‘Death Row Dogs’ and Inmates Forge a Bond

Late last year both Eric Roberson and Star, a young female Labrador retriever, were sitting in their separate cells. He was 16 years away from his first parole board hearing for a 1992 murder conviction. She was one day away from euthanasia at the Ashland Humane Society.

Within 24 hours, they would be sharing Roberson’s cell and looking toward a better future.

While many prisons across the nation have introduced therapy and guide dog training curricula, Mansfield Correctional Institution has established a unique program. It has begun bringing together castaway dogs from the pound and castaway men from the prison.

Called “Death Row Dogs” by the inmates, the animals are socialized and trained at the prison, then put up for adoption. Since the program began in fall 1998, not a single dog has been returned to the pound.

“These animals are underdogs too,” says program coordinator Carol Mull. “The men identify with them and have a great desire to help them.”

A high school dropout and father of two young daughters, Roberson ended a night of drinking and drug abuse with two friends with the robbery of a bar and the murder of its owner. When the friends testified against him, Roberson ended up in Mansfield.

Since he came to prison, he has overcome his addictions, earned a high school equivalency diploma and been baptized in the Presbyterian church. But what he says saved his heart came on the day he noticed a flier looking for volunteers to enter a dog-training program.

“We’re in a harsh environment here,” Roberson says. “I always viewed this place as being filled with the rejects of society, so I couldn’t imagine this happening.”

But Deputy Warden Jesse Williams could.

Williams had introduced a pilot dog program into the Lorain Correctional Institution several years earlier. He found that the presence of dogs there provided training and socialization not just for the dogs, but for the prisoners.

When he transferred to Mansfield, he knew he wanted a dog program there as well.

Officials at the Ashland Humane Society jumped at the chance to participate.

“It benefits them, it benefits us, it benefits society,” Mull says. “They’re so happy they don’t have to euthanize these dogs.”

Prisoners are screened before being allowed to participate. There are reviews of their criminal records--no child or animal abusers, no sexual predators--and of their conduct within the prison walls.

Once matched with a dog, a prisoner is fully responsible for its care: feeding, grooming, washing, housebreaking, training. Prison guard Dale Thompson conducts weekly group obedience-training sessions.

Everyone seems to like the dogs. It is difficult to find a staff member who does not have a desk drawer full of bones and biscuits.

“I didn’t think I had any compassion left in me,” says Roberson. “But when I received one of the first dogs in the program, a brindle boxer pup named Brin, I fell in love as soon as they laid her in my arms.”

He carried the fragile puppy across the prison yard to his cellblock, his compassion mixed with anxiety. “I was anxious because I thought guys would think I was soft,” he continues, “and I was afraid for her safety.”

But when he got to his cellblock, the men all gathered around. They seemed afraid to get too close as well, to show that they cared about something. Roberson put the puppy down, and she started to run and jump. Men laughed and reached out to touch her.

When the coldest and most hateful man on the block dropped to the floor laughing and rolled around with the pup, Roberson knew that everything was going to be OK.

One year and five dogs later, he received Star. While many of the dogs in the program were abused, untrained and skittish, it was apparent that Star once had been somebody’s pet. She was housebroken and unafraid, and she knew the “sit” command. Over the next seven weeks, Roberson worked on her leash and obedience training. She was severely undernourished, so he made sure she returned to a healthy weight with food provided by the Humane Society.

And over the weeks, their bond grew stronger.

“No matter what you’ve done or what kind of day you’ve had, she’s always there wagging her tail and giving kisses,” Roberson says as he rubs Star on the head.

Star and Roberson share their cellblock with 180 other men and one other dog. Prisoners in the wood shop build the cages that fit in the inmate’s 10-by-10-foot cell.

Guard Kathy Schlaeg volunteered to co-train Star, taking her home on weekends and introducing her to children, cars, malls and the great outdoors. When it came time for Star to be adopted, Schlaeg jumped at the chance.

She met Roberson in the prison office to take Star to her new life. Roberson knelt next to Star and rubbed her all over.

“He was so gentle with her,” Schlaeg says. “Just like she was his child.”

Swelling with emotion, Roberson gave her one last hug.

“Now get her outta here,” he said, choking back tears.

These days, Roberson seeks out Schlaeg to ask how she and the dog are doing. After several weeks alone, he is waiting for a new dog to love and train.

“I’ve come to learn that life is so precious. I know that now.”