Bice is an American pit bull terrier with an important and sensitive job in Ukraine — comforting children traumatised by Russia’s war.

The playful eight-year-old dog arrived at a rehabilitation centre on the outskirts of the capital, Kyiv, this week, ready to start his duties.

As Bice waited in a corridor, inside what looked like a school classroom with paintings and some books, a dozen children sat around a table listening to psychologist Oksana Sliepora.

“Who has a dog?” she asked and several hands were raised as the room filled with shouts of “Me, me, me!”

One boy said his dog was named Stitch, while another said “Tank”, adding that he has a total of five, but he had forgotten all their names. Everyone burst out laughing.

At first the seven girls and nine boys – ranging in age from a two-year-old boy to an 18-year-old young woman – look like schoolchildren enjoying a lesson. But they have particular stories: Some witnessed Russian soldiers invading their hometowns and beating their relatives; some are the sons, daughters, brothers or sisters of soldiers who are on the front lines, or were killed on them.

They come together at the Centre for Social and Psychological Rehabilitation, a state-operated community centre where people can get help coping with traumatic experiences after Russia’s invasion in February. Staff provide regular psychological therapy for anyone who has been affected in any way by the war.

In the past they have worked with horses, but now they are adding canine therapy.

Located in Boyarka, a suburb around 12 miles (20km) south-west of Kyiv, the centre was established in 2000 as part of an effort to give psychological support to people affected, directly or indirectly, by the explosion at the nuclear plant in Chernobyl in 1986.

Now it focuses on people affected by the war. These days, when some areas are without power after Russian attacks on Ukrainian energy infrastructure, the two-storey building is one of the few places with light and heating.

With the children gathered, some wearing festive blue or red Christmas hats, Ms Sliepora asked if they wanted to meet someone.

Yes, they did, came the response.

The door opened. The children’s faces glowed. They smiled.

And in came Bice, the tail-wagging therapist.

Darina Korozei, the dog’s owner and handler, asked the children to come one by one and ask him to do a trick or two.

He sat. He stood on his hind legs. He extended a paw, or rolled over. Then, a group hug — followed by a few tasty treats for him.

For more than 30 minutes, Bice let everybody touch him and hug him, without ever barking.

It was as if nothing else mattered at that moment, as if there was nothing to worry about.

It is the first time Ms Sliepora has worked with a dog as part of her therapies, but, she said: “I read a lot of literature that working with dogs, with four-legged rehabilitators, helps children reduce stress, increase stress resistance, and reduce anxiety.”

The youngsters did not seem stressed out, but of course the reality is still out there.

The psychologist observed that some children are scared of loud noises, such as when someone closes a window or when they hear the sound of a jet. Some drop to the floor or start asking whether there is a bomb shelter nearby.

Among the children were a brother and sister from Kupyansk, a city in the eastern region of Kharkiv, who witnessed Russian soldiers storming into their home with machine guns, grabbing their grandfather, putting a bag on his head and beating him, Ms Sliepora said.

“Each child is psychologically traumatised in different ways,” she added.

The mothers of some of the children stayed with them, seated along one of the walls, watching and listening from a distance. When Bice came, some took pictures of their children.

Lesya Kucherenko was there with her nine-year-old son, Maxim.

She said she cannot stop thinking about the war and what could happen to her oldest son, a 19-year-old paratrooper fighting in the town of Bakhmut in the the eastern Donetsk region — one of the most active fronts these days.

Maxim smiled as he played with Bice, but he was always checking on his mother, turning his head to look at her every so often.

Ms Kucherenko said sometimes she breaks down in tears when thinking about her soldier son.

Just before the therapy session, she had a call from him. He told her he was fine, and, just remembering that, she started crying. The next moment, Maxim was there, asking why.

“You see? He’s comforting me – not me him,” she said.

As for the comforting dog, what is the best message that Bice offers the kids?

Owner Ms Korozei only needs to think for a couple of seconds, and replies: “Freedom.”

“Freedom from problems, and happiness,” she adds.