PHOTOS BY BRITTANI PREECE
They protect our streets, predict medical crises and provide independence. Meet Margo, Jerry, Severin and other hard-working dogs serving local people.
SAM (Therapy Dog)
SAM (Therapy Dog)On a Tuesday morning, like he does most every morning, Sam gets dressed for work. Like a doctor donning a surgical gown or a construction worker lacing up workboots, Sam prepares mentally for his job by, well, putting his clothes on: a vest and a snappy bowtie. He’s especially proud of the bowtie and wears them in several different patterns.
He’s been on the job for 8 years.
Sam is a 9-year-old Australian Shepherd. He works as a therapy dog. And he loves putting on the tie.
“That started in his first year of working, when we were doing therapy dog work at the Cancer Survivorship Center Powered by 24 Hours in the Canyon,” says Ruth Sterling, Sam’s handler and a licensed therapist. The executive director of the Sister-Bear Foundation, she regularly leads programs and small groups and used to offer therapy dog services as an independent contractor.
One October, during Breast Cancer Awareness Month at the Survivorship Center, someone gave Sam a pink bowtie to wear. It looped around his neck with an elastic band.
Always a good sport, Sam wore the tie while he was working that day. As a therapy dog, his presence often triggers a calming physical response. Most of his job is to sit and let people pet him, which lowers their stress hormones and relaxes the nervous system. That day, he did the work while wearing a pink bowtie.
“Then, the next time I put his vest on, he walked over to [the tie] and put his nose on it and alerted to it,” Ruth says.
“I was like, ‘Do you want this on?’ So I put it on and he got super happy.”
So now Sam wears a tie to work every day, along with his certified therapy dog vest and harness. Yes, “he dresses up for work,” she says, laughing.
Not all dogs dress up quite as much as Sam, but his resume isn’t as unique as you’d think. Thousands of local families have dogs that lovingly greet them at the door after work, curl up beside them on the couch, and otherwise provide unconditional love and companionship.
But for a few dozen local dogs—possibly hundreds—companionship is just the beginning. These working dogs serve their human handlers in a variety of fascinating and important ways.
They are guides. They are partners. They comfort anxious children. They notify when blood sugar drops. They protect the public, guide humans to safety, and sometimes literally support their handlers.
Brick & Elm sniffed out a few locally beloved dogs with jobs, and the humans who love them. Every dog’s tasks may be different, but each reveals what can happen when loyalty, training and instinct work together.
MARGO (Therapy Dog)
Our cover girl, Margo, is a certified therapy dog who works at BSA Hospital, BSA Rehab, The Craig Senior Living, and a few local long-term care facilities.
A full-breed sheepdog, she gets attention for her different-colored eyes and her gorgeous fur. It’s hard for anyone not to just bury their hands in her fur, and that’s kind of the point. “She’s for somebody to pet. She’s trained, if someone has anxiety or stress, she leans into them,” says her handler, Robin Villagomez. [Full disclosure: Robin is co-publisher Michele McAffrey’s sister.]
Robin adopted Margo a couple of years ago. The sheepdog was probably around 6 at the time, and her natural temperament made it immediately clear that Margo could excel as a therapy dog. “She didn’t scare easily. She’s very calm. She walks like a sloth,” Robin says. “Her actions are not quick. I knew I could train her based on that calmness and temperament.”
In the 1990s, Robin had trained the very first therapy dog to work at Lubbock’s University Medical Center. She’s a lifelong dental hygienist, but enjoyed volunteering as a handler and had been wanting to do it again.
A willingness to be petted and cuddled is only a small part of Margo’s skillset. To be certified, therapy dogs have to learn to set aside some of their most instinctual behaviors. While working, they’re not allowed to bark, for instance, or even turn their heads quickly. “She can’t growl. She can’t whine. She can’t paw at someone or sniff. She can’t lick,” Robin says.
Part of it is good professional etiquette for a working dog. But hygiene is also important. In a sterile, highly sensitive environment like a hospital or nursing home, nosing an IV line or licking fragile skin can introduce unwanted bacteria to a patient. Aggressive sniffing could result in nudged medical tubing or germ transfer from a wet nose. That means therapy dogs have to learn to follow human sanitation rules.
Robin brushes Margo’s gorgeous hair every day. “I don’t want her to be dirty at the hospital. It’s like cleaning your house. If you wait three months, you’re screwed,” she says.
Every Friday, after Robin gets off work, she and Margo head to BSA to put in around six hours greeting patients on every floor of the hospital. They start on the top floors and close things out at the ER.
“It’s just so rewarding,” she says about what Margo offers, her eyes filling with tears. “People miss their dogs, and then they see her and start crying. Sometimes people can’t talk—they’re on a ventilator—but you can see their reactions.”
