Pets Help Rescue Young Offenders From a Dog’s Life in Jail

Matthew Leuthner, an 18-year-old awaiting sentencing for auto theft, walked out of the tough-guy hell of his cellblock into a roomful of smiling volunteer visitors and an assortment of pets.

Leuthner and eight other young men at Rikers Island Adolescent Detention Center met two cats named Yum Yum and Amanda; three dogs named Pepper, Duman and Duncan; and a tortoise named Oscar the Grouch. Over the next 90 minutes these hardened young jailbirds relaxed, and boyhood dreams crept from behind the masks of prison.

Facing trial or sentencing for crimes from breaking and entering to aggravated assault, the prisoners are part of an experimental pet therapy program run by volunteers from New York’s Animal Medical Center.

“The program is basically for people who don’t get regular visitors,” said director Roger Parris. “The people here are detainees, and some of them are all on their own. Over a period of time, you can imagine what kind of a situation that can lead to. Young people have the most difficult time.”

Gesturing around the room at young men petting the cats and making the dogs do tricks, Parris noted: “This is not typical of a jail scene. From our perspective there’s such an increase in mental health problems and violence, any positive response we can get is good not just for the inmates, but for the officers as well.”

The main objective of the pet therapy, now conducted once a month but soon to be stepped up, is to cut down on the rash of suicides among adolescent prisoners. “We recruit people for the program who haven’t been visited in 30 days,” said Parris. “They’re at a high risk for suicide--no family, no friends. Anything to prevent suicides is a plus for us.”

The Rikers program is the first application of pet therapy in New York State, but a few other prisons around the country have established programs. The most dramatic success, at the Lima State Hospital for the Criminally Insane in Lima, Ohio, showed a reduction in violence and suicide in wards with pets.

Numerous studies in the 1980s have said pets are good for ill and troubled people. Benefits ranging from lowered blood pressure to decreased risk of heart attack have been attributed to interaction with domestic animals.

Earlier this year, Michael Levine of Bloomsburg State College in Pennsylvania published studies that found that children reared with pets are less likely to become juvenile delinquents.

“Pets provide an unconditional, non-judgmental friendship and love,” said Susan Cohen of the Animal Medical Center. “In prison you don’t get affection and touching, and the pets can give that. Pets seem to free people up; the anxiety level is reduced.”

“This is delightful,” one volunteer said. “The kids really enjoy seeing the animals. It reminds some of them of pets they used to have.”

“The group knows what tricks the animals do,” volunteer Edith McBean said. “They talk about possible animal careers after prison. There was one withdrawn guy, we brought him pictures of dolphins and he stuck them up in his cell. He was very proud of them and talked about working with animals when he got out.”

As the session wore on, the inmates loosened up considerably. Laszlo Komar, a shy, thickset son of a Hungarian immigrant, began playing with Pepper, a frisky black Labrador retriever who seemed to be coaxing the boy along.

Jose Rodriguez, a short, intense boy from Gerard Avenue in the Bronx, watched Duncan, a gray poodle, jump around crazily and cracked just a hint of a smile, the tiniest break in the facade. When asked if he ever had any pets, he nodded and said: “Yeah, I had a pit bull once. The cops killed him.”

Leuthner went over to the tortoise with another prisoner. “Watch what happens when I turn it over,” he said, placing the animal upside down. He expected it to flip over, but the tortoise just sat there helplessly. “Oh no, I killed him,” Leuthner said in mock horror. “I don’t like the way he’s looking at me.”

One of the volunteers interceded and turned the tortoise right-side up. The animal scuttled away as quickly as its stubby appendages could slide it across the institutional vinyl floor tiles. “He’s trying to escape,” someone said with a laugh. “That’s all I need,” Leuthner said.