Spared from euthanasia, these pups patrol a strip of prison land in Idaho to keep people from escaping.
[This article was originally published at the Prison Journalism Project and appears here with author’s permission]
Around nearly every prison is a fence topped with razor wire. Just beyond that fence is often another one, creating between the two a forbidden zone where only weeds grow — and, in the case of Idaho State Correctional Institution, where guard dogs roam.
Dogs are not rare in prisons. There are dog training programs in prisons across the country, including here. And prison systems in some states rely on dogs to detect drugs or even attack prisoners, including in their cells. The United States may be the only country in the world where it is legal to use attack dogs in this way, according to reporting from Business Insider.
But having dogs patrol prison grounds to stop or deter escapes appears to be rare.
The guard dogs at our prison were referred to as “former death row inmates” in a 2009 story from the Associated Press. That’s because prior to working in prison the dogs had exhibited sufficiently violent behavior that they were scheduled for euthanasia. Then they were given a last chance as prison guard dogs.
“Those same instincts that make them a bad pet make them good sentries,” a guard who headed the sentry dog program, which began in 1986, told the AP. At the time, the program had a stock of 24 dogs, “mostly German shepherds, Rottweilers and Belgian malinois, with a few boxers and pit bulls,” the AP reported.
These dogs have long intrigued me, especially because of what they have in common with incarcerated people. I tried to find more details, but a sergeant told me she couldn’t answer questions about a security program. Left to fill in the blanks myself, I did as much boots-on-the-ground reporting as possible, and even attempted to interview a dog.
Are the dogs happy?
One day, my friend Shawn Kerrigan and I were walking around the big ball field when a kennel wagon came to pick up a dog. The dogs work in shifts, covering the prison 24 hours a day.
“Those dogs are happy,” Shawn said. “They get to go back to their kennel where they have toys, air conditioning and food.”
“I thought they were just cycled through the dog runs,” I said.
“No,” Kerrigan said, shaking his head definitively. “They have a building … where they are treated very well.”
Kerrigan, who has been in the prison system for the last 30 years, said former incarcerated dog handlers told him about the building.
I have seen incarcerated people working these doghandling jobs, but I haven’t been able to speak with them.
The dogs are supposed to bark when someone approaches the fence, according to the AP’s reporting: “Get too close to the fence and they will bare their teeth, bark and lunge. Set foot in their space and they will attack.”
In 2009, an IDOC staff member told the AP the dogs were used because they were cheaper than hiring people, and more dependable in some ways than modern technology like motion detectors and electric fences.
So far, I’ve found that most of the dogs between the fences ignore prison residents. But a few interact with us. One German shepherd with a pink collar has perked up and barked at me when I’ve jogged past the ball field, the perimeter of which he patrols outside.
Another dog gamefully “chased” me along the 50-yard fence during my seven-lap jog in our recreation yard. When I walked to cool down, she whined at me and wagged her tail expectantly. I indulged her and took off sprinting, letting her chase me. I figured it was good practice for her, and she was enjoying herself.
When I’ve seen the dogs getting picked up from their shift, I’ve been amazed at how obedient they are. They are so well behaved it has made me wonder what they had done to end up here. It’s probably similar to how you might wonder what we did to end up in prison.
Better than death
Randy McKinney spent 27 years on Idaho’s death row before his sentence was commuted to life without the possibility of parole.
McKinney said the dogs are a good metaphor for what happened to him.
“Those dogs got a limited second chance,” he said. Though they weren’t given a second chance at freedom, they got a second chance at life.
“It’s better than death,” McKinney said.
One person at our prison, Shane Smith, told me the dogs should be put out of their misery.
“I’m just saying, they have to sit there all day, every day, and barely get any human contact at all,” Smith said.
I told him that I’d seen dogs jumping in the kennel wagon by themselves, and how they wag their tails when they get a chance to bark at prisoners or guards. I told him what Kerrigan said about the dogs having nice breaks from their work inside. Smith said he’d never noticed any of that, so maybe they didn’t really mind being on patrol.
I guess only the dogs would be able to tell us if they are happy.
I tried to interview a large black dog with plenty of white hairs in his muzzle, but he kept his head down and ignored me. He must know about the signs hung on the fence near the prison gates that read:
“DO NOT INTERACT
OR APPROACH THE
WORKING K9”
I suppose he’s trying to avoid getting in trouble for talking to me. He must not want either of us to be sent to solitary confinement for unauthorized communication.
Other prisoners I’ve spoken to love seeing the dogs. Zach Vitale constantly tells me what breed each dog is whenever we walk around the ball fields. Most residents I’ve spoken with think it’s a great program and that more dogs that are sentenced to die should get a second chance.
“When I was on death row, I felt like society was saying I was worthless and had no value,” McKinney said. “I bet those dogs felt the same way when they were confined to a small kennel at the pound after getting condemned. They might not know the seriousness of their circumstances quite like I did, but [they] probably appreciate where they are at versus where they were. I know I do.”