Pets are Talking

Understanding is a Verb: Binah from the Other Side

Theword "Binah" is Hebrew for understanding. So when my friend, Carolyn, from Wales, asked me to talk with her friend's dog, Binah, I thought, "Interesting. I wonder what this dog will tell me."

It turns out, Binah  is a West Highland White Terrier.   Westies are the little generals of the canine world. They tend to be bossy and forthright and sometimes a little bit rude. 

Binah is none of those things. She is the other kind of Westie, the one that is gracious and funny and excited and kind. 

In fact, she got me to rethink my thoughts on the Westie, and also to give myself a little talking to about lumping a whole breed into one category. Goodness. 

Binah passed away suddenly. Her Mum, Lynne, was quite distraught. 

Her first question asked if Binah was okay. Binah came through loud and clear, "Of course!"

Then she wanted to know who Binah was with.

Binah showed me a big brownish-grey dog. They were in a field, with trees on the sides, birch trees. It looked like a crisp fall day. They were playing. 

I told Binah's owner this, and I just heard a little gasp, and then nothing. And then I heard, "That's Calon!" 

Calon was Lynne's Irish wolfhound that had passed away before. 

Then I started crying. 

Calon is Welsh for "Heart". So "Heart" and "Understanding" were playing in a field.

Binah's Mum wondered if there was anything that they should have done to try to save Binah's life. 

Binah told us that it was her time to go, because she was going to go live with a boy in Sussex, who really needed her. 

Everytime I asked Binah a question, I'd have to call her back from playing.  Her mum said that Binah was like that in real life too. At the park, every other second, Binah was distracted into playing, couldn't keep her attention long at all. 

It turns out Calon had a day off. He has a job in heaven. Many animals do. Calon's job is to greet new arrivals, and show them around. I think it must be lovely to be met in heaven by a big wolfhound named "Heart". 

Anyway, Binah's mum's heart was put to rest that Binah was alive and happy and well and busy on the other side. 

She asked one more question, "Did Binah have anything to say to her?"

Yes. Binah showed me a pastry on a plate, and her mum, Lynn, eating it. 

I described this to Lynne. She didn't get the significance. 

So, I said to Binah, "What does this mean?"

Binah said, "With your next dog, don't be stingy with the treats!"

Lynne laughed.  She said, "Tell Binah we had to keep her trim!" 

Binah laughed too. 

Binah knew what would lighten her Mum's grief. Understanding is a verb. 

Trixie's Not Sure What to Make of the Other Side

Trixie is a Southern Belle of a cat, the beloved kitty of Melissa. 

Melissa made the difficult decision to put her to sleep. Melissa called me. She missed her so much. Could I make sure that Trixie was all right?

Most pets cross over without a problem, but Trixie didn't.  Trixie didn't want to leave Melissa. She felt that Melissa needed her. Trixie was deeply anxious.

When pets have passed away, if they choose to not cross over, they are in a deeply anxious state, and their owners feel it. These are the owners that say, "I don't know why, but I'm not getting over this." or "I'm so sad. I didn't expect to be this upset."

This is not to say that it's abnormal to deeply grieve a pet. To be an owner of a pet that hasn't crossed over is to feel a deep state of anxiety, not just a deep sense of loss.

It's very rare, though, to encounter a pet that hasn't crossed over. 

Trixie hadn't. She didn't want to leave Melissa. Melissa needed her. She didn't want to leave.

I told Trixie that she could come back, in spirit, and help Melissa once she crossed over.  Trixie said, "Okay, I'm just going to say goodbye."

I emailed Melissa to let her know that Trixie hadn't passed over. Melissa said that she had a dream that she was fat and full and happy. This was healing for Melissa. 

Trixie on the Other Side

So, I checked in with Trixie a few days later. Most pets, on the other side, are filled with joy. Their spirits are light. Trixie didn't feel that way. She felt, well, crabby. 

I said, "You crossed over, right?"

She said, "Yes."  

I said, "Okay. What are you up to?"

She showed me a cottage with a passel of little old ladies playing cards. There was some light classical music playing. Trixie sat on an antique table. 

