| May 2, 2004 Therapy dog up for
award brings love to kids in jail
By REBECCA COOK
Associated Press Writer
VANCOUVER, Wash. (AP) _ The girl in the beige jumpsuit shuffled
into the bare room, her face lighting up when she saw the huge brown
dog thumping his tail against the cold linoleum floor.
Gentle Ben, a 165-pound Newfoundland, planted a slobbery kiss on
17-year-old Alex, who's in jail for violating her parole.
When
Alex first visited Ben a few days earlier, she spent most of the hour
sobbing into his soft fur, her body and mind wracked by methamphetamine
withdrawal.
This
time, she chatted happily with Pat Dowell, Ben's handler, about her
plans to kick meth, move to California with her mom, and go to college.
"I
shouldn't be here," Alex said as she scratched behind Ben's ears. "I'm
not like the other kids who keep coming back here. I'm not. I'm going to
get out and get better."
Pat
nodded approvingly, even though she's heard this before from kids who
seem to cycle helplessly through the system. A former cop, Pat's not so
naive to believe an hour petting her "therapy dog" will solve a kid's
problems.
And
yet, she has watched Ben transform hardened, violent inmates into
playful little kids. She knows her big, sweet dog somehow drools his way
into tough teenagers' hearts.
"The
dog is a nonjudgmental, live object that gives unconditional love,"
Dowell said. "To walk into a room and see this mammoth animal that just
wants to wag its tail and say, 'You're the most important thing in the
world to me!' - it's giving that kind of emotional support they've
probably never had."
Ben
thrives on the attention, and the occasional doggie treat. Now the
7-year-old Newfie is getting national attention, as one of six dogs
nominated for the Pedigree "Paws to Recognize" award for service dogs.
Other contenders are a seeing-eye dog from California, a guard dog
adopted by a Special Forces unit in Iraq, a search-and-rescue dog from
Louisiana, a police dog from North Carolina, and a customs dog from
Florida. People can vote online for their favorite.
Ben
and Dowell visit the Clark County Juvenile Justice Center in Vancouver
once a week. Dowell lets the inmates set the pace. They can talk if they
want, or they can simply sit with Ben and pet him.
Dowell also teaches kids how to make Ben follow commands by using
positive reinforcement and a soft voice - techniques unfamiliar to many
of the children she meets.
Ben's
charms have even won over corrections officers, who tend to be skeptical
of this touchy-feely stuff.
"Seeing the pet therapy dog just kind of soothes kids," said Mike Riggan,
manager of the 80-bed juvenile jail in southwest Washington. "Dogs love
you unconditionally. It seems to ease their fears."
Ben
also works at schools, a hospital, and children's camps. At the
hospital, Ben helps dog-bite victims conquer their fears. They start out
petting Ben's ample rear, a safe distance from his slobbery mouth, then
work their way up toward the dog's head as they get more comfortable.
Ben's mellow personality suits the task, Dowell said: "He's not going to
make any sudden movements, believe me."
Ben's
training as a therapy dog taught him how to keep calm during stressful
situations, ranging from loud noises to aggressive hugs. Dowell, 48,
learned to recognize signs of anxiety or fatigue in her dog. Every two
years, Ben retakes a canine good citizen test to keep his status as a
therapy dog.
Alex,
who asked that her last name not be used, said her time with Ben raises
her spirits. After an arrest for marijuana possession last fall, she's
been booked into jail five times, usually for running away from wherever
her probation tells her to be. She spent her 17th birthday, Thanksgiving
and Christmas in jail.
Ben
reminds Alex of her own dog, a devoted mutt named Homey who died several
years ago. When she gets out she wants to reunite with one of Homey's
relatives, a puppy named Spike.
Alex
poured out her hopes and dreams as she petted Ben. She wants to move to
California and hang out at the beach. She wants to get her GED and
become a photojournalist. She wants someone to bring her candy this
weekend. Mostly, she wants to be a better role model for her 10-year-old
sister.
"I
talked to her last night on the phone and I started crying," Alex said.
"I was like, 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry."'
Then
she got quiet and sank down to rest her head on Ben's thick brown fur.
The jail bustled with activity all around them. But for a moment
everything was still in the small room, except for the sound of Ben's
sleepy wheeze and the steady twitch of Alex's hand, scratching the head
of a very good dog. |
