Going To The Dogs

Famous Amos pauses for a photo op

Last week, my buddy Amos stopped by the courthouse pressroom to pay me a visit.

Now, I'm accustomed to attorneys dropping in on occasion to speculate on the IQs of various sitting judges. And cops sometimes knock on my door to give me a scoop. Defendants - at least those not in custody - will often track me down in my third floor office to profess their innocence.

Amos came by to get his ears scratched.

Amos is a chunky chocolate lab, 70 pounds of wiggling, tail-wagging love and affection. Think of a luscious brownie - the kind that gives you comfort in your darkest hour, sweet and satisfying and nurturing. That's Amos, a confection with big brown eyes and a pink tongue that tends to lag to one side if he's been romping. There is an air of kindness about him. He'll put his head in your lap and gaze up at you as if to say, "Come on now. Everything's going to be okay. So how about a game of fetch to take your mind off your troubles?"

So it's not surprising that Amos is employed as a court therapy dog, the first in Michigan, and part of a growing national trend. He is particularly good with children who are faced with having to testify in court, and those who end up in the system because of neglect or abuse. A half hour of Amos Time and children are calmer and happier as they face what are often some of the most trying times in their young lives.

Amos once aspired to be a seeing eye dog, and was in training at the Leader Dogs for the Blind in Rochester, Michigan. But his natural exhuberance - he'd rather trot with his tail wagging then walk sedately next to his trainer, and he tends to pull on the leash - got him bounced out of Leader Dogs. The new therapy dog project, Canine Advocacy Program, or CAP, launched by Dan Cojanu, was just beginning and Amos seemed a perfect fit.

Cojanu spent years as the head of the Victims Advocacy unit in Oakland County's Circuit Court in Pontiac, Michigan, helping people in enormous pain, suffering from terrible loss, navigate the court system. It was tough, rewarding work. Now retired, Cojanu spotted a kindred spirit in Amos.

After several months of research and training, Amos was soon on the job, in and out of courtrooms, called to duty by judges and court personnel and social workers to help children who had been traumatized. He spent hours with young girls in Childrens Village, the county facility where abused children are often housed. He hung out with kids in district courts waiting to testify against adults who had harmed them. He socialized with court personnel, who are also often stressed by their workloads.

Since Amos made his 2008 debut, he has been followed by Dodger, a yellow lab working his magic in the Bay County Prosecutors office, and Rylan, a very elegant Doberman who is working with war veterans who end up in metro Detroit's Novi district court.

Dodger, working in Bay City to help traumatized kids.

It makes sense, when you think about it. Everything about a courthouse is cold and antispetic and intimidating. The walls are marble, the ceilings high, the light harsh, the benchs unyielding and stiff. People in a courtroom are often at their most vulnerable, but there is no soft spot to lay your head, no quiet cozy corner to rest your mind. There are rules - shut off your cell phones! No food. No talking! No hats! - and armed deputies to enforce those rules, plus all kinds of protocol nobody understands. "All rise!" the court clerk announces each time the judge enters the courtroom. Up and down. Up and down.

And the judges! Think about that! Perched up high and wearing black and peering down on the minions, like ancient crones from a scary nursery tale. Some aren't even old, but I'm guessing in a child's mind, scary nonethelss. More powerful than Oz. We understand why Dorothy and the Tin Man trembled. So it's no wonder kids clam up and can't talk.

Then along comes a furry friendly face. No judgment there. No questions to answer. No strange courtroom rules. Just a dog who likes you and seems to listen. Who will let you pet him. Who brings a few moments of normalcy into an otherwise insane world.


Cojanu tells a wonderful story about a little girl struggling to relay to the court the trauma she'd undergone. Because Cojanu is kind and ethical, he does not reveal much about the girl, or the hearbreak she has suffered. But he talks about the moment the girl turns to Amos, lifts his floppy ear, and reveals in a very loud whisper, all the information she needed to relay.

Amos, as was expected, was a sympathetic listener.