As a French-Canadian in a southern New Jersey prison, I would ordinarily be lonesome. There aren’t many people here who share my heritage. 

But there are animals who have common roots with me. Those would be my fellow Canadians: Canada geese (which most people incorrectly call Canadian geese). They are my “people” around here. When they are around, I must fight the urge to sing “O Canada.”

Jokes aside, wildlife offers people in prison an opportunity to develop compassion. With animals, we can care for something other than ourselves, which helps us reclaim some of our humanity. Animals are a rescue rope that keeps us tethered to life.

I wish you could know the way people in prison light up at the sight of animals. I’ve seen child-like joy painted on the faces of middle-aged men as they talked to and fed geese, seagulls, deer, squirrels and other creatures. Their care and tenderness stands in stark contrast to the way we are often demonized in the media and the legal system.

My life with wildlife

I started my prison sentence in the city of Trenton. There, you have virtually zero contact with any animals other than pigeons, and you don’t have much grass. Every space is basically tarmac, concrete or steel. As a result, the prison felt disconnected from nature and life — probably by design.

But when I was transferred to South Woods State Prison, my circumstances changed. All around us are national forests, wildlife refuges and a river that runs just east of the prison. If you looked at my prison on Google Maps, you’d see it surrounded by green and blue. I guess having “woods” in the name of the prison signals that nature is nearby. 

In some ways, the prison has almost felt like home. Nature for me equals normal. I grew up in the Pine Barrens of New Jersey, near multiple state forests and a bay. We regularly saw reptiles and rodents, deer, skunks and other animals. In my childhood apartment complex, near Winding River State Park, many of my friends caught frogs, turtles, snakes and chipmunks, domesticating them as pets. 

At this prison, I had my first interaction with Canada geese. These geese don’t have a care in the world. They’ll walk right up to you and look at you like they know you. Officers have witnessed the spectacle and made fun of me. I have turned it back on them by joking that I’d get my “people” to go after them in a very French-Canadian accent: “You know what I’m talkin’ aboot, eh?”

When I worked in the extended care unit, essentially a hospital separated from the rest of the prison, I had to walk across the grounds where many of the geese congregated every night. I’d like to think they got to know me. I talked to a few of them, and gave them nicknames. It even seemed like they listened to me.

The geese could fly away and never return, but they have chosen to stay with us behind prison walls because many prisoners care for them.

I remember when newborn goslings walked around with their infant clumsiness. They are like soft, yellow fluff balls, and cute as can be. Of course, I couldn’t get too close because their parents would have attacked me, but I loved seeing their lives beginning. Every time I saw them starting off fresh, I yearned to restart my own life.

Other animals in the yard

I asked a few of my fellow incarcerated people for their feelings about animals. 

Dylan Rodriguez said his favorite animal he’s seen are groundhogs, which come up to him and grab food out of his hand. I’ve noticed that groundhogs have tiny little human-like hands, and stand on their hind legs right next to you like little friends.

“I love interacting with the animals we see out in the yard,” Rodriguez said. “Being isolated from society, animals bring peace and comfort and remind me of being at home in my backyard watching the wildlife.”

Austin Meli said deer have been his favorite animal in prison. They remind him of home, he said, of simpler times when he might drive past a family grazing on the side of the road.

“Contact with animals while incarcerated is important,” Meli said. “Being able to see life beyond these walls and fences reminds me that the world is bigger than this small island of concrete in the middle of vast nature and farmland.”

Shannon Soroka said he has never been a huge animal lover because he finds it hard enough to just take care of himself. But he added that he sees the benefits of animals in prison.

“I do think there is some merit to having contact with animals while inside,” Soroka said. “It would teach responsibility and bring joy to this otherwise dreadful place. That being said, if there ever comes a day when French bulldogs or Boston terriers are at our facility, I’d definitely sign up to care for them.”

There’s a risk

Animals remind us of home, can help keep us grounded, and protect us from becoming too polluted by the institutionalization of prison life. 

But in spite of their benefits, we risk disciplinary action by caring for animals behind prison walls. My prison’s handbook threatens punishment on Page 36 where it declares: “The following are not permitted. … Feeding or sheltering animals.” Violating this rule could even result in up to 30 days in solitary confinement.

Still, I believe taking care of animals is worth the risk. Maybe there are valid reasons for this rule, but it feels to me like another way to strip us of our humanity. Caring for animals makes us more sensitive to life and love. We are people, after all. And caring for animals makes us feel more human.