This, too, is VERY DIFFERENT, than the typical cat experience (which is full of cats and catching things, and being outside in beautiful weather). 

Trixie said, "My helper said that when I want, I can stop having a owner, but I'm not ready. I need an owner." 

I showed her how to visit Melissa on earth. She was afraid to jump down. I've never felt fear with a pet that's crossed over. Trixie seemed so alienated. 

So, I've been working with this modality called "Theta Healing". I go up to talk with God, and ask him to heal whomever I'm working with. It requires some deep meditation, but I am happy that I can do it. 

I went up to talk with God. I said, "God, Trixie needs help." 

God said, "Yes, she does. That's why I sent her to you."

I burst into tears. 

Please understand. I don't mean to say this in a conceited way. I mean to say that it is hard for me sometimes to believe that there is a plan or that there is a destiny or that we are called to do what we do.  It's hard for me sometimes to even believe that there is a God, although I talk with this benevolent spirit often. 

So to hear, "Yes, she does. That's why I sent her to you." was to feel a puzzle piece click into place. 

God said, "You need to tell Trixie that she can do whatever she wants. She doesn't understand this." 

Ah! Okay. I can do that. 

So, I went to Trixie and said, "Hey, you can do whatever you want." 

I showed her a few things that I thought she'd like. I showed her that she could grow herself up to 60 feet tall, or she could imagine and create bowl after bowl of food. I showed her that she could chase and catch things. I showed her that she could go to Melissa. 

It dawned on her that she could really do anything. Anything. Really. 

"I want to go to Melissa," she said. She was excited. 

I said, "Okay. You know how to step down."

"Yes," she said. "I do." 

And there she went. 

Remembering Clem

My students must make several leaps to successfully talk with animals. They must suspend their fear and disbelief long enough to sign up and pay for the workshop.  They must try to connect and talk to animals with relative strangers over the phone. They must try again when they are wrong. 

What drives them is the same: the thrill and joy when they connect with their pets. The deepening of the relationship that happens when their pets understand them and vice versa. 

I love the feeling when they get an answer right. I love that little intake of breath that I hear over the phone. 

And I love stories like Clem's...

Clem was Peggie's beloved, ancient 8-lb. poodle. He was mostly blind, nearly deaf, but he still knew when dinnertime was. Peggie had adopted him as an older dog and he was a dear, dear friend. 

I met Peggie when she asked me to talk with Clem, to see if it was his time to go. He was emphatically not ready to go. He loved his life with Peggie, her husband and the rest of the pets in their household. 

Peggie took my class, and one day, I received this email:

I think I had a conversation with Clem.  At the time it seemed very real, but now 2 days later I'm having my doubts.  It was very emotional, the emotion just welled up in my chest and throat, and he did have a couple of odd phrases, so it was either real or I have a very vivid imagination.  I also didn't do any of that grounding or connecting stuff, so this is another reason I have doubts.
 
So anyway, on Sunday hubby and I were on a day trip to Charleston and we were driving along and the sunroof was open and it was a bright sunny morning.  Music was on the radio and I was just very relaxed and so I asked Clem in my head if I could speak with him and I hear a voice say "well, of course" and we spoke for maybe 10 or 15 minutes.
 
Bridget, it was like speaking with a very wise and spiritual soul.  He is here, he said, to help me with the lessons of patience and humility.  At one point he said (I wrote this down) "It's ok to just be".
 
He talked some about his life with the other woman and her other pets.  He said (wrote this down, too)  "I was the boss of them.............I got old and sick and they were the boss of me".
 
I told him I would have liked to have known him as a puppy and as a young dog and he told me that in this life he came to me twice as a puppy and those 2 lives were short, so this time he came to me already old.  He said when I was a little girl I once shared a lollipop with him and he's never forgotten.
 
Since this life of his is almost over I asked him if he would come back to me.  Clem said this has been a very long life for him and he will want a long rest on the spirit side, but if he doesn't come back to me in this life don't worry because his spirit is connected to mine forever.

