the dog was one that she trained, but gets a good laugh out of the fact that her mother thought a dog could recognize that she has a daughter who trains canines.
Exit plan
Phillips plans to put her training to use when she leaves the prison.

"I can't wait to go home and do this," she said.

Her accomplishments in prison extend beyond its confines.

Her mother plans to get a dog when Phillips gets out and can train it for her.

Phillips has until 2012, but she does not go by "man's law." Working with the dogs has also helped her to overcome her own fear of dogs that she was not aware of.

The women use Cesar Millan's method for dog training, which means Phillips knows how to calm herself and not show fear from training the dogs.

For Little, working with the dogs also will continue once she leaves prison.

And, like Phillips, her work is a source of pride for her family on the outside. While Little tells her story, she gets choked up only once -- when she talks about her family being proud of what she is doing.

"My mother said, 'you're my daughter, I always loved you, but I did not like you. Now I like you,' " Little said.

For the women in Dwight, Helping Paws is one of many programs that prepares and trains them for the outside. It is unique because of what the women learn indirectly.

"The dogs have trained me as well as me training them," Little said. "I will never be the person I was before."