She’s heard from family members of people in hospice settings who hadn’t reacted to much of anything for days until Margo came in. Those can be emotionally heavy places, but for people nearing the end of their lives, the act of petting a dog gives the brain a few moments of pleasantness and tactile comfort. The brain prioritizes those feelings, and so literally it makes the pain go away, if only for a few moments.
Margo’s white-and-gray fur gets a lot of attention, and that same fur is her superpower.
“She’s a blessing,” Robin says
A Quick Guide to Working Dogs
Not every “dog with a job” is a service dog. While all working dogs receive specialized training, their roles are vastly different. So are their legal protections.
Service Dogs: These are trained to perform specific tasks for a person with a disability (like guide dogs, mobility assistance, seizure response or diabetic alert). Under the Americans with Disabilities Act, they have legal rights to accompany their handlers in public places.
Therapy Dogs: These dogs are trained to provide comfort and emotional support to groups of people in settings like hospitals or nursing homes. They do not have public-access rights under the ADA.
Emotional Support Animals: While these provide companionship and comfort to a particular individual who might have mental or emotional health challenges, they are not considered service animals under federal law. They do not have public-access protections.
Other Working Dogs: These dogs are trained for specific utility roles, like police K-9s, search-and-rescue dogs, detection dogs and livestock guardians.
JERRY (Guide Dog)
Brian McCullough has Marfan syndrome, a gene mutation that affects a body’s connective tissue and, as a result, can cause severe vision problems. He’s 60 now. At age 39, Brian became completely blind.
“For my midlife crisis, I got a guide dog instead of a sports car,” he jokes. “Both are babe magnets.”
His first babe magnet was KB, a now-arthritic 15-year-old black lab who still lives with Brian but has retired. When KB retired, Brian added 3-year-old Jerry to the household. An English Labrador, Jerry is a little stockier and sturdier than a more athletic American lab, and was trained at the nonprofit guide-dog school Pilot Dogs in Ohio. [Publishers’ note: Most dogs for the blind are called “guide dogs” unless specifically trained by The Seeing Eye, a guide-dog school in Morristown, New Jersey, which trademarked the phrase “Seeing Eye dog.”]
Connecting with Jerry required Brian to make a trip to Ohio for nearly three weeks of training. The organization matches handlers and dogs based on walking speed, experience, personality and more. KB was a little slower and more meticulous. Jerry runs a little “hotter,” as Brian describes it.
“Ideally you want a dog that goes at your pace,” he says. Not too slow, but not too fast, either. “You don’t want a dog where your feet are flying up in the air like Mary Poppins.”
After training, the pair returned home together, where Jerry didn’t just get used to a new handler, but had to adjust to a new environment. The Texas Panhandle, Brian points out, is definitely not Ohio. “The weather’s different, traffic lights are different, the sidewalks are different,” he says. It took some time for Jerry to adapt.
But once they began to gel, Jerry transformed Brian’s entire experience of moving through the world. “With a dog, walking down the sidewalk, I don’t know if there are any obstacles because he just leads me right around them,” Brian says. “What used to be a burden on me to figure out, the dog takes care of it.”
Not only does Jerry need to walk at Brian’s pace, he has to constantly evaluate the pathway. Jerry watches for curbs, stairs, cracks in sidewalks, loose objects and even overhead hazards. “He’ll look for things that are an obstacle, like a 3-inch cup on the sidewalk or a 20-foot telephone pole,” Brian explains. Either way, they go around it, and Brian doesn’t always know if they’ve just avoided a fire hydrant, a person, a small piece of trash, or a horse statue.
“Cracks on sidewalks are tricky,” he says. If Jerry decides a crack is small enough, he’ll guide Brian over it. If it could pose a tripping hazard, Jerry stops. That requires Brian to pull out his white cane and make a decision.
Adding complexity is the fact that Jerry doesn’t always know where they’re going unless they’re taking a familiar route. He moves forward until they reach an obstacle, then waits for Brian’s command. To sighted people, that can be confusing. At an intersection, for example, Jerry is trained to move all the way to the curb before Brian tells him to turn. The duo never cuts across.
“Little things like that people may not understand, but that’s how the dogs are trained,” Brian says.
Like most working dogs, Jerry shows great enthusiasm when he’s on task. He loves it so much that Brian has to hide the harness and leash in a closet. “He knows when he’s in working mode. He’s so excited, even if it’s just a short walk out to the mailbox,” Brian says.
But once the harness comes off at home, he’s all dog. The two have a deep attachment. On a recent trip to visit his daughter in Florida to attend a minor-league hockey game, Brian left Jerry behind because he thought the environment might be too much. At one point, his daughter checked the home cameras.
Jerry was sitting at the front door, howling. Completely forlorn.
“They form that kind of bond with you,” Brian says. “They’re your dog and you’re their human.”
SEVERIN (Mobility Dog)
Severin is rarely far from Laina Seaberg’s side. Actually, her left side. Even at home, when he’s not wearing his working vest, the 104-pound West German Long-haired German Shepherd watches her movements closely.
