MALVERN -- The black pup, a German shepherd/border collie mix, sank into a deep sleep soon after a sedative was injected.
Less than a year old, she and several other dogs were about to be euthanized at a central Arkansas animal shelter. One by one, the veterinarian administered a sedative to each of the other dogs.
Once the animals were sleeping, the veterinarian went down the line again, this time injecting the drug that would kill each dog.
Task completed, the veterinarian left the area, not bothering to close the gate. None of these dogs would be going anywhere.
When the veterinarian returned, however, a black streak flashed past. It was the shepherd mix. Somehow, the veterinarian had skipped over her during the second round of injections.
After that, shelter volunteers called her Lucky. Because of what happened, no one wanted to see her euthanized. But no one wanted to adopt her, either.
Months passed. Time is cruel to a shelter dog. The longer an animal is confined, the worse its behavior becomes.
"Cage-crazy," they call it.
If someone ever did adopt Lucky, that bad behavior would likely send her back to the shelter or condemn her to a solitary life in someone's backyard.
Then, three weeks ago, Anna Beall dropped by. Beall is the program director for Little Rock's CARE for Animals.
Beall visits shelters across the state in search of dogs like Lucky, the ones who are least likely to be adopted because of long stays in cages.
Beall was there to visit a specific dog. She barely noticed Lucky, who blended in with the shadows. But after inspecting the dog she had gone to see, she strolled through the shelter again.
This time, she noticed Lucky. An information card on Lucky's kennel indicated she had been there for five or six months.
"Oh my gosh, this poor dog. She's been here for so long," Beall remembered thinking. By this time, Lucky might not fare well in the free world. Not many people put up with the antics of a longtime shelter dog.
On impulse, she took Lucky outside to better gauge her temperament.
"She was a nut, just all over the place," Beall recalled. "She was jumping like crazy, mouthing everything -- she just didn't know what to do with herself.
"I felt bad for her, so I gave her some time. Finally, she started to relax. She laid down, and then I could see that she was just a goofy little dog."
Shelter staff members told Beall about how Lucky had been skipped over during the mass euthanization.
"They told me how she had just barely escaped. They knew they had been hanging on to her for too long, really, because they figured she was lucky."
Beall looked at the pretty, prancing dog and realized how much work it would take to make Lucky a good pet.
And that is how Lucky Lulu ended up in a state prison.
A new life
Inmate Benny Kilcrease has trained 11 dogs through the Paws in Prison Program.
Incarcerated since 1991, Kilcrease credits the dogs for changing his life. An insulin-dependent diabetic, Kilcrease had topped 300 pounds and was in a wheelchair by the time he got his first dog.
But working with the animals required walking. So Kilcrease took a few tottering steps into what would become a canine-led exercise program.
Kilcrease found himself walking longer distances each day. He soon abandoned the wheelchair altogether for the sake of his energetic canine charges.
As the pounds began to fall off, Kilcrease felt a surge of optimism about his health. He drastically changed his eating habits. Within a year, Kilcrease lost 80 pounds. He no longer relies on insulin.
Kilcrease enjoys the challenge of working with these animals. He keeps meticulous notes in a journal that will go home with each family that adopts one of "his" dogs.
The dog he had the toughest time parting with was a Great Pyrenees named Napoleon. The two were together for six months while Kilcrease tried to help his mammoth charge overcome a fear of storms. On the Care for Animals website, a photo shows a beaming Kilcrease rewarding Napoleon with a treat.
On Oct. 17, Kilcrease was assigned his 12th dog.
"We got Lucky about 4:30 this afternoon," he wrote in his training journal. "She is a very active dog. She reminds you of a baby deer when they find out they can run and jump. She is a puller, but that will change soon."
Teaching Lucky
Three weeks after her arrival at the Ouachita River Correctional Unit in Malvern, Lucky still strained at her leash during a training session. She loves to play with the other dogs, and at 10 or so months old, she still is more puppy than dog.
Self-control eludes her.
"This dog could out-pull a Clydesdale," Kilcrease said dryly as, once again, he commanded his exuberant charge to sit.
Over the next few months, however, the unruly Lucky will become a civilized house pet.
The Paws in Prison program requires that kind of transformation. Each week, volunteers from CARE for Animals visit prisons around the state to help inmates in the program train their dogs. By the time the dogs leave the lockups, they have earned their American Kennel Club Good Citizenship Certification.
"She's a very active dog," Kilcrease said. "She was pretty wild when she first came in. She's getting better. But she still pulls when she needs to go outside. All I need is a pair of roller skates."
The first two weeks of a dog's prison stay usually include a lot of skittishness and nervous energy, Kilcrease said.
"Then you can see what I call the 'real dog' start to come out."
Last week, a CARE volunteer took Lucky to the veterinarian so that Lucky could have the staples from her spaying removed.
Kilcrease was pleased with what the volunteer had to say about the trip. Later, he wrote: "She did very well going to the vet yesterday and did all the commands ask of her by another person. This lets me know she has learned her commands and will work for someone other than me. She rides well in a car."
By the time Lucky is ready for adoption, she will have learned the 107 commands listed in Kilcrease's journal. The same is true of all the other dogs in the program.
Some inmates enjoy improvising. During Wednesday's practice session, one trainer prepared to tell his dog to "play dead."
He pointed a finger. "Bam!"
The gold, fluffy retriever mix dropped and rolled.
Lucky watched intently, ears pricked.
"She's very sociable with people and other dogs," Kilcrease said, nodding at Lucky. "And she has no guarding tendencies. I can put my hand in her food bowl or take her pig ear away. She'd be great with kids."
Lucky is expected to be eligible for adoption through Care for Animals by mid-December.
But after a 1991 rape conviction, Kilcrease, 68, is in for life.
Now, however, he has a purpose that's added meaning to his days, Kilcrease said. There's satisfaction in helping an unwanted dog become someone's new best friend.
"She's our lucky girl," he said, nudging Lucky with his foot. "But these dogs -- they saved my life."
State Desk on 11/09/2014