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Shamsudir Mohamud, a 47-year-old father of three and Somali immigrant who lives in Minneapolis, adores his three dogs — Sadam, Stormy and Nine — whom he’s had since they were puppies.

“I didn’t just raise them — I also love them, and they love me,” Shamsudir said. His children are also deeply bonded to the animals.

Many dog owners can easily relate to his family’s affection for their pets. Yet in Minnesota’s Somali Muslim immigrant community, that’s not the prevailing sentiment. 

On June 2, St. Louis Park Mayor Nadia Mohamed officiated at the swearing-in of Rolo, a new K-9 officer for the city’s Police Department. The event was a blip in many local social media feeds. But it drew sharp criticism in local Muslim communities, where dogs are viewed as undesirable and unclean.

Imam Mohamud Aden of Khalid Binu Walid Center in Minneapolis expressed disapproval, asserting that a Muslim woman presiding over a police dog’s oath crosses traditional expectations for public religious leadership.

And some in the Somali community have reacted negatively to U.S. Rep. Ilhan Omar’s comments about her family’s decision to own a dog. Staffer Ali Isse recently said that Omar’s dog isn’t just a pet, but serves as a protective animal. 

The backlash from some in the Somali community to dog ownership highlights the tension between traditional Islamic values and evolving cultural practices as more Muslim families in Minnesota and around the world become pet owners. 

Demand for pet dogs is on the rise in Minnesota’s Muslim households, particularly as children, often influenced by their non-Muslim friends, plead with their parents for pets. 

But for many Somali Muslims, dogs remain a sensitive subject. Religious traditions, especially under the Shafi’i tradition — one of the four main schools of thought in Sunni Islamic theology — teach that dogs, particularly because of their saliva, are impure.

The Shafi’i and Hanbali schools regard all parts of a dog — fur, saliva and body — as impure (najas). That interpretation contrasts with the Hanafi school, which permits dogs for utility purposes as long as cleanliness is maintained, and with the Maliki school, which does not consider dogs inherently impure.

Shamsudir’s connection to dogs stretches back to his childhood in Mogadishu’s Hodan neighborhood. Growing up among Italian expatriates and diplomats, he often watched them as they walked their dogs. “I used to stand outside and wave at them when they went for a walk and when they returned,” he said. “That early fascination never faded, even though my own parents avoided keeping dogs.”

He describes his three pitbulls as loyal and protective, and as bringing joy to his household.

His choice of canine breed — pitbulls — was deliberate, he said: “It’s aggressive. I like fighting dogs.”

While such a comment may raise eyebrows, it highlights how personal preferences sometimes diverge from broader cultural expectations in his immigrant community.

The dispute over dogs reflects the struggle of many Somali Muslim immigrants in a new cultural setting as they seek to reconcile inherited religious norms with the daily realities of raising families in the United States.

Local imams sometimes soften their rulings to acknowledge practical reality. For instance, Imam 

, a former judge in Djibouti and currently one of the imams of 

 in Bloomington, has advised that dogs are not impure when dry and that Muslims may keep them if precautions are taken against contact with saliva.

“If some of our imams hadn’t intervened, I would have found it difficult to consider owning a dog,” Shamsudir said.

But balancing religious teaching with affection for animals remains challenging. Shamsudir notes that his visible presence with dogs as he walks them — often in areas around Karmel Mall and nearby mosques — invites constant questions. Many new arrivals to Minnesota are surprised to see a Muslim walking pitbulls.

“Sadly, their response is almost always negative,” he said. Engaging with those expressing surprise or disapproval can be daunting, he said, adding, “I am not a psychologist or therapist.”

At the same time, he said, he has encountered quiet curiosity, especially among Somali women who confide that they, too, would like to keep dogs but fear the judgment of relatives and neighbors. 

Shamsudir has connected with several fellow dog enthusiasts, primarily from the Middle East, as well as two Somali truck drivers he frequently meets up with at Karmel Mall. “I wish there was a secret club for Muslim dog owners in Minnesota,” he said. “It’s important for us to have a space where we can share our experiences and educate our Muslim communities about responsible pet ownership.” 

Shamsudir describes his Somali community as “predominantly oral” — where people speak bluntly, without social filters. That directness, he says, often translates into painful comments. “This unfiltered honesty can sometimes hurt others’ feelings,” he said.

Yet he continues to advocate for more open conversations about Muslim life and pets in America.

Shamsudir believes responsible ownership can coexist with Islamic values, particularly when viewed in the broader context — that is, 

nearly 45.5 percent of U.S. households own a dog

“They’re not just pets; they provide companionship and protection,” he said. “Owning dogs is essential, but it’s important to balance what works for us based on your environment and community.”

