The Unconditional Love of a Dog During a Time of Crisis
In late 2020, my life took an unexpected and devastating turn. After serving as Cincinnati’s youngest councilman for almost a decade, with aspirations of becoming the city’s next mayor, I was indicted on public corruption charges. The accusations stemmed from an elaborate FBI sting operation, alleging that I had accepted campaign donations from undercover agents posing as investors in a downtown redevelopment project in exchange for favorable official actions. Despite the severity of the allegations, I maintained my innocence, and there was no accusation of personal embezzlement.
The ensuing legal battle was a difficult and frightening experience. However, amidst the turmoil, there was a silver lining: I was able to spend more time with my family, especially our beloved dog, Oakley.
Oakley is a 30-pound rescue dog with a distinctive appearance – white fur adorned with brown splotches. My wife, Sarah, and I adopted her impulsively nine years ago and named her after the Cincinnati neighborhood where we first met. We have always suspected that Oakley is a mix of Australian shepherd and Brittany spaniel, although we have never confirmed this with genetic testing. She is generally shy, except around our immediate family, and has a unique habit of grooming herself like a cat. Remarkably, in all the years we’ve had her, Oakley has barked only about ten times. Her puppy-dog eyes and head tilts are irresistibly endearing.
During this difficult period, Oakley was a constant presence in my life. She would often sit beside me on the couch, oblivious to the grim reality of my situation – a potential prison sentence.
My family and friends provided unwavering support throughout the prosecution, embracing my innocence. However, the sheer weight of the situation was overwhelming. Having a creature known for unconditional love by my side was invaluable. Oakley and I spent time walking together. She would nudge me for belly rubs. I would talk to her, even if the conversations were one-sided. I even made a new rule: unless my hands were full, I would never pass Oakley without petting her.
The Trial and Sentencing
In 2022, I rejected a plea deal that could have spared me prison time. Soon after, I faced a three-week trial, where I was acquitted on four counts of public corruption but convicted on two others. In late 2023, I was sentenced to 16 months of incarceration at a federal prison camp in rural Kentucky.
The most painful part of reporting to prison at the beginning of 2024 was saying goodbye to Sarah and our two young sons. But saying goodbye to Oakley, who had been a source of constant comfort, love, and warmth, was also difficult.
We told our sons that I was going to “Daddy Camp” for a while. There was no way to explain the situation to Oakley. On the morning of my departure, I lay down next to her in her favorite corner, which we call “Oakley’s Landing,” scratched behind her ears, kissed her head, and told her goodbye and that I loved her.
Life in Prison and the Absence of Oakley
Once I settled into prison life, Sarah and our sons visited every other Saturday, driving two and a half hours each way. We exchanged daily emails through the prison system, and I used my limited phone time to call home. Being separated from my family, especially while believing in my innocence, was incredibly painful. At least I had opportunities to express my love for Sarah and our sons.
There was no way to communicate with Oakley in the same way. Dogs give and receive love in person, through touch. That kind of love cannot be captured in a letter, email, or phone call. Sarah told me that when she put me on speakerphone, Oakley seemed to recognize my voice, but it didn’t register emotionally.
The prison camp had a dog-training program where inmates were paired with puppies to train and care for. The puppies slept in kennels in the inmates’ cubicles. After six to nine months, the trained dogs were adopted by families.
Even inmates who weren’t in the program would often play with the dogs. As a dog lover, I enjoyed this, but it made me miss Oakley even more.
A Reminder of Home
Prisoners often taped pictures of loved ones to their lockers. Sarah preferred that images of our sons not be publicly displayed. A close friend mailed me a picture of Oakley.
For the duration of my time in prison, the only two things on my locker were the St. Francis Prayer and the picture of Oakley. Every morning and evening, and throughout the day, her sweet face reminded me of the world that awaited me back home, and how far away that world seemed.
I wasn’t the only inmate who missed his pet. Some men found solace in the dog program, but spots were limited. I saw inmates connecting with other creatures. One inmate “adopted” a one-eyed mouse, sheltering it in the chapel to protect it from stray cats. Other men cared for the stray cats, and some fed stale bread to the pigeons in the prison yard.
These actions were more than just ways to pass the time. They were men at their lowest trying to recapture a sense of themselves as protectors, providers, and nurturers.
My cellmate, serving a 20-year sentence for dealing drugs, told me that his sentence felt like a death sentence for his relationship with his cat.
A Glimmer of Hope and a Joyful Reunion
During our sons’ spring break, Sarah and the boys visited me. Oakley waited in the car with the windows cracked. I asked another inmate if I should ask the guards to let Sarah bring Oakley up to the entrance for a few seconds. He advised against it, saying they would likely mock me and make my life more difficult.
I heeded his advice. Seeing Sarah and our sons lifted my spirits, but knowing Oakley was just outside was deflating. As our visit ended, I lingered, hoping to catch a glimpse of Oakley as Sarah let her out. I watched her sniff around, oblivious to my presence. She hopped back into the car, and they drove away.
Nearly two months later, after four and a half months of my sentence, a court ordered my immediate release pending the outcome of my appeal.
Sarah picked me up. Five hours later, I walked into my kitchen, surprising our sons. Oakley bounded in, head bobbing, ears twitching, tail wagging. As we embraced, Oakley joined in, standing on her hind legs with her paws against me.
That night, after putting the boys to bed, I lay down next to Oakley in her favorite spot. After three and a half years of prosecution and four and a half months of incarceration, I wondered how she had experienced my absence. I nuzzled her head, grateful to be in the present moment.