Even with all of this wonderful information, Peggie wondered if she had really heard him. The details here are so clear. I assured Peggie that she heard him loud and clear! I asked if she remembered the lollypop. She said that she vaguely remembered a large dog that roamed the town, and that she shared a lolly with him. 

A few days ago, I received another email from Peggie:

Just wanted to let you know Clem passed on yesterday.  We miss him terribly as he was a very big presence in a little tiny body.  The household seems quiet and empty without him, but we know he's in a better place, whole and happy and bossy.
 
One odd thing.........Clem kept himself and me to a strict schedule.  At 9pm every night if I wasn't making the motions to go to bed, he'd stand up and bark at me like, "don't you see what time it is?".  Last night Jim and I were sitting on the sofa, just kind of in a daze, when all of a sudden Quest, the big boxer, stood up, looked at us, barked twice and walked down the hall to go to bed.  We looked at the clock and, yep, it was 9pm!  Clem left Quest a job to do.
 
I want to thank you again for the class and my one opportunity to really communicate with Clem.  I know why he was here with me and, though the loss hurts now, deep down I know his spirit will always be connected with mine...........because he told me so.

When I say that we all can talk with animals, I mean, we all can talk with animals. And we are so blessed when we can hear them! 

 

Hec on the Other Side

Hecate-  1993-2009

I've talked with Hec before. She's the cat that really liked Murphy's Oil Soap.

Hec passed away a couple of weeks ago. She was not an easy cat to live with. Her owners loved her dearly, but put up with a lot of irritating behaviors from this cranky old lady cat.

They asked me to thank her for being in their lives. They also wanted to make sure she was doing okay on the other side.

I have NEVER met a spirit that was as light and full of joy as Hec's spirit in heaven. She was so happy to be free of her life on earth, to be free of the old damaged body, and her emotionally damaged mind.

She said, "I completely forgot about these spheres we have up here."

"What are they like?" I asked.

She explained that they looked like a soap bubble, but zapped you with a tickling energy if you touched them. They also giggle.

She showed me how she stalked and attacked them and how they giggled and bounced away.

I was hoping for closure, and to find a cat at peace on the other side. I wasn't expecting to find a cat so happy to be home.

I work with clients who are struggling with putting their pets to sleep. Although there are many pets that aren't ready to go, and we must respect the timeline, this final act of a good end is really sending the pet home. They're going home, where they are happy.

Reading of the Week: Matilda the Wise

Barb used to have a cat named Matilda. Matilda had died some years back, and Barb never felt quite right about how she had died. Barb wanted me to contact Matilda. She wanted closure and to express her regrets for not helping Matilda pass away better.

This is a common theme. Everybody wishes for a good end for their pet, and if it doesn't come out right, people feel bad, even if they aren't responsible for the bad end. If you are carrying this around right now, know that your pet, in heaven, has forgotten their death, and is way more interested in what you're doing right now. 

When I looked at Matilda's picture, I knew I was in for an interesting conversation. Imagine a forthright little cat with eyes that go right through you.

I reached out to Matilda. I felt like my little message to her was going higher and higher into the heavens, climbing up and up until it reached her.

Then I heard a voice say, "Why are you bothering me? I have important work to do!"

She wasn't angry, but she was fierce! 

I could see a temple door behind Matilda, and clouds around our feet. We were in the rarified air of the spiritual masters. 

I said, "I'm here with Barb."

Matilda softened, "Oh, Barb's with you? How is she?"  Matilda turned warm and purred. 

"She's good. She feels sorry for how you passed away."

"She feels sorry for that? It was fine. It was my time." 

I told Barb that Matilda was okay with how she passed. 

"You need to tell Barb something." Matilda said, (I knew this was coming. I knew what she was going to say next. When people are blessed with a spiritual master in animal form, it's because they're going to do something that's deeply important). 

"Okay," I said. 

"I was with her to help her become more disciplined. She needs to understand the importance of routine. She has a lot of good work ahead of her, and it was important that I teach her. She needs to understand that she shouldn't feel small." 

I told Barb this information and she said, "She was disciplined. She got me out of bed early to feed her. Everything she did was with purpose." 