Shamsudir’s comments reflect a wider conversation unfolding across Muslim communities in the United States and abroad. In Egypt and many Muslim countries, for example, the number of registered dog owners grew significantly over the past decade. And the halal pet food industry is booming, with projections estimating 

a global market value of $2.5 billion by 2025

. These shifts suggest that dog ownership is becoming more normalized in Muslim societies worldwide.

Shamsudir argues that opening dialogue, clarifying religious rulings, and acknowledging cultural change are the only ways Muslim communities can adapt to life in the United States. “Living in the United States, where every dream is possible, is a blessing,” he said.

Faith, family and a changing conversation

For Muslim families in Minnesota, the approach of holidays such as Eid al-Fitr and Adha are times of celebration, reflection and togetherness. The celebration of faith and family in Minnesota increasingly includes pleas from children for a special gift — a dog. 

The tension between parental caution and children’s enthusiasm is familiar to parents like Nuruldin Nur and Dayib Ali, who find themselves navigating requests for pets while weighing their faith and community expectations.

Nuruldin, of Inver Grove Heights, feigns sneezes whenever his four children plead for a dog, telling them that he is allergic to them.

“It was the only shield I had at that moment,” he admitted, acknowledging that his sons, Mohamed and Mohamud, were not fooled. They pressed him harder, pointing out that most of their classmates had dogs. “Baba, please! Eid al-Fitr is very close; will you make us happy with a special gift?” Mohamed said to his father. “Everyone in our class has a dog!”

The weight of his children’s expectations press heavily on Nuruldin, highlighting the clash between tradition and a desire to provide a welcome Eid gift for his kids. He grew up in a Somali household where dogs were prohibited, except when serving as guard animals.

Yet he recognizes that his children are growing up in a different cultural context. For American-born children surrounded by peers who treat dogs as beloved family members, exclusion can feel unfair.

Dayib Ali, an Apple Valley father of five, also finds himself caught between his children’s pleas for a pet dog and his own convictions

On a recent Saturday at a park, Dayib watched as his children ran toward families with dogs. Like Nuruldin, he is deeply rooted in traditions that view dogs with caution. “In our culture, dogs aren’t kept in homes like other pets. It’s about cleanliness and tradition,” he said.

For Nuruldin, Dayib and many other parents, their children’s requests are about more than pets. They represent a longing for connection, for belonging in a cultural landscape that feels dramatically different from the one their parents grew up in.

“They weren’t just asking for a dog,” Dayib said. “They were asking to feel like they belonged in a world that seemed so different from the one I had known.”

Dayib’s children tried to propose a solution. They suggested what they called a “Muslim dog” — a pet that could stay outside, be played with freely, yet not compromise the cleanliness of the home. To them, this compromise represented the best of both worlds — companionship without violating household norms.

The idea made their father chuckle, but it raised a serious question: Could there be ways to reconcile a child’s longing for a pet with the requirements of faith?

Muslim parents say these requests cannot be answered casually. Abdullahi Aden, 34, a social worker and Fridley father of four, said, “What seems like an innocent plea from a child becomes [for adults] an entry point into much larger conversations about faith.”

He suggests that those who are open to exploring compromises consult with religious authorities before making any decisions. Abdullahi urges parents to look into what their tradition truly allows, and whether there is flexibility in interpretation.

Such discussions in the home often lead back to the mosque, where

 to clarify the boundaries of Islamic guidance on dogs. Some scholars offer reassurance that not every interaction with dogs is prohibited, while others emphasize the strictness of classical rulings.

Differences in how the various Muslim schools of thought view dogs play out in Minnesota’s diverse population. Somali immigrants, who follow Shafi’i teachings, often reject the idea of pet dogs entirely. Sudanese and Egyptian immigrants, influenced by Maliki rulings, may take a more relaxed approach.

, sometimes step in to provide clarity or pastoral flexibility. Their stance, while not universally accepted, reflects an attempt to bridge the gap between traditional rulings and the realities of Muslim life in America.

Despite the evolving discussion, the social stigma remains powerful for Minnesotans like Shamsudir. And for Nuruldin and Dayib, even considering a pet dog feels like walking a fine line between honoring children’s wishes and risking disapproval.

For now, families like Nuruldin’s and Dayib’s remain undecided. They continue to listen, weigh and defer. The requests from their children are unlikely to ebb, and the examples of Muslims like Shamsudir — who live openly with dogs despite criticism — demonstrate that a different path is possible.

“At stake is more than pet ownership,” Abdullahi Aden said. “It is the negotiation of faith, identity, and belonging in a changing world.”

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Somali Muslim religious traditions consider dogs unclean. But the American-schooled children of many Minnesota immigrants have a much different view.

Balancing faith and affection: Somali families navigate dog ownership in Minnesota

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