“He’s always watching my gait,” says Laina, a former dog trainer who used to work with Integrity K9. “If I start getting more unsteady, he gets closer and closer, just to make sure I’m OK.”
Laina has Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome, along with Ehlers-Danlos syndrome, psoriatic arthritis and ankylosing spondylitis. Those conditions can affect her balance, stability and mobility, and the symptoms can fluctuate from day to day. Sometimes Laina needs to be in a wheelchair. When she’s not in the chair, she needs Severin.
His main tasks are counterbalance and forward momentum, helping Laina stay upright and safe as she goes through her day.
For instance, he helps her walk up stairs or a ramp. She just grabs his harness and he goes to work. “He’s always one step ahead of me so I can pull myself with him,” she says.
And if Laina begins to lose her balance, Severin knows to lean into her, giving her a steady point of contact.
That kind of mobility assistance work requires a dog large enough and strong enough to support the handler safely. “He’s got thick, thick bones and good muscles, so he’s a perfect candidate,” she says. “You don’t want a Yorkie to be a mobility assist dog.”
Laina suffers from some muscle wasting on her left side—which just happens to be the standard heel side for dog training—so that’s where Severin stays.
Her perspective as a dog trainer gives her insight into how Severin learns what she needs. “Many times we find dogs that are natural alerters [like with a handler having low blood sugar], and those are the easiest ones to train,” she says. “But the biggest thing, the most important thing, is the bond the dog has with the handler. I do puppy temperament testing to see if they’re an appropriate candidate for service dog training.”
Most service dogs will go through a basic training process, then transition into training for particular tasks as they grow and mature. Task training starts around 18 to 24 months.
And sometimes Severin’s instincts result in him assigning tasks of his own. “The only time we have issues is when my son or husband are with me while he’s working, because he can’t stand for the three of us to be separated. If he can’t see one of us, he’s trying to go get us,” Laina says. “Because he’s a shepherd. He’s a herder.”
TTU Vet School Continues Its Success
When the Texas Tech University School of Veterinary Medicine in Amarillo opened its doors in 2021, it set out to solve a looming crisis: a severe shortage of veterinarians in agricultural and rural communities.
In 2024, Brick & Elm toured the school around the time it celebrated its first white-coat ceremony, marking students’ transition from pre-clinical training to clinical rotations and actual veterinary care. That milestone now looks like a preview of what was coming.
The school has since moved with remarkable speed. In 2025, it earned full accreditation from the American Veterinary Medical Association Council on Education, making it 1 of only 31 fully accredited veterinary schools in the United States. That same year, its historic first class graduated, as 61 students received Doctor of Veterinary Medicine degrees.
In 2026, 80 more students earned their DVMs. Of those two classes combined, more than 90 percent went on to careers in rural, regional or large-animal practice. An incredible 95 percent of first graduates, including Dr. Bentley Payne, went straight into practices serving rural and regional communities. Nearly half launched their careers west of Interstate 35 in Texas, where the veterinarian shortage is most acute.
The education is practical and community-oriented. Agricultural communities require expertise with cattle and horses, of course, but TTU vets aren’t just learning livestock. Students spend their final year completing real-world clinical rotations with active veterinary practices. They learn to care for prized American Quarter Horses. They also learn to treat the family dog. At the same time, these aspiring veterinarians contribute their growing expertise to nonprofits, including Meals on Wheels’ Animeals Program, Wild West Wildlife Rehabilitation Center and the Amarillo Zoo & Sanctuary.
“Our students have embraced service,” says Dean Guy H. Loneragan. “They love supporting the needs of Amarillo and beyond.”
The school now enrolls around 400 students, along with nearly 40 graduate students, served by 150 faculty and staff members. Remarkably, first-generation college students represent a third of the student body. “In a short period of time, we have grown to a school of approximately 600 students, staff and faculty,” Loneragan says. The school’s economic impact has been estimated at around $70 million annually.
Faculty and researchers are simultaneously advancing new tools for cattle production, livestock health and the One Health Sciences Ph.D. Program, which links human, animal and environmental wellness. Loneragan says the school is ahead of where it hoped to be. “Amarillo and the Panhandle are an amazing home to us, and we are right where we need to be to make a difference in our community, in Texas and the nation,” he says. “Our next step is to develop the infrastructure to provide world-leading specialty care, and lead breakthrough innovations that change the lives of animal owners and their pets.”
CHARLIE
(Therapy Dog)
CHARLIE Nicole Acker likes to describe Charlie, her goldendoodle, as something “like a person in dog skin.” Nicole is a speech pathologist and speech therapist, and uses Charlie in nursing homes, hospice settings and pediatric wings to give back to some of the patient populations she serves. The two of them visit patients two or three times a week, including Northwest Texas’s Children’s Hospital.
