Midland — Walk through almost any mall, coffee shop, or grocery store in Michigan today and you’ll see them: dogs in vests, sometimes calm and focused, other times lunging at displays or barking at strangers.
Some of these are trained service animals performing life-saving tasks. Others are pets in Amazon-bought gear, because their owners just want to bring them along.
The difference matters. Fake service dogs disrupt businesses, threaten the credibility of legitimate handlers, and make daily life harder for people who truly rely on their animals.
Yet the law makes it nearly impossible for businesses to draw a clean line. The result is a system with no fail-safe, where vague policies and case-by-case decisions fill the gap.
This summer, Midland Mall offered a case study in the problem. In a Facebook post, the mall announced it would take a tougher stance on pets masquerading as service animals. The wording stressed “clearly marked” animals and hinted that suspicious dogs could be referred to police.
In follow-up comments, mall owner Jordan Dice added that staff would “refer to law enforcement if we believe the person falsely represents a service animal.” That phrasing—“if we believe” or “if we feel”—gets to the heart of the issue.
The Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) sets the ground rules. When it’s not obvious a dog is a service animal, businesses may ask just two questions: Is the dog a service animal required because of a disability? What work or task has the dog been trained to perform?
That’s it. Staff can’t demand paperwork, ask for a demonstration, or pry into medical details. Exclusion is only permitted if the dog is out of control and the handler doesn’t take effective action, or if the dog isn’t housebroken.
The ADA was designed to prevent gatekeeping and harassment of people with invisible disabilities. But that same protection makes it easy for someone to say the right words and gain access—no pet training required.
For business owners, this creates a no-win situation.
The pushback against the Midland Mall was immediate. Advocates pointed out that the ADA doesn’t require vests or tags and that task behaviors like nudging or alert barking can be mistaken for misbehavior.
Dice later clarified that suspicion alone wouldn’t trigger removal. Kali Elana List, who is responsible for ADA training at Midland Mall, said the same.
When pressed on the wording—particularly the suggestion that staff could act if they “feel” a handler was lying—she acknowledged that the public statement was vague and incorrectly phrased.
List emphasized that staff are not supposed to make assumptions and that removals or referrals should be based only on the ADA’s two permitted questions and observable behavior.
Midland Mall isn’t unusual. Across the country, businesses are trying to write policies that reassure the public, deter abuse, and stay within ADA limits—but the result is almost always a vague middle ground.
There is legally no safe way to make policies tougher. If businesses crack down too hard, they risk kicking out someone with a legitimate service animal—an error that can trigger lawsuits, DOJ complaints, and damages under Michigan’s civil rights laws.
If they do nothing, untrained pets can keep disrupting stores, scaring customers, or damaging property, all while eroding public trust in legitimate service dogs.
Michigan has attempted to address the issue. State law makes it a misdemeanor to knowingly misrepresent a pet as a service animal. It also recognizes animals in training and allows trainers to obtain state-issued ID tags.
On paper, that looks like accountability. In practice, prosecutions are rare. To enforce the law, police would need evidence that someone knew their dog wasn’t trained and falsely claimed it was—a high bar.
And a shopper who says, “He just makes me feel calm,” may have admitted the dog isn’t task-trained, but many people don’t realize that’s not enough to qualify it as a true service animal. In that case, it would be just an emotional support animal.
The voluntary ID program doesn’t solve the problem either. Service dogs aren’t required to carry identification, and businesses can’t demand to see it. That means there is little comfort to the store clerk staring down a labradoodle in the checkout line.
For disabled individuals, every fake service dog chips away at public patience. A person with PTSD whose trained service dog alerts with a bark may now face suspicion because the last “service dog” the cashier saw was yapping in a stroller.
Handlers report being questioned more aggressively, or treated as if their medical need is up for debate. The abuse of the system doesn’t just frustrate store owners—it stigmatizes people who rely on service animals to navigate the world.
When Midland Mall shared its stance on Facebook, the comment thread filled with both support and concern. Bringing pets to the store undermines trust in legitimate service animals. But overzealous enforcement puts people with disabilities in the crosshairs.
The answer is transparency: Posting a clear, written policy on the mall’s website and inside the property would give tenants, shoppers, and staff an accessible reference point.
It would also demonstrate that the mall’s intent is to follow the law, not just to posture on social media. Without that, good intentions continue to look like mixed signals—and everyone is angry.
If you don’t need a service dog, leave your pet at home. It’s that simple. Bringing an untrained animal into a store or mall because you “just want them with you” might seem harmless, but it has big consequences for the people who depend on the law you’re bending.
When you fake a vest or bluff your way through those two ADA questions, you make it harder for someone with epilepsy, autism, or PTSD to be taken seriously when their dog alerts, guides, or steadies them. You teach businesses to doubt everyone.
Landen Taylor is a musician and explorer living in Bay City. Follow him on Instagram @landoisliving.