We talked a little more, the three of us. Barb cried. I cried. Matilda was her fine, fierce little self. She couldn't stay for long. Spiritual duties called. 

Look at your animal friend. Is there a spiritual master in there? Regardless, what is your pet here to teach you about? What is your purpose, and how can your pet help you live it? That's the question I want to know. 

Reading of the Week: Bob Cheerios

Bob is a nine-year-old terrier, who died, unexpectedly, this week. 

His owner, Marty, was devastated. Bob was gone in hours, with no warning.

I talked with Bob, on the other side. He said that he was sorry that he had to go. He said that he understood now why his mom took in foster dogs (he had been quite jealous of them when alive) and he said that he came around to visit her in spirit, and would while she grieved him.

It's cold comfort to hear that your dog is with you in spirit, when you can't see or hear him.

Then, Marty's friend visited with her daughter...

Here's the email from Marty-

I have a friend whose daughter is just learning to put words together and one of her delights is to feed Bob Cheerios. (If Bob could have picked a career it would have been as a nanny to toddlers and babies). 

Today she arrived and went looking for Bob. We were a little apprehensive about what to do when she couldn't find him. We let her wander and then heard her laugh and say "Bob Cheerios" from the living room. 

She came back into the kitchen wearing a big smile, again said "Bob Cheerios" and held out her hand. I put the Cherrios in her hand and she ran back into the living room and put them on the end of the sofa where Bob usually slept and where he died. 

She laughed and laughed as if someone was telling her a funny story and several times turned around to look at us and say "Bob Cheerios" and then turn back and laugh and roll around on Bob's end of the sofa. 

I just had to write you about this. It meant everything to me and I wouldn't have grasp it all if you hadn't had that talk with Bob. Thank you so much.

Thank goodness for little girls and cheerios.  

Bonus Reading of the Week: Horseshoe Helps Out

I had a chance to talk with a friend this week. His name is Horseshoe. He's graced my Reading of the Week before. 

Horseshoe's mom misses him very much. He passed away in October after a long and happy life. Whenever I contact him, he's busy, hiking in the Sierra Madres or having a campfire on the beach. He has friends in heaven. He is happy there. 

He is deeply missed here. 

I asked Horseshoe what he was up to. 

He said, "I've been very busy." 

"What are you doing?"

"I've been helping out in Australia with the fires. The smoke is so thick that animals are having a hard time seeing the light and crossing over."

He spared me the sight of a charred body, but showed me the spirit of a confused brown and grey horse, a brumby. He showed himself walking through the smoke and beckoning the horse. The horse lowered his head and followed him back through the smoke. 

"We're getting everybody out." he said. "I'm mostly helping horses." 

 If I had died in a fire, and was confused and scared, I'd want to be greeted by a big yellow lab. 

I like to think of all those who wanted a dog, but never had one. Perhaps they had allergies, or they just never got to it. I like to think of each crossing over, and finding a mutt that says, "Hey there, follow me."

Reading of the Week: God's Dog

A friend asked me if dogs knew about God. I don't, myself, always know about God. I was a little afraid to ask. 

I asked my friend, Horseshoe, a yellow lab on the other side. He said, "Of course we know about God." He continued in a hushed, excited tone, "I saw God's dog once!" 

It did not occur to me that God would have a dog. As soon as he said it, I thought, "Well, of course God has a dog!" 

"What does God's dog look like?" I asked.

Horseshoe sent me a picture of a brown and white St. Bernard, with a radiant halo. This dog glowed. He looked beneficent, like a stained-glass saint. Just on the edge of the picture was the leg of a golden chair. 

Before my talk with Horseshoe, I thought of God as this unknowable, omniscient, disembodied entity. My big brain made God that way. Now, I like to think of him as dogs think of him. As someone with a dog. A holy, glowing dog, but a dog, nonetheless. 

Your Pets are Not your Children

Whenever I hear about people measuring love, I think of one of those hammers at the carnival with the bell, and if you throw the hammer down really hard, the bell rings. With love, either the bell rings or it doesn't. You either love someone or you don't. 