Charlie found her way into the work during the pandemic, when Nicole had been working in a Pampa nursing home. Once the lockdown took effect, she began bringing Charlie to work with her. It was an anxious time—for many weeks, elderly patients were unable to see family members—but Charlie’s easy-going demeanor brought immediate comfort. “They wanted her around, needed her around,” Nicole says. “She has always been naturally calm and very in tune with situations and emotions. She’ll walk up and stand there and let them pet her as long as they want.”
Nicole made the decision to train and register Charlie as a therapy dog. “Afterwards, I was approached by somebody who worked for hospice and asked if I would certify her and do hospice visits,” she says. Then the hospital asked. The demand became clear very quickly.
In pediatric settings, Charlie seems to recognize that kids might need something different from adults. “She brings kids a little bit of happiness and something normal in a not-normal situation,” especially when those kids have been displaced from their homes. “It’s something different for them besides a TV or video games.”
In a nursing home, she brings comfort to residents who may have had to give away their pets before entering long-term care. “They just get a chance to be around a pet again and spend time with them,” she says.
And in a hospice, Charlie brings that same comfort—not only to hospice patients, but to family members who are preparing for the grief of losing a loved one. “Dogs can decrease anxiety, and they’re such a good distraction in a hospice environment,” Nicole says. When a dog walks through the door, the emotional energy of a room completely changes, even for families sitting vigil at a bedside.
Nicole says dogs like Charlie offer permission to smile during hard moments. And Charlie never feels awkward, never gets embarrassed, and always provides complete, nonjudgmental acceptance. “She’s even laid in bed with hospice patients, or will stand next to a kid on a ventilator so they can pet her,” she says.
MARIO (Diabetic Alert Dog)
MARIOPaula Simpson joined the faculty of Ascension Academy last year to teach its first group of fifth-grade students when the college prep academy expanded. The school and students were delighted at her arrival. Not just because Paula brought 30-plus years of teaching and administration experience to the school, but because Mario was part of
the package.
Mario is a diabetic alert dog. Over the past year at Ascension, his role looked something like a combination of service dog, classroom companion and honorary faculty member.
A 9-year-old standard poodle, Mario spends his days in the classroom with Paula, who was diagnosed with diabetes two decades ago. She wears a glucose monitor, but says Mario provides something technology doesn’t always provide—at least not as well as she’d like.
“Our bodies give off a scent when our blood-sugar glucose levels go low,” she says, and Mario lets her know when her blood sugar drops below 100. When he senses the change, he comes close. If Paula is teaching, he will leave his usual classroom position to sit at her feet. If he doesn’t get her attention, he might sniff or lick her hands.
“I trust the dog more than I trust the monitor,” she says.
A doctor once told her that she didn’t need Mario now that she wears a monitor. “I said, ‘Oh, yes I do.’ I’ve had six monitors not work, or be inaccurate,” she explains. Phone batteries die. Electronics fail. But she absolutely trusts Mario. “He sleeps during the day but he’s up at night, and he watches. He’s always in my room, always beside me.” He’ll even wake her up if he senses a dangerous drop in her numbers.
And Mario does more than just alert. He can bring water and food. Or, at Ascension, he fetches human assistance in the form of Ann Ferguson, a school counselor. “I can tell him, ‘Go get Ann,’ and he will run to her office and get her to come to me,” the teacher says.
Once, while Paula was at Walmart, Mario alerted to a blood sugar drop. She had to sit down, and Mario went to fetch a cashier. “She asked if I was OK, and I told her what I needed,” Paula says.
The duo connected three years ago after Mario had previously served a student for seizure response. He had been trained by an organization called Canine Assistance Rehabilitation Education Services, based in Kansas, and the two of them returned to Kansas to retrain together for Paula’s specific needs.
But it turns out Mario is not just loyal to Paula. “He keys on children when they are in stress,” she says. “He will walk up and down the aisles [of the classroom]. If he senses a child is in distress, he will go and sit by them during testing. They reach over and pet on him. He’s a calming influence.”
She also works as a PATH-certified therapeutic horseback riding instructor for 7 Star Therapeutic Riding Center, and Mario goes there with her, maintaining a safe but alert position right outside the arena. Once, a non-verbal child was riding when the horse shook and the child began to slide off the horse. “Of course, we have side-walkers who caught the child, but my dog jumped the fence and went to cover that child,” she says. “That was part of his training for a seizure. He’ll be right there covering that child that’s on the ground.”
He reacts in the same way if a child happens to trip and fall down at school. Rarely do the kids mind.
Whenever she puts his service dog jacket on, Mario’s focus sharpens. “He’s on duty,” she says. “No matter if it’s me or a child that’s in need.”
Pets and Their Owners are Traveling … to Amarillo?
More people are traveling with pets than ever before, and at least one major travel website has identified Amarillo as one of its top destinations for pet travel. The travel search engine KAYAK recently listed Amarillo as one of “America’s most pet-friendly destinations.”
