A few months ago the Department of Corrections initiated a new program, Pen Pals, at FCCW. Stringent criteria for the program were posted and many women were interviewed. Only a few were chosen to participate. Many rumors circulated and many people waxed eloquently on the certain disaster of the new program. Few could imagine, even though the program is highly successful in a variety of prison settings nationwide, the program working here.

Then the dogs arrived. Three dogs, two female, one male, from ages two to four, shyly slunk across the courtyard to their new home. Within minutes we all knew their names: Bubbles, Tasha and Duffy. Within minutes we all knew Bubbles had been severely abused, Tasha was struggling with her digestion, and Duffy suffered from kennel cough. That day and the next the inmate handlers wore goofy grins on their faces and the entire inmate population was diverted from its fixation with self to the health and well-being of the three dogs.

There were mumblers. There are always mumblers. But Bubbles has an irresistible personality. And Duffy is a rock-chewing clown who points intensely at the Canada geese. Tasha has grown sleek and mischievous, chasing butterflies and leaping after sparrows. Those who mumble are obviously blind or just stubborn-hearted not to appreciate the transformation, in the following weeks, of these death-row dogs.

Since my incarceration, everything from the fall of the Berlin Wall to 9-11, from the development of the World Wide Web to missions to Mars, wars and major political scandals have occurred. But the talk in the dining room has remained relentlessly unchanged: gossip, complaints, and misinformation about the law. The Pen Pal program has broken through this self-absorbed crust and now there are discussions and updates about the dogs' progress.

Everyone has a cute story about their favorite. The handlers are patient as they field the same questions over and over. A month later they are still wearing goofy grins. More than this, one of the handlers who is notorious for refusing to do anything (except stand count) before lunch, now willingly takes her dog out at 4:30 in the morning. A miracle indeed!

I love dogs and am cheered by the transformation they have created in this place. But I can't help but wonder why we are more willing to be patient and kind with an animal than each other. Or why we are willing to go to extra lengths to give a dog a second chance but are loathe to afford that opportunity to one another. We understand that a maladjusted dog requires discipline, training, and extra love to restore it but denounce these as wasted resources on humans.

It's true the dogs are innocent and we are not. But these dogs, like us, fairly or not, were also despised and considered worthless and disposable. Someone hated them. A few worked hard to save them. And now, many love them. We could all learn a little something from our pen pals. (Elizabeth Haysom, Fluvanna Review, November 13, 2003).

Elizabeth Haysom is presently incarcerated at the Fluvanna Correctional Center for Women in Troy, Virginia. She is serving a 90 year sentence as an accessory to the murder of her parents in 1985. This column was first printed as part of a series, under the general heading 'Glimpses from Inside.'