People say – I can talk to my dog or my cat understands me. What about your cat or dog being understood? I get it that animals read energy better than most human beings. They’re superior to us at a multitude of things, but ask them to understand our words; that’s like asking an Irish woman to understand why there are no teacups in the house. It simply does not compute.
When something breaks in my home, I search for someone who can fix it. (God bless my landladies) If I try, it’s likely to fall, shatter or cause me some bodily harm in less than an hour. Now ask me to write a ten page sonnet to the mighty spirit that flows through us all and holds universes in place, I’ll have it done in under an hour. And when asked to speak to my animals sure, no problem – I do it all day long. Yet ask me to understand them, that’s a whole other story and story it is.
I know JJ has different barks and each one is distinctly different, with a unique vibration all of its own and Stella has a whole range of deep-throated incantations that I believe inform me of her undying love for couch-cuddling and cold tea. The cats, I can only read through their presence. If they’re around, things are good. I know when it’s time to play, when the food bowl is empty and when the milk bottle top – the most prized toy, has found its way to the deep recesses under the couch or alternatively under the fridge. But I can’t tell Ischa that it was the chair that hurt Orlagh, not me. I can’t explain that he can come out from under the bed, despite the tasty morsels I’ve lined up, or the cooing, loving words, or the fact that there is only so long my yoga body can do downward cat. I can’t explain, at that moment, that he is safe. He only knows what he saw and heard. Enter stage left one animal communicator.
I’ve used an animal communicator for all my beloved animals at various stages of their lives and yes, with particular emphasis on end of life. I want them to know what is happening their body and where they are going. I don’t want fear or anxiety to be part of their dying experience. Beyond that, I need to know what they need, what they have to say, what their desires are, what they don’t care for and why my shoes taste better than turkey jerky. I need to know how I can make their life the best life possible – while they are here, in my care.
People have asked, after their pet has gone, where did they go, where are they now, can they still see me and are they ok? I propose an animal communicator at that point, because words don’t help. It’s only life experience that teaches. And when you’ve chatted to your beloved animal companion who has crossed over, you know. You know nothing has changed, nothing at all. It just got better for them and in the future, we come to understand that too.
But chat to them while they’re here – that changes everything – the way you see them most of all. They become more luminous beings with each interaction, each conversation, each disclosing of what their desires are and what they are not. Each morsel of information I lap up like liquid gold, because I get to know them more and tend to their particular needs. The greatest request being more time playing, or more treats, or more runs at the park or not, or as the cats would put it, more time without the dogs or a better window seat for viewing the birds, or if they need assistance leaving their bodies and crossing over. Throughout it all, they’ve never asked me to give more than I could, but I’ve been called to task by them to be more present, to be still, to be with them in the grace of the holy moment.
So whether it’s end of life, or just life itself, I’d recommend enlisting an animal communicator along the way for the simple gift of a deeper relationship with your animals. Because truth is, we’ll never know them completely, but we will know that we tried our best and that, in my ten-page sonnet, is reason enough.