“For pet owners, Amarillo checks a lot of boxes,” says Kayla Deloache, a KAYAK travel trends expert. “It’s a road-trip-friendly destination with affordable accommodations, wide-open outdoor spaces, and attractions that make it easy to bring pets along.”
That positions the Texas Panhandle as a travel experience where pets become part of the adventure. KAYAK points out that 66 percent of U.S. households own a pet. That’s around 87 million homes. Close to 8 in 10 people will travel with pets at some point each year, and the site has seen a substantial increase in searches for pet-friendly travel. KAYAK has identified 61 percent of accommodations in Amarillo as pet-friendly.
Why does petting a dog calm people down?
Ruth Sterling, who has a master’s in counseling and is pursuing a Ph.D. in psychology, explains the science behind therapy dogs. “Science has proven that when you pet a dog, it releases oxytocin to both you and the dog,” she says. Each of you receives a surge in oxytocin levels, otherwise known as the bonding or love hormone.
That surge puts the brakes on a body’s stress response. “That chemical response naturally lowers the stress hormone cortisol,” she says. Cortisol and adrenaline put your body in a hyper-vigilant state. A petting session softens that response, signaling safety to a person’s brain. It lowers the heart rate, relaxes muscles and can even reduce blood pressure.
In a therapy session, the physical touch and presence of a dog can shift a person’s focus in helpful ways. “People’s guards go down,” Ruth adds. They feel the warmth of a dog’s body or the texture of their fur, which can anchor them in the moment. “We’re not talking about this traumatic thing that’s happened to them or an injury that will take forever to heal. It grounds your nervous system to be present in the moment.”
RODNEY JOE (Seizure Alert Dog)
Rodney Joe entered Bentley Payne’s life as a 6-week-old Great Dane puppy with harlequin coloring and a service job waiting for him. By age 5, Rodney Joe had graduated from veterinary school.
Bentley is a 2026 Texas Tech University School of Veterinary Medicine graduate who has experienced seizures since eighth grade. By the time she was finishing her undergraduate degree at Auburn University, she and her parents began to think about the future. She had grown up in East Texas but was headed to Amarillo. What if she had a seizure with no one nearby?
“They were like, well, if you want to go to vet school and want to live alone, we’re going to have to figure out something else,” she says.
That solution ended up being a 165-pound Great Dane. Trained seizure service dogs can cost up to $80,000, which insurance doesn’t always cover. So Bentley, who was preparing to be a veterinarian, began researching how to train one herself. After getting Rodney Joe as a puppy, the duo immersed themselves in training during the months between graduation from Auburn and the start of vet school.
It took nearly a year. Relying on service dog training manuals and YouTube and TikTok tutorials, Bentley trained Rodney Joe first to respond to seizures. That meant helping lower her safely to the ground and staying next to her until she recovered. After that, because her blood sugar usually drops after an episode, he knows how to retrieve apple juice from the refrigerator by opening the door with a rope pull.
The process was slow and a little frustrating. “I’m gonna be very honest: About 4 or 5 months in, I was fully convinced that he was never going to learn, that it was a lost cause,” Bentley says. “If he doesn’t learn, it’s fine. I love him.” She wondered if Rodney Joe might just end up being a very large pet.
Then something astonishing happened. Bentley fully grasped the multi-step process of training him to go to the fridge and retrieve a bottle of juice. But she wasn’t quite sure how to train Rodney Joe to alert before a seizure. “They always say, whenever you buy a trained seizure service dog, that they can for sure respond to your seizures, but they can’t guarantee whether or not they can alert you,” she explains. After all, individuals have different triggers for seizures. In fact, for a long time, dogs’ ability to predict a medical crisis was a mystery. Scientists just didn’t know what they were reacting to, though recent studies indicate they may be smelling a highly specific chemical change in the handler’s body.
But on his own, Rodney Joe figured it out. One day, when he was around 9 months old, he started barking and whining at Bentley. He kept booping her with his nose. “I honestly thought he was just being an annoying little puppy and wanting to go outside,” she says.
A few minutes after that, she had a seizure.
“It didn’t dawn on me until [he did the same thing] a second time. He had caught on and was alerting me,” she says.
After that, everything fell into line. Rodney Joe began going with Bentley everywhere, from the grocery store to her classes at Texas Tech in Amarillo, where the Great Dane became an honorary member of the class of 2026 and, well, something like the face of the vet school. “Every single person in my class knew his name,” Bentley says. “They would say hi or good morning to Rodney before they’d say hi or good morning to me.”
When Bentley graduated in May, the school published a social media photo of Bentley and Rodney Joe together—both wearing graduation regalia—proclaiming him the school’s “very first RaiderVet service dog to graduate.”
School’s over, but Rodney Joe is always paying close attention to Bentley. He tends to alert her about 20 minutes before a seizure episode.
