In prison, we still have a connection with the animal kingdom, which is closer and much more present than you probably think.
In recent years, there has been an increasing number of prisoners at the State Correctional Institution at Huntingdon, in Pennsylvania, who have taken to feeding the pigeons, sparrows and the occasional grackle that visits the recreation yard. And there are huge buzzards that lazily glide on the thermal currents over the prison. I’ve watched them in wonder, amazed by how they stay aloft for minutes at a time without flapping their wings.
There are also hawks. When they’re on the hunt, all the other birds get scarce. A few years ago, I watched a hawk trap a pigeon against the bars outside the window of my cell and fly off with it. It was a startling, violent thing to witness, but a spectacular reminder of how the wild kingdom works.
Occasionally a sparrow or other smaller bird will find itself trapped inside one of the cellblocks. It’ll fly around until it either finds its way out, or someone captures it and sets it loose outdoors. The same goes for bats.
A very scrawny skunk once found its way onto A Block.
During my 30 years of incarceration, I’ve considered from time to time how much more tolerable my bid would be if I had a dog to walk the yard with, to exercise with, to be a companion and confidant with. The only dogs I don’t much care for are K-9s: four-legged cops. They get brought into the prison from time to time to search for drugs. One time a K-9 sniffed out over 40 hot dogs a kitchen worker had stashed in his cell.
This place was once home to an army of rats each the size of a shoe (without their tails). Some are rumored to still reside here. Mice run around a bit, especially in the kitchen. I haven’t heard of it happening for a while, but there were guys who used to keep rats and mice as pets, despite this being against policy.
When I was in the hole once — exercising in a cage not much larger than a dog kennel — I saw a couple of chipmunks.
Since last fall, a raccoon has been residing in a storm drain beneath our handball courts in C Yard. I don’t know how it got there, but it can’t get out.
Prisoners and staff have taken to feeding the raccoon through the grates. For a while I was tempted to contact the local chapter of the Humane Society, but thought better of it when I considered how unlikely it would be for them to rescue the raccoon.
After all, my claim would first have to be taken seriously. From in here? Highly doubtful. Try reaching out to an organization from inside a concrete cage and you’ll see what I mean. I’ve done it enough to know our little trash can bandit is serving out a bid like the rest of us.
