NEWPORT (AP) — By day, Duane Parton III is known as the dog whisperer; and his cohort James Erdman, the cat whisperer.

Both earned those designations for their winning ways with the critters at the Lincoln County Animal Shelter.

By night, however they’re known simply as inmates for crimes that landed them in the local slammer.

Some might call them nuisances, but here they are part of a crew of trustees credited with giving 800 hours of free manpower a month, and helping save the lives of countless animals.

“It helps us tremendously,” said Sgt. Barbara Perry of the Lincoln County Sheriff’s Office, the interim shelter manager. “We have been able to reduce the amount of euthanasia dramatically because the inmates come and do a lot of the work we would normally do.

“That allows us to dedicate more time to very important programs such as fostering, second-chance programs and rescue groups. Those are vital programs that we should be utilizing rather than euthanizing because we don’t have space or time.”

And never have the inmates been more important. On Tuesday, voters must decide on a levy that would help keep the animal shelter fully operating. If it passes, the inmates will continue to help plug a diminishing staff. If it fails, their contribution could be the difference between an open shelter and or none at all.

Now in its third year, the program was started by Lincoln County Sheriff Dennis Dotson, who saw it as a solution to the endless need for more hands at the shelter, which his officers run. He and his staff came up with a list of strict criteria about who would be eligible, ruling out anyone with a history of violence, anyone who might be an escape risk, and those with behavioral problems.

And no second chances. “They make a mistake or don’t follow the rules, that’s it,” Dotson said.

In the beginning, women inmates traveled the few miles from the jail to the shelter three days a week to clean.

“With a little experience and history, we allowed them to start socializing with some of the animals, then expanded to exercising some of the dogs,” Dotson said. “Then the male inmates started about three months ago. It was expanded to five days a week and recently to seven days a week. It has turned out to exceed all our expectations.”

While it’s a relatively new program in Lincoln County, inmates have been working with animals in Jackson County for a quarter of a century.

“I can’t say enough good about it,” said Colleen Macuk, program manager at the Jackson County Animal Shelter.

“It gives the inmates something they really look forward to doing,” she says. “It makes them feel they’ve achieved something at the end of the day, and it allows us to offer the animals better hands-on care by having the extra crew.”

David Lytle, spokesman for the Oregon Humane Society, had never heard of the inmate programs but says he’s impressed.

“Frankly, I think it has a ton of potential,” says Lytle. “It helps the animal and the person. There is an old saying, ‘Sometimes we rescue the pet, and sometimes the pet rescues us.’ I can see that happening here.”

And so can a few inmates.

There are about 50 cats at the shelter these days, and James Erdman, who is two months into a six-month sentence for a DUII, knows every one of them — and the challenges many face. There’s One Eyed Jack, the kitten who lost an eye to infection and has limited vision in the other.

“He reaches up and touches my face just like a blind person,” said Erdman, a retired restaurant consultant.

There’s the cat that was burned, the kitten that got its collar caught in its mouth, and the old, old cat, Erdman calls Grandma, who he worries will never be adopted.

“As you can see, I get along with cats real well,” he said. “These are my little challenges. They are all my buddies.”

Likewise the dogs and Duane Parton III, who is serving more than 200 days for not paying fines on a DUII and misdemeanor charges.

“I love animals,” said Parton, who has learned to give vaccinations and how to detect illness in the rescued canines. He’s recently decided he may take veterinarian classes when he enrolls in community college.

“I am actually glad I am in jail because I get to do this,” says the 26-year-old skateboarder. “How often do you hear that?”