“He hits me with his nose on the side of my leg if I’m sitting, or on the side of the arm. Then he’ll start whining, and then if I’m not listening to him, he’ll start barking at me,” she says. Once he’s gotten her attention, Rodney Joe urges Bentley to lie down. “He’ll turn around and kind of put his butt on my lap to push me to the side and sit me down. If I’m standing, he herds me into a corner. Then he’ll put his front two legs on my legs to force me down.”
Bentley says sometimes she gets distracted and doesn’t pay attention to him, or begins to zone out—a precursor to a seizure. “If I don’t listen to him, I just keep walking and I can [start to] fall, and then he’ll kind of catch me and lower me to the floor. He’ll pad my fall,” she says. After all, he weighs a lot more than she does.
Interestingly, Bentley still doesn’t really know what he’s responding to when he alerts to a seizure. She suspects part of it may be a change in her personality. He might also recognize shifts in blood pressure or heart rate. Researchers speculate that dogs can pick up on a combination of airborne organic compounds and pheromones emitted by a body experiencing an emergency. She may not understand it, but Bentley definitely appreciates what he can do.
This summer, Rodney Joe and Bentley left Amarillo for a small town in Alabama where she will begin practicing veterinary medicine.
She’ll become Dr. Bentley Payne, associate veterinarian, and Rodney Joe will remain her loyal assistant.
Forever Nearby
By Gunnar McConlogue and Jason Boyett
For much of his career, Kent Harris of Blue Sage Pottery has focused on functional ceramics. He creates beautiful mugs, bowls and other handcrafted pieces meant to be used on a daily basis. But in recent years, he’s seen remarkable growth in an unexpectedly meaningful part of his business: cremation urns.
He remembers studying urns in college before becoming a professional. “I’d seen urns that were 3,000 or 4,000 years old,” he says. But he hadn’t really thought about making them himself until a customer asked him to create one for her son. As he and the grieving woman journeyed through the creation process together, Kent realized how powerful of a role pottery could play in that process of remembering and honoring a loved one.
Today, he uses his website and a shop on Etsy to sell and ship ceramic urns across the country. He speculates that 99 percent of the cremation urns sold in the U.S. are
made in China, but his are all made by hand. “It really became something special for me to make these here,” he says from his brightly lit studio in the Route 66 Historic District.
They’re now a steady business for Blue Sage. And the demand for urns is not just for deceased people. Quite a few of them these days are being purchased for pets, and Kent produces urns designed explicitly for that purpose. He saw the value of it when another customer asked whether Kent could make a smaller urn for a dog.
“I almost said no,” he says. But he agreed to it.
Demand began to surge.
Since then, he has created urns for dogs, cats, horses, snakes, chinchillas and even a customer who commissioned urns for several beloved pet rats. Many include personalized details like names or paw prints.
He even made one urn to be shared, at some point, by a man, his wife, and their dog.
“I get these awesome messages back from people about how in a tough situation of losing a person or their dog, it’s better,” Kent says. “I literally just got a message yesterday from a guy that I’ve made two urns for.”
Kent had produced urns for two beloved labs. The customer contacted him, writing that “every morning when I’m having my coffee, I look at those, and it makes me happy to know that my dog’s right there.”
He stops and pets his sidekick, Ranger, a Texas Heeler who hangs out in the studio with him. “That’s why I keep doing it.”
It’s not just the artistry and it’s not just the business. It’s because the products themselves make people feel better. Every Blue Sage urn reminds people of a relationship and a life shared—and, for some, the bond remains long after a beloved pet is gone.
SAM and APD K-9 Officers
“It’s just like anyone else who has a dog that lives with them,” says Sgt. Cody Lavery about Sam, a Belgian Malinois. “It’s that same kind of bond.”
Except most dogs spend most of their days at home, sleeping or watching out the window. Sam spends his days sniffing out illegal drugs or pursuing fugitives who’ve run from police. Lavery is the K-9 supervisor for the Amarillo Police Department, which has five
K-9 units. Sam is his partner.
At home, Sam is an ordinary dog and lives with Lavery’s other dogs, including a retired police dog and three smaller dogs. “They just chill and sleep and lay around,” Lavery says. But when it’s time to go to work, Sam puts on his game face. “Work is play to them. Everything we do is a game to them,” he says.
The “game” required intense training that taught Sam to locate narcotics, track suspects and even apprehend fleeing or resisting individuals when the situation meets APD’s specific department criteria. And Sam is really, really good at it. Last year, Lavery and Sam earned first place in Narcotics Detection and second place in the Patrol K-9 category at the Lubbock Area Police K-9 Narcotic Detection and Fugitive Apprehension Training and Competition.
Lavery himself has spent 28 years with APD and 18 in the K-9 unit, and has personally trained several of the dogs.