People with pets often say, "My pet is my child..."  Respectfully, I must disagree. Your pet is not your child. 

When a person says "My pet is my child", this person is saying, "I dearly love my pet. I have a deep friendship with my animal companion." 

He or she is also saying, "The world does not understand the depth of our relationship." 

These are both valuable statements about our culture and about pet relationships. They should be said aloud.  Even saying "Words cannot convey how important my pet is to me" is preferable to the "my pet is my child" comment. 

When we use the shorthand of "My pet is my child", we alienate those with children. We certainly don't increase their understanding of how deep a person's relationship can be with an animal companion. 

We also negate the subtle and beautiful aspects of people-pet relationships.  

I have three children and six pets (2 dogs, 3 cats and a horse). Here's the difference between my pets and my children. 

•  My children are my legacy and I have a responsibility to the world to grow them up right. My children (hopefully) will outlive me. 
• My pets will (hopefully) grow old and die in my care. While I need them to be good animals in the world, I will outlive them. 
• My relationship with my pets is different than that of my children. The pets are here to teach me, to entertain me, to be my companions. Our relationship is mutually beneficial, though perhaps I may benefit a bit more than they do. 
• My children do not exist for my benefit. They are here to grow up and live their lives and fulfill their own purposes whatever they may be. 

When we say that our pets are like our children, we deny pets their rightful place as our dear companions. We tell the world that there is no room for this other, important category of relationship. 

It is like saying, "He is only my friend". This is one of the saddest sentences in the English language. The word "only" has no business being there. It's time for pets to be recognized as the important friends that they are to us. 

I'd love to hear your thoughts on this issue. 

How it all started...Part 3- Bert teaches me about a purpose-filled life...

It took two years for me to get comfortable with the idea of being intuitive. Like most sensitive people, I am often a scared little rabbit about things. To say, "Yes, this is real. I am talking with animals" was to admit that I have been given special powers and gifts of insight. It's easier and takes far less courage to stay small and eat at the crumbs of life than to get big and take your spot at the table. 

A few years ago, I adopted a horse named Bert. 

Bert was an old Missouri Fox Trotter. He had injured his back right leg, and instead of getting it treated or retiring him, his original owners kept working him. His other leg started to go. So his owners stuck him away somewhere until they took their cattle to slaughter. They brought him too. 

While they fattened their beef for slaughter, they didn't think much about feeding Bert. By the time he hit the feedlot, he was down to about 650 lbs. The group that rescued him didn't know if he'd last the night. They paid the feedlot owner about $300 for him. He sold him to them "by the pound". 

The rescuers considered humanely euthanizing him, but something in him made them stop. They nursed him back from the brink and by the time I adopted him, he weighed close to 1000 lbs. He was still skinny. 

Bert was my first horse. I knew nothing about horses, but I wanted one. I had always wanted one. There was something about his face that spoke to me. 

The first vet said that he could probably recover with exercise. The second vet, the one with the experience in lameness issues, said that Bert had blown his suspensory ligament, and that there was no coming back from that. He gave him two months to live, and a "lifetime' subscription of painkillers. 

This is not a story about a miraculous recovery. This is a story about how God will bring you a saint in a crippled horse body. 

Bert put himself to work at the little farm where I boarded him. His companions were an ancient blind mule and two goats, and a couple of cats. 

Each day, Bert would help Zeb the mule down the hill to the pasture. A wide path had been cut into the side of the hill. Bert limped down to the bottom of the hill and then called up to Zeb, who would follow Bert's voice down the hill. They would do this Marco-Polo routine daily. Then, when Bert needed to rest his bad legs, he'd lie down in the pasture, and that old blind mule would stand guard over him. 

When one of the goats got sick, Bert spent a week leaning his head over the stall wall, tending to her spirits. 

That's just how Bert was. He didn't care about his problems. It was difficult to see him limp around on his three good legs, resting his weight on walls and fences and trees. His eyes would squeeze in pain. 

I would ask Bert, 'Is it time?" and he would say, "NO!" (or sometimes "Hell no!" or sometimes, "Go away, I'm not talking to you about this.") His voice was emphatic and loud. He had work to do here. 

