There is a program that helps inmates train abandoned dogs. They spend months together, building trust, learning new patterns and forgetting old ones. It is heartwarming to imagine the way a dog can relate to someone whom society has deemed a failure, without a shred of judgment. The prisoners need to learn how to lead without the destructive habits that hijacked their lives on the street. To be loved by an animal not for your looks, or your car, your bravado, or your false image is probably very healing. I doubt you can con a dog. There is not a slew of talking going on anyway.

"Good dog," is more about the sound of your voice than the definitions of those words. 

The plan is that with training, these dogs will be more adoptable. And in the meantime, their trainers will have peeled off a layer of shame. 

Years ago a woman told me that her marriage felt like a prison. She and her husband had no meaningful communication, and as the children were leaving for college she was terrified of facing an empty relationship. 

Sometimes I wonder if there is more to marriage than communication. Surely the gift of listening well is a profound one, and I strive to achieve it. Yet I have relationships that are dear to me that circumvent language altogether. Holding a bird in my hands, smiling on the road at a friend, enjoying Benjamin's delight over a video are all moments worth having. My interactions with the wind, and the golden leaves above me, enrich my life.

I saw that woman who was scared of the future the other day. She and her husband were taking a walk with two grandchildren. No one was talking, but there were smiles enough to go around. 

Maybe the Plan is that we are here to help one another feel less imprisoned. More adoptable. And one day we will truly be free.