The work itself may be serious, and even dangerous, but for Sam it’s built around reward and repetition. He and his K-9 counterparts enjoy weekly narcotics training. “We hide it, they find it, they get to play,” Lavery says. “It’s like a fun game of hide-and-seek.” The training takes place, however, in a variety of changing environments. Dogs may search vehicles, buildings, luggage or even aircraft.
On a typical call, Sam and Lavery may be requested after an officer stops a vehicle and suspects narcotics are inside. A driver has the right to refuse consent to search. But that doesn’t prevent a K-9 from sniffing the air outside that vehicle, and if Sam or his counterparts alert to a drug, that can establish probable cause.
Sam’s particular talents extend far beyond sniffing. Along with APD’s other dual-purpose K-9s (Taz, Sharo and Sniper), his other primary role is to locate dangerous suspects who run from police. Lavery says the dogs come into play for two main reasons. “Number one, they’re so much better at finding them than we are,” he says. “Number two, if it is one of those dangerous types of suspects, if they’re waiting for us in an ambush-type situation, they’re going to have to deal with the dog first.”
Lavery and his fellow human officers carry guns and are trained to use deadly force when appropriate. But suspects are usually much more afraid of a police dog. Before deployment, officers give repeated warnings. A dog will often bark on command so the suspect knows police are not bluffing. Those warnings alone can convince a suspect to surrender.
If they don’t, the dogs are cleared to apprehend the suspects. Lavery clarifies: “Apprehend means bite.”
It’s not a snarling, chaotic dog bite. In fact, sharp canine teeth usually aren’t involved at all. Police dogs are taught to “bite and hold” in a very specific way. They open their jaws as wide as possible, grabbing a suspect’s arm using the flat teeth in the backs of their mouths. Lavery says the resulting dog-bite injuries “are usually pretty minor, believe it or not. Usually when we bite a suspect, they don’t even need stitches. It is a pain compliance kind of thing, but I think it’s also more of a mental thing.” In other words, the presence of a firearm can be effective, but the pressure of the teeth of a very serious dog like Sam can freeze a suspect with fear.
The pain is real, of course, but the psychological shock of it is what terminates a suspect’s willingness to fight. “Very rarely does it cause serious injury,” he says.
After a full day’s work, Sam goes home with Lavery. Each of APD’s K-9 officers lives with its handler. That’s when the intensity of work gives way to ordinary dog life. “They really do turn it off when they get home,” Lavery says.
Sam is multiple things at once: a working animal, a tactical tool for police work and a layer of protection for officers. But he is also a constant companion..
Mojo’s Mission
By Leilani Terrazas Chacon and Jason Boyett
A grassroots awareness project, Mojo’s Mission aims to improve public understanding of laws related to service dogs and make local businesses friendlier to these companions. Brick & Elm sat down with cofounder Krisa Cantrell to learn more.
Tell us the origin story of your organization. Mojo’s Mission was founded in December 2025 by Renda Smith and me. It started because Renda’s service dog, Mojo, and others were running into the same frustrating situations over and over—being questioned, denied access or made to feel like a problem, even though Mojo is a medically necessary accommodation that is protected by a federal civil rights law.
How has Mojo’s Mission evolved since it began? We started with a simple idea: Most access problems happen because people don’t know the actual rules. In just a few months, we’ve moved from conversations to action. We’re now training businesses, service animal handlers and regular community members. Our training is grounded in the service animal provisions of the Americans with Disabilities Act, which is a federal civil rights law that protects access for people with disabilities.
What are your main goals for the community? We want Amarillo to be a place where a person with a service animal can walk into a restaurant, store or office without anxiety about being turned away or embarrassed. We want business owners and staff to feel confident instead of confused.
Our concrete goal this year is to train at least 25 businesses through free, 30-minute sessions that can be done in person or virtually. We’re also training handlers on their rights, and training everyday people on how to interact respectfully. We want to build broader local awareness around accessibility and disability inclusion.
What are some common misconceptions about service animals? One of the biggest misconceptions is that all disabilities are visible. Many people assume that if someone “doesn’t look disabled,” they must not need a service animal. But service animals can be trained to guide people with low vision. They can alert to blood sugar changes, interrupt a PTSD episode, detect food allergens. They are working. They are not pets. [Publishers’ note: Service animals are not required to wear an identification badge or vest, though many do.]
Another misconception is that emotional support animals, therapy animals and service animals are all the same. Under the ADA, a service animal is specifically trained to perform tasks directly related to a person’s disability. Emotional support animals and therapy animals may provide comfort, but they do not have the same public access rights as trained service animals.
People also often believe businesses can ask for certification or paperwork. Under the ADA, businesses cannot require documentation, certification, registration or an ID card for a service animal. If needed, businesses may only ask two questions:
“Is the dog a service animal required because of a disability?”
“What work or task has the dog been trained to perform?”
How should the community interact with a service animal they see in public? Do not distract the dog. Members of the public should not pet, feed, talk to, take photos of or try to get the dog’s attention without permission from the handler. Distracting a service animal can interfere with the handler’s safety. The most respectful thing people can do is speak to the handler, not the dog.
