William E. Donaldson Correctional Facility, where I’m housed, is a maximum security prison, just outside Birmingham, Alabama. This prison has some of the toughest offenders in the whole state, as the state prison system’s own website reads: “A camp filled with multiple violent offenders with lengthy sentences that are behaviorally difficult to manage.”
In my nearly three decades here, I’ve seen many disturbing things. But I’ve also seen amazingly gentle behavior from people who are considered by many to be the worst of humanity. This tender behavior often shows up when animals visit our prison.
Donaldson resides in the woods, far from the city center. Pretty much where any wildlife can wander around here. We’ve heard coyotes, and seen deer, turkey and owls outside the fences. And from time to time, some critters have even managed to jailbreak themselves inside the prison.
We once had a couple of cats show up. Then, when they birthed a litter, it turned these hardened criminals into some of the world’s best babysitters. One man, who was so big we called him Cartoon, let kittens crawl over him. He looked like the giant condemned man on “The Green Mile,” but during this time acted like a little gleeful kid.
I’ve seen men, who otherwise act like they hate everything and everyone, collect bread to feed the birds.
One time a rabbit got in. Guys fell over themselves laughing, trying to catch and pet it. Another time when a raccoon got in, they fell over themselves screaming trying to get away from it.
But one of the most recent and memorable events happened in early spring, when the days were still cool, before summer heat set in.
As I walked out of my dorm, I noticed some guys standing on the sidewalk looking down at the grass. Their stances indicated they were looking at something interesting. Since no one was running, I assumed it probably wasn’t dangerous.
I walked over to take a look. Standing there, in the grass, was a goose eating part of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. This was the most unexpected thing to see early in the morning.
“It was strange for him to be walking around out there; it’s usually just little birds,” said Donald Nichols, who goes by Little Nick.
Jarvis “Chewy” Petty told me he felt like maybe the spirit of this prison had changed with the fowl’s presence.
Samuel Hitt said he just remembered thinking: “This big-ass bird is a long way from home.”
Quickly, the goose became the talk of the camp. People became invested in it. Guys were calling home and updating their families on the goose. They were reading up on the goose: What kind of goose is it? Why is it here? Could it be sick? What does it eat?
We learned that it was a Canada goose, so it was a long way from home.
We found out that geese eat bread, worms, corn and seeds. We also found out from personal experience that they like hot dogs and love PB&J sandwiches.
We also figured out that the bird might have been a scout for territory. In the days and weeks to come, the geese began to multiply. Two more arrived, then three, then seven, then nine and so on, until at one point there were close to 20 geese walking the yard.
Men came from all over the camp to feed them.
It got to the point that I think the warden wished we’d quit feeding them so they’d go away. But who would want that? Not us.
In the mornings, we gathered and watched the geese arrive. They would fly in their trademark V formation, honking at one another to stay in line, then land with the practiced ease of trained fighter pilots.
One morning they showed up with too many birds in the formation to make the landing, so they honked at each other, canceled the landing, broke off and formed two Vs, landing in back-to-back groups. It was impressive to watch.
Petty said it made him feel like we were human again, like something you could watch on the streets.
Unfortunately, everything eventually comes to an end. The geese left around early June, when it started to get hot. We don’t know why these geese came to our prison, or why they left, but we enjoyed them while they were here.