Young offenders feeling puppy love
Humane Society pet program opens doors to understanding
Geoff Calkins - Thursday, August 30, 2007
Michael Vick, meet Tippy.
Or Brownie, or Niome, or Jan, or Babe.
They're dogs, so you know. Injured, unwanted, abandoned, unloved.
But these dogs are special dogs. Ask Contreal Poindexter, 17.
"If you work with her, Tippy can change you," Poindexter said. "We've changed together, Tippy and me."
Tippy is bounding all around Poindexter as he says this, looking just like any other dog with his kid.
Only this dog is locked up at the Humane Society of Memphis.
And this kid is locked up at the Shelby County Correctional Center for aggravated robbery.
"That means, with a gun," Poindexter said.
Tippy does not seem to mind at all. Tippy is jubilant to see Poindexter again.
"Honestly, I used to hate dogs," Poindexter said. "Now this is the best part of the week."
Some of you may think Michael Vick is irredeemable. Ginger Morgan will tell you he hasn't met the right dog.
Morgan is the president of the Humane Society of Memphis and the woman who put Tippy and Poindexter at opposite ends of the same leash.
The Humane Society has dogs that need training, see? The Correctional Center has offenders who need something to do.
"The idea, obviously, is to train the dogs," Morgan said. "The idea behind the idea is to show the offenders -- if that's what you want to call them, I call them my boys -- what it's like to feel unconditional love."
Morgan didn't pick just any offenders, either. She picked the Correctional Center's 10 juvenile offenders who had been tried as adults.
In other words, they had done serious stuff. Mondrell Gross, 17, robbed an Advance Auto Parts. DeMarcus Cunningham, 17, robbed a Wendy's and a Burger King.
Nearly every one of the kids had been to a dogfight. Most had fought dogs themselves.
"When they asked us if we'd do this, I didn't care nothing about the dogs," said Courtney Hearn, 17. "I just wanted to get out of my cell."
But there's something magical about putting a kid together with a dog, even when it happens under armed guard.
By the second session, the wariness started to ease. By the third session, the kids began to show some curiosity, even trust.
"Why did you pick us?" someone asked.
"You want the truth?" Morgan said.
Of course they did.
"Every day I take in the injured, the abused and the castaway animals," she said. "If I'm giving them a second chance, why can't I give you a second chance?"
And this, of course, is the heart-rending parallel. The dogs and their new masters are almost too much alike.
"They're hyper, they're active and they don't know what it's like to have someone care about them," said Sherie Lazar, a teacher for the Memphis City Schools who works with the program.
Oh, and most people think they're beyond salvage.
Like, say, Brownie. She was one of the trickiest dogs in the place. Some Humane Society staffers had even given up hope.
"You're training Brownie?" they'd said. "Good luck."
But there she was, earlier this week, sitting and staying and rolling over under the tutelage of Mondrell Gross.
"She's very intellectual," Gross said. "She's got a lot of sense."
Gross calls the training sessions a "place of freedom" in an otherwise grim existence.
"She hates to see me leave and I hate to leave," he said. "I love this place, right here."
This is the gift the dogs have given, just being themselves. They love with utter abandon. That kind of love rubs off.
A week ago, before the training session started, the kids told Morgan they had something for her. They read her the following note:
"Mrs. Ginger,
"We are very thankful for all you have done for us, from the lessons you teach us and from the snacks you feed us.
"Mrs. Ginger, throughout all the conversation you talk about, you inspire us to be better men and to treat all animals with the respect they really deserve. And we thank you for that, Mrs. Ginger.
"Sincerely, Humane Society Youth Program, we love you."
A couple of the staffers had to duck out as the boys finished the note. Something in their eyes, you know.
"The 17-year-old boys in my family have a hard time saying they love me," Morgan said, "much less someone from this background."
Morgan plans to frame the note and put it on the wall of her office. Before that, there's a small ceremony she has to attend to.
This afternoon at the Humane Society, the first class of dogs and kids will graduate from the program. Poindexter and Tippy will be together for the last time.
"He just needs someone to love him," said Poindexter.
Doesn't everyone?