How is your nonprofit funded? We’re a young nonprofit, so we run on grants, donations, sponsorships and a lot of volunteer time. We just received our first meaningful grant to help scale the training and materials. Every dollar goes directly into producing clear, practical resources for businesses, handlers and the community as a whole.
Is there anything else you would like the public to know about your nonprofit or service animals? We want people to understand that service animal access is not about special treatment. It is about equal access. Disabled people with service animals deserve to go to public spaces without being unfairly questioned or asked to leave. Most access issues come from a lack of education, not bad intentions. That is why our approach is community-focused. We want to help businesses and handlers understand their rights.
Do you have any events coming up? We are planning a community event in September in honor of National Service Dog Month. Follow us on Instagram, Facebook and YouTube for updates and training opportunities
806.570.8776
info@mojosmission.org
mojosmission.org
AAMW Pet Pantry
What happens when financial hardship makes it difficult to care for your pets? Most local families treat their pets as companions or even honorary family members. So when they can’t afford pet food or basic supplies, these families may face a heartbreaking possibility: surrendering a beloved animal.
The AAMW Pet Pantry is designed to keep that from happening.
The City of Amarillo Animal Management and Welfare Department launched the pantry in 2020. Think of it just like a food pantry, but for dogs and cats. It provides free pet food and supplies, all donated by community members and local businesses or nonprofits.
“Most of our recipients are folks who truly care about their pets and want to be responsible pet owners, so we want to do everything to keep these animals in their homes with the people who love them,” explains AAMW Outreach Manager Kali Dennis.
Already, through the first half of 2026, the pantry has distributed 1,323 bags of dog food and 482 bags of cat food. It has helped more than 500 Amarillo residents care for their animals.
In doing so, the pantry doesn’t just reduce the anxiety of these pet owners. It also reduces pressure on the shelter system. It saves space, saves taxpayer dollars and saves the lives of animals who are loved.
The program depends entirely on donations. Past contributors include Greg Lair Automotive and Wild West Wildlife Rehabilitation Center.
The pantry is located inside the AAMW shelter at 3501 S. Osage St. Amarillo residents needing assistance can visit the shelter’s intake office during business hours. Availability is limited and assistance is offered while supplies last.
The pantry also has an online wish list. See it at amw.amarillo.gov/adoption-and-resources/how-can-i-help/donations.
Grief and Crematory Services
Furrever Pet Crematory
311 S. Bivins St.
806.350.6989
furreverpetcrematory.com
Provides cremation, home euthanasia, 24-hr availability
Heaven’s Rainbow Bridge Pet Cemetery & Crematorium
8200 SW 77th Ave.
806.331.1122
heavensrainbowbridge.com
Local pet cemetery for burials
All God’s Critters Too
16500 Betty Blvd., Canyon
806.452.7161
allgodscritterstoo.com
Will serve Amarillo with pickup. Offers cremation, aquamation and grief support.
Swann Animal Clinic
3102 SW 45th Ave.
806.355.9443
amarillovet.com
Offers euthanasia and cremation/aftercare
Animal Medical Center of Amarillo
6201 W. Amarillo Blvd.
806.358.7831
myanimalmedicalcenter.com
Offers euthanasia and cremation/aftercare
Amarillo Area Animal Rescue Agencies
Amarillo Animal Management & Welfare
3501 S. Osage St.
806.378-9032
amw.amarillo.gov
Amarillo SPCA
11901 S. Coulter St.
806.622.0555
amarillospcashelter.com
Private no-kill shelter since 1988; not affiliated with the national SPCA.
Dove Creek Equine Rescue
16201 Gordon Cummings Road, Canyon
806.367.0808
dovecreekequinerescue.org
Horse rescue and rehab
Forgotten Dog League of Amarillo
4008 S. Ong St.
806.599.3032
forgottendogleague.com
Gracie’s Project
4515 S. Georgia St., Suite 124
806.731.4599
graciesproject.com
Lone Star Reptile Rescue
806.443.4439
Lost Pets of Amarillo
PO Box 19862
806.680.3610
lostpetsofamarillo.org
Rescue plus lost-and-found reunification.
Rebel Animal Rescue
13400 S. Bell St., Suite B
rebelanimalrescue.org
Newer rescue/transport group partnering with the city shelter; contact via website/Facebook.
SCAR: Second Chance Animal Rescue
PO Box 20744
806.503.4729
scaramarillo.org
Texas Panhandle Pet Savers
806.353.3304
texaspanhandlepetsavers.org
Wild West Wildlife Rehabilitation Center
2901 N. Soncy Road
806.680.2483
wildwestwildlife.com
Wildlife rescue that serves all 26 counties in the Texas Panhandle.
Yellow City Shelter Cats
facebook.com/yellowcitycats
