Mike Hermis came into the classroom looking like he was in shock. He was pale and sweaty. When it came time for him to check in he said, “My brother just died of leukemia and he was only 52. I am broken right now.” 

The people gathered in the substance abuse recovery class looked on as Mike cried. Prison has a way of desensitizing people to basic human interaction, but we’d come to know this man over the last six months as we shared our past traumas. 

One by one we spoke to Mike and shared our condolences. When it was my turn, I asked if I could get a hug. The whole class embraced each other in an eight-man bear hug. When Mr. King, the incarcerated occupational mentor, asked what the class could do to help, Mike replied, “Can I come by and pet that black lab that you are training?” 

Pongo the good boy

San Quentin has a dog program called Canine Companions. Select individuals are trained on 42 basic commands and work with a dog for a year. Once the trainer can show that their puppy has mastered the commands, the dogs graduate and are taken out of the prison to their next professional training grounds. 

Mr. King smiled and said, “I will be there later tonight and tomorrow. Any time you see me over there in the dog handler’s area, you can always come and spend time with me and Pongo.” 

Mike told us about Sinbad, the black lab he and his brother had growing up, whom they loved dearly. “Whenever we went to the lake together, my brother would give me the ball. Sinbad would run and jump into the lake as we were teaching him to swim. I always remember those memories because it actually made me feel like I was doing something, hanging out with my older brother,” Mike said. 

When I spoke with Mike at our next class, I asked him what it was like to meet with the mentor and pet the dog. His eyes began to shimmer. “I felt like I was with my brother, petting our old lab Sinbad, laughing together. I felt like he was right there with me and I just cried.” 

I remember when I pet a dog for the first time in over 10 years. I was terrified. I had done so much harm in my life, and for so long I only had to care for a metal bunk and concrete walls. But my hand barely grazed the dog’s full black coat before he leaned into me and licked my hand. I was overcome and started tearing up. The dog reminded me what it meant to be gentle and to embrace another living being.

Wrestling a puppy in prison

A new batch of puppies arrived just a week ago. I was amazed to see the joy and laughter in the dog handler’s area. Months-old white and black labs frolicked, already smart and obeying commands. 

One of the handlers rolled along the fake grass area, clutching a puppy against his chest as they wrestled. The puppy patted his face with his small paws. Both yipped as they played.

Hundreds of people were nearby, going about their lives. Many paused and watched these two have the time of their life. “I remember when me and my dog would wrestle like that,” one man said. “Man, I miss my pups.” 

For just a moment, I was not in one of the most notorious prisons in the state of California. I was not surrounded by barbed wire fences and armed guards, and I was not referred to as inmate BE4470. I was free, chillin’ at the dog park.