Windsor was found walking in circles on the side of Highway 60 in southeastern Missouri in March. He was a little ball of fur. A passer-by picked him up and took him to Safe Harbor Animal Shelter in Jackson.

The people there determined that he was a 10-week-old Australian shepherd with a condition known as homozygous merle. He was deaf and blind.

He was also gentle and loving, and shelter director Alice Wybert soon concluded that he belonged in prison. She called Cheryl Thompson, a housing unit supervisor at the Southeast Correctional Center, a maximum security prison in Charleston.

Thompson is also the prison's coordinator for Puppies for Parole, a program that began last year in which Missouri prisons partner with local shelters or rescue groups that provide hard-to-adopt dogs to the prisons. Inmate trainers then work with the dogs until they are deemed adoptable.

Food and materials are donated. There is no cost to the state.

Puppies for Parole was modeled after a program at the women's prison in Vandalia in which the inmates train service dogs. That program has been very successful. Prison officials report almost no conduct violations among the inmates who live in the housing unit where the dogs stay. Nobody wants to lose the privilege of living with the dogs.

When Corrections Director George Lombardi decided to expand the program last year, he hoped to duplicate that success. "This could be a win-win," he said. "We can help the shelters, and dogs are good for a prison."

Shortly after dogs were introduced to the maximum security prison in Jefferson City, a correctional officer sent a note to the warden. "Teachers learn from their pupils. It will be interesting to see what the dogs teach us."

I visited Southeast Correctional Center this past week. I asked Thompson how she selected inmates to train a blind and deaf dog.

"I was looking for handlers who could adapt," she said. "I needed people who could think on their feet."

She chose Mike Robinson and Marcus Broussard. They were cellmates who had trained three dogs already. Like all the trainers, they live in the honors housing unit.

Correctional officer Shana Herron does not work in the honors housing unit, but she heard of Windsor shortly after he arrived at the prison. He was something of an instant celebrity. The dogs are taken into the yard for exercise, and a blind, deaf dog attracted a lot of attention. So she already knew of him when Thompson brought him to visit the housing unit where she was working. She was smitten. She decided to adopt him.

That is not unusual. Windsor was the 500th dog to be adopted in the program. The majority have been adopted by prison staff.

Herron brought Windsor to prison on Tuesday when I visited. He is a handsome dog. He's white with a splotch of brown around his left eye. He weighs about 50 pounds.

We met in Warden Jeff Norman's office and then headed toward the honors unit to talk with Robinson and Broussard. As we walked through the yard, inmates would see Windsor and grin.

"Dogs change the atmosphere inside a prison," Norman said. "You'll see somebody walking along looking tough, and he'll see a dog and start smiling."

One inmate stopped, knelt down and put his arms around Windsor's neck. He was another of the trainers. He and Windsor were old friends.

Robinson and Broussard were waiting for us in the day room of the housing unit. Men played cards at tables welded to the floor. Cells lined the wall. Windsor seemed at home.

Robinson is 49. He said he had a cocaine problem on the outside. He is doing time for armed robbery. Broussard is 39. He was addicted to meth. He was convicted of rape.

Both men were quiet and well-spoken. I asked how they had trained Windsor. Very gently, they said. No force. "We had to figure out how to communicate with him," Broussard said.

They did it all by touch. They gave him treats and petted him when he did things right. In the end, a gentle tap between the shoulder blades would make him sit. A brush on the ear would get him to lie down. On and on.

"It was an honor to work with him," Robinson said.

Earlier, I had asked Herron if she felt any kind of bond with the men who had trained her dog.

"It does create common ground," she said. "The love of animals is universal. It gives you a different perspective."

As Robinson and Broussard and I sat at a table, I asked if they thought the dogs had altered the relationships inside the prison.

"Some staff that wouldn't have a reason to say hello will speak to you if you're with a dog," Robinson said.

"The dogs have created a bridge," Broussard said. "I think we've gained a little respect in some people's eyes. That's something we don't usually feel."

I thought about the note the correctional officer in Jefferson City had sent to his warden.