Putting people at the centre of criminal justice advocacy

Law360 Canada (November 11, 2025, 10:09 AM EST) --

Naomi Sayers

Last week, while I was up north for a trial where a relatively young client was facing significant incarceration, something small but deeply significant happened during a sentencing hearing.

My client, a young person working to rebuild stability, was sentenced to a period of house arrest. They overcame a lot to get where they are today and central to that effort was their pet.

For many clients, particularly those living with trauma, poverty, displacement or social isolation, a companion animal is not incidental. It is sometimes the most consistent and emotionally grounding part of their life. A pet can be the first place where someone learns how to show up for another being every single day, even when life feels overwhelming.

As the presiding justice read through the standard exceptions to the house arrest conditions, medical necessity, work, family responsibilities, spouse and children, I heard the word “children,” and I thought of my client’s cat. I also thought of my own companion dog, Charlie. People sometimes say, “That’s your baby.” For many of us, there is truth in that. I share my co-counsel Charlie with others in an open and loving manner. Decision-makers have acknowledged him, asking if co-counsel was next to me (even if Charlie was quiet or sleeping). If I am doing court by Zoom, yes, he is next to me. I wish he could be next to me when I am in court. He helps provide me with stability and a sense of security. He helps me manage my anxiety and with overcoming some of the trauma I experienced.

So, once I heard the judge say children, I asked if we could include veterinary appointments for her cat in the conditions.

This was the first time I had ever made such a request in court. I hesitated for a moment, not because the request lacked merit, but because our profession often dismisses these details as trivial. We rarely ask ourselves why we instinctively value some familial relationships and not others. Small forms of care are frequently overlooked, even though they are often the foundation of stability.

But instead of having to justify the request through a lengthy legal argument, something meaningful happened: the judge listened.

He asked questions about the pet. He asked my client to describe her relationship to the cat. And then, in open court, he acknowledged: “Sometimes pets are our first kid.”

When the judge continued listing house arrest exceptions such as medical emergencies, I outlined that the same request should apply to the cat for veterinarian emergencies. The exception was granted, with veterinary appointments and emergencies included. The judge then shared a personal story involving a pet cat and a veterinary emergency.

Some may say this is minor. But anyone who has ever loved an animal knows it is not. It is stability. It is purpose. It is love. It is the reminder that someone depends on you, and that you matter.

For clients navigating criminal proceedings, that reminder can be the difference between progress and despair. Caregiving roles create structure. They support mental health. They foster responsibility. They are profoundly relevant to sentencing and rehabilitation.

This moment also reminded me of something fundamental to our work: advocacy is not just legal submissions. It is the act of making space for the humanity of the person at the centre of the case.

Too often, the system reduces people to allegations, risk assessments and presentence reports. Context becomes secondary. But without context, we risk losing sight of who is standing before the court.

Small requests, when rooted in the truth of a client’s life, can recalibrate the entire tone of a proceeding. They can remind the Crown, the defence and the bench that we are not dealing with abstractions — we are dealing with people.

This was the first time I asked for a pet-care exception. After this experience, I will not hesitate again.

The criminal justice system is quick to recognize traditional familial roles: parenting, marriage, cohabitation. But love and responsibility take many forms. A person’s first experience of nurturing, patience, routine and caregiving may occur in a relationship with an animal. That relationship can be profound, stabilizing and deeply tied to rehabilitation.

Justice is not just about conditions and restrictions. It is about dignity.

And dignity sometimes looks like recognizing a relationship that is meaningful, even if it does not fit conventional expectations.

After the judge granted the exception, I felt something shift in the room. Not just for my client but for me as well. I have spent years unsure whether I want children. Maybe I will. Maybe I will not. But I know this: Charlie has been an anchor for me. He reminds me to rest, to show up, to soften, to breathe. It was the first time I also felt seen and heard when I heard the judge acknowledge that sometimes pets are our first children.

Our clients deserve space for that kind of grounding, too.

Naomi Sayers is an Indigenous lawyer from the Garden River First Nation with her own public law practice. She sometimes teaches primarily on Indigenous rights and governance issues. She tweets under the moniker @kwetoday.

The opinions expressed are those of the author(s) and do not necessarily reflect the views of the author’s firm, its clients, Law360 Canada, LexisNexis Canada, or any of its or their respective affiliates. This article is for general information purposes and is not intended to be and should not be taken as legal advice.

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