“Every door opens by a different method. This one has a button. This one has a lever. Another slides.” Jori demonstrated each as she went along.
“Our dogs must be able to help a veteran who can’t reach to flip a switch or slide a bolt, or press a panic button if down or incapacitated. Some puzzles open easily for a quick reward. Others require repeated effort. This way your dog learns that there is a reward for persistence. By figuring out how things work, the dog gains the confidence to try new things, become self-motivated and diligent.”
One of the student-trainers, Amy, held up her hand. “I don’t know what dill-gent means.”
“It means hardworking. And careful.” Kelli, who had been observing from a distance, stepped closer to the line of women and dogs.
“Cassandra wasn’t diligent yesterday.” Amy turned to the woman next to her. “I had to clean Shiloh’s teeth for you.”
“That’s on account I got sent to the nurse.” Cassandra cupped her lower belly with a hand. “I had the cramps something awful.”
Amy smirked. “You ate two ice cream bars last night. That’s what that was.”
The other women laughed. There were no drink machines or candy or snack machines permitted at the women’s correctional center. The occasional ice cream was the sole food reward for good behavior.
“Okay. Let’s see what your dogs can do. Leanne, you and Bitsy go first.”
Jori placed the puzzle on the concrete floor then stepped back and folded her arms. Though she was supposed to be concentrating on the dog working the puzzles, her gaze kept straying to the line of women in white baggy jumpsuits waiting their turn to show what their service dogs could do. The sight was painfully familiar. Once she’d been one of them. Eager to please in a uniform that was nearly impossible to keep clean when one lived in a building with eleven other women and twelve dogs.
Occasionally the gaze of one of the women darted toward her. Those looks made her palms sweat. They were sizing her up, yet treating her with a distance made up of much more than the six months since her release. She was no longer one of them. She’d made it to the outside.
The sudden sense that she didn’t belong anywhere—never far from her thoughts—settled like an invisible blanket over her.
Though the training of inmates went on weekly, this was her first time back at the correctional center. The thought of reentering the prison had had her lying wide-eyed awake all night, feeling many things and wondering how she’d react. Yet all she had felt upon entering the facility near Newport, Arkansas, was the certainty that she was here as an instructor. That, and the relief in knowing that when the doors closed this afternoon, she would be on the outside.
That knowledge made her feel both giddy and guilty.
Jori shushed her thoughts. Today wasn’t about her. It was about offering a future to these inmates, the dogs they trained, and ultimately the veterans the dogs were destined to aid. Her petty where-do-I-belong troubles were nothing compared with that.
For the next two hours, Jori and the other instructors from Warriors Wolf Pack worked with the canine teams, evaluating the responses of the dogs and student-trainers.
The sounds of the plastic clickers used to attract the young dog’s attention to his or her trainer made it seem as if a dozen giant crickets had invaded the large space. The inmates trained young dogs, beginning at eight weeks, for eight to ten hours a day, in the basics.
The dormitory-style building within the prison grounds was erected to exclusively house those female inmates working with Warriors Wolf Pack. Metal beds were placed in two rows with a metal kennel for a dog beside each bed. They trained and slept apart from the general population, though they did share meals and work details when not training their assigned dog. It wasn’t fancy. There was no air-conditioning. Heating was used only when the temperature dropped to near freezing, as it had this early-December morning.
Jori was actually enjoying herself when the lunchtime buzzer sounded, followed by the arrival of several female corrections officers. One whom Jori recognized as Mrs. Mitchell made hard eye contact. The hair on Jori’s arms lifted. Mrs. Mitchell had been a hard-ass about rules, and a bit of a Bible-thumper. Even as she told herself the woman no longer had any control over her in any way, Jori couldn’t stop four years of institutionalized fear from flooding her.
Heart thumping like a jackhammer, she turned to her trainee. “Make certain Happy is checking in with you each time she completes a task, Cora.”
Cora nodded but didn’t make eye contact. Her chin wobbled and her shoulders rounded in self-protection. “They’re coming for Happy at the end of the week.”
Jori knew immediately what the problem was. Happy was Cora’s first dog. After four months the puppies left here to continue their socialization with puppy raiser families. “You’ll see her again.”