They wouldn't follow rules and didn't always get along with others.

Some have emotional issues or social problems.

Most came from bad or broken homes.

But after a couple months behind the tall fences topped with rolls of razor wire surrounding the State Correctional Institution here — locked in a cell with one-on-one attention from someone who's focused just on them — each of these special prison inmates comes out with a second chance at having a better life.

These inmates are the Hounds of Prison Education.

For the past four years, the HOPE program has placed dogs — six at a time — from area shelters, including Lancaster County, with a select group of prisoners at the state prison facility in Cumberland County.

     SLIDESHOW: HOPE at Camp Hill prison

Abandoned or rescued from puppy mills and abusive homes, each dog gets 12 weeks of intensive obedience training and socialization in prison and comes out with a much better chance at finding a good home when put up for adoption.

And the inmates in the program — both canine and human — get a whole lot of something else.

Love.

"You lose something in here after time," one young inmate said, hugging his dog. "But then you see that tail wagging, somebody who depends on you, and you think, 'Maybe I am worth something."'

"Look at those faces," another inmate said, "they don't judge you. Ever." (The New Era is not identifying the inmates interviewed for this story).

Cooper, a silky, cream-colored mix of Labrador retriever and poodle, comes bounding across the prison yard to greet a group of visitors, curiously sniffing shoes, but then runs back to her handler at the sound of her name.

"She used to bite, but now look how vicious she is," he says, holding a dog biscuit between his teeth. Cooper gently takes the biscuit, furiously wagging her stubby tail for the treat and a pat on the head.

Rocco, the smallest and the noisiest of the crew, alerts everyone with his deep, part-basset hound bark to the group of strangers who walked onto the dogs' special turf.

Their prison yard is about half the size of a football field. Fenced in with a pile of toys in one corner and several water dishes in another, the grassy field is maintained by the inmates and serves as both training ground and playground.

Bianca and Cragger, young mixed breeds, are busy playing tug of war with a rope toy and can't be bothered with the visitors. Chasing each other in circles, they fall to the ground wrestling over a plastic ball.

"They're boyfriend and girlfriend," one inmate says. "They're just playing."

Taking a break for treats, the two pause to perform their obedience routine of sit, stay, lay down and shaking paws.

The dogs live in cells with the inmates. When the inmates are at work, school or meals, the dogs are placed in their crates, or with supervision can go into a smaller, fenced-in yard, like a kennel run, attached to the cell block.

Once a week, a professional trainer comes in and works with the dogs and inmates, teaching obedience and answering questions about specific problems. The inmates must keep written accounts of their dogs' progress. They update the accounts weekly.

Georgie, a sleek English coonhound, and Abby, a dark mixed breed, are both quiet and very shy. They look at the strangers, but stay close to their handlers — hugging a leg, snuggling under a hand, listening to comforting, whispering voices.

When Georgie first came to prison, he was scared of everything, his handler says. The noise, the people, everything.

"I can look at a dog and say, 'Hey, I'm in the box with you.' They just need love and time," the inmate says with a laugh, "and I've got plenty."

As for the humans, all men sentenced to state prison in Pennsylvania are first sent to Camp Hill, where they are processed, screened and evaluated to determine which facility best suits their crimes and their needs. Some stay at Camp Hill for the duration of their sentences.

The inmates who volunteer for the HOPE program are all full-time residents of the Camp Hill facility who have successfully completed counseling and other requirements.

"Not everybody here gets to have a pet," one inmate quips.

Among the basic rules, according to Camp Hill's spokesman, Bob Volciak, is that no one who has been incarcerated for sexual, child or animal abuse, or who has violent psychological problems, is eligible to participate in the HOPE program.

The dogs, too, are screened, Volciak says. Dogs cannot be vicious or aggressive for the safety of the more than 3,700 inmates and employees at the prison.

"It's a microcosm of life in here," Volciak says. "There are people who don't like dogs, we can move them to other areas... Overall, the program has a calming influence on the dogs and the inmates."

Prison dog programs are becoming a trend across the country for their benefits to both inmates and homeless dogs. Nearly two dozen states have similar programs. In Pennsylvania, inmates at three other institutions help train service and companion dogs.

Locally sponsored by the Central Pennsylvania Animal Alliance, the non-profit dog rescue organization pays for and provides veterinary care, medications, food, spay/neuter surgery, toys and treats. No taxpayer money goes to care for the dogs.

At Camp Hill, nine inmates are currently in the program. In some cases, both cell mates are involved with helping and training a dog.

Bianca's handlers share a cell, but it's the inmate who sleeps on the bottom bunk who gets to curl up with the dog at night.

"It makes it harder to let go," the bottom-bunk inmate admits, but they want the prison cell to be as warm and loving for the dogs as their future adoptive homes and families.

Is it hard to say good-bye?

"Yes," the inmates all answer.

"But we know they're going to a good home," one inmate quickly adds.

"And, hey, we don't just let anybody have them," another inmate quips. "People have to apply to get them."

The rescue organizations write and give progress reports on the dogs after they're adopted.

"It's wonderful, we get letters about how they're doing," an inmate says.

"We're extremely grateful that Camp Hill lets us do this," another inmate says, kneeling down next to his dog. "It's the companionship mostly. I have two dogs at home and I miss them."

"You don't get much praise in a place like this," he says. "And at the end of the day to come home and have a dog to greet you and lick your face ... it's the best."

"You get the satisfaction of knowing that you've saved a life that otherwise might have been thrown away," the inmate says.

For more information about the prison dog program, log onto www.hopedogs.org.


Staff writer Janet Kelley can be reached at jkelley@LNPnews.com or 481-6026.