The farm owner, Suzy, is a reiki master. She spent a lot of time with Bert, giving him reiki and love and supporting him. They had a very close relationship.  Both Suzy and I would try to slow Bert down. We worried over him like mother hens. 

Bert would roll his eyes and sigh. 

"Can't you see I'm busy here?" I thought I'd hear him say. 

Bert had the greatest eye roll. 

He spent his first summer and winter at Suzy's farm. In February, we rented a farm and moved Bert to it. He was very sad to leave his friends.

The previous summer, I had adopted another horse, Ed, and had boarded him at a different location. I still didn't know much about horses. I didn't understand that you needed to keep horses separate from one another until they got to know each other. This is especially true when one horse is young and dominant and the other is old and crippled. In hindsight, my next step could have been a real disaster. 

I took Bert off the trailer first, and Ed hopped out behind him. Ed was not going to be left on that trailer by himself! They took to each other like peas and carrots. Ed never chased or bit or hurt Bert. He let Bert eat out of his grain bucket. From the start they were the best of friends. They acted like they had known each other for a long time. 

Bert hobbled around our 10-acre farm. Another horse, Pippa, came over from across the street to live with us. I continued to worry about his leg. He continued to tell me he had work to do. 

One day, I went to halter Pippa. I wanted to work on her lunging. Pippa was having none of it. I followed Pippa around. Bert followed me, trying to get his head in the halter. 

"Buddy," I said. "I'm not going to let you lunge. Your leg can't take it."

He wouldn't take no for an answer. He wasn't desperate about it, just determined to do his part. 

"Come on." I heard him say, clearly. "Come on, just let me show her."

I was surprised to hear him so clearly. I put the green halter on his big head, and nickered at him. He walked around the circle until Pippa noticed him, and then he popped up into a foxtrot! He foxtrotted around the circle twice, and then slowed back down to a walk. 

I took his halter off. "Oh Bert!" I said. That's about all I could manage to say to him. 

He limped off to join his friends, saying to me, "I've got a lot to teach her yet." 

That was in March. Bert's other back leg gave out in May. He couldn't make it to the water trough during the last week, so we brought him buckets of water and feed wherever we found him. He was upright, but he was so sad. His time had come. 

The night before, I said to him, "I'm so sorry, Bert."  Bert said, "It's all right."

The next day, as the vet pulled up, Pippa and Ed blocked me from taking Bert. They wouldn't let me halter him and lead him over to the vet's truck. Finally Bert just did it on his own. 

As the medicine took effect, Bert had a split second of panic about his back legs, and tensed his body in a way where his legs buckled down awkwardly behind him. It was not a graceful end. We laid him out, as best we could and Ed and Pippa sniffed him sadly. 

That night, there was a full moon, and I went to visit his body in the moonlight. His face looked so different. his eyes were full and relaxed. I got a glimpse of what he must have looked like when he wasn't in pain. 

Now, Bert is in heaven, and I call on him from time to time. I don't want to lose my visiting privileges, so I just visit when I really need him. He is happy and complete and whole and let me just say, he's very busy. He's getting ready to come back to earth. He's coming back as a black and white paint. He says that I'll know it's him when I meet him again. I don't think that he will be my horse this time. 

When I told Bert that I was writing about him, he said, 'I hope that you're not going to just make people cry with your story. Geez, I had good friends and I did a lot of good and felt good from it. Life is good, Bridget. I hope people don't just see the pain of it. Life is good."  

And that's the thing. Bert didn't start doing good works when his leg failed him. I saw the tail end of a 20-year life of purpose-filled living. He woke up every day with an urge to make life easier and better for his friends. 

You can't live with a horse like Bert and continue to avoid your gifts. So, after he died, I started talking with animals. I asked friends for pictures and questions and validated my results. I tried to leave things better than I found them. 

I was lucky to have an obvious example and an obvious gift. Every one of us has a purpose here. I don't know what yours is, but deep down inside you do! Quit eating the crumbs and sit down at the table, my friend. The world will be better for it, and you will be too! 

Pippa (the paint), Bert and Ed