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curious tortoiseshell cat

Four things to know before hiring an animal communicator

Nancy Crowe 1 Comment
curious tortoiseshell cat
Whether you have a mischievous kitten, an anxious dog, or a sad horse, you’ll likely benefit from working with a well-chosen animal communicator. (Image by Doris Metternich from Pixabay)

Most people who contact me for an animal communication session are trying to solve a problem — a seemingly intractable behavior issue, adjustment to change, or painful end-of-life concerns. I’m sure many of them never thought they’d consult an animal communicator.

It’s hard to make decisions when you’re upset, dealing with a million other things, or both … so here are a few points to remember as you seek the right animal communicator for you and your pet.

1. You’re already on the right track.

Considering a discipline based on listening to the animal and his or her needs means you are willing to listen and learn. Maybe animal communication is a new concept, but you love your animal. You’re willing to at least think “outside the box” in order to help.

Even if you decide working with an animal communicator is not the right move at this time, you’ll be closer to finding what will help. So stop, take a breath, and give yourself credit for this alone. 

2. Trust your research AND your gut.

Referrals from people and businesses you trust are time-honored for a reason. You can also contact local metaphysical shops. Some, like Catalpa Tree Shops here in northeast Indiana, maintain directories of healing arts practitioners. A worldwide directory of animal communicators, with paid listings and ads, is on author/teacher Penelope Smith’s Animal Talk website. (I am not currently listed here, as I did not find it especially helpful before, but you never know.)

Whether you get an animal communicator’s name from a friend, directory, or random Google search, spend some time on his or her website and/or social media pages. Pay attention to how you feel as you read. Are you calmer, or more anxious? Clearer or more confused? Does the person follow the Code of Ethics for Interspecies Telepathic Communicators, or any other code of ethics or guiding principles?

3. No one is 100 percent accurate.

I am human and can’t do everything perfectly. With God’s guidance and my own self-care, I can be present, clear, and helpful to the animal and his or her family. Any animal communicator claiming 100 percent accuracy is best avoided.

4. You’ll learn something.

If you’ve chosen a communicator with whom you feel comfortable, chances are very good that you’ll find a valuable takeaway. It could be information you can act on immediately, such as moving the litter box to a quieter place or telling your horse where you’re going as you’re loading. It could be insight into how your animal views her place in your household, or his feelings and needs as his life on earth is drawing to a close.

Animals see our gifts and struggles in a way that even the humans closest to us cannot, so you may even learn something about yourself. Nothing is ever lost by listening.

Communication gets you further than compliance

Nancy Crowe
Image by Rebecca Scholz from Pixabay

Frustrated dog, cat, and horse owners will often enlist an animal communicator to get the animal to do what they want. They’ve tried and tried to get the cat to use the litter box, the dog to stop digging up the dahlias or the horse to just get on the trailer.

These are all legitimate concerns and ones I’m happy to address. However, animal communication is not about compliance. It’s about gathering information that will help animals and their humans find a way forward.

For example, a communication session can tell you:

• A noise from the water heater startles the cat in mid-pee. Moving the litter box out of the utility room, or adding one in a different spot, could make a big difference.

• Your dahlia-digging dog needs more enrichment. Which seems obvious, but he may also tell me that nose work or agility training would be even more fun than additional walks.

• The horse’s previous owner used force to get him to load. A small change — even you doing some deep breathing before you lead him to the trailer — would let him know he is safe now.

As with human brains, making the link between actions and consequences can be a work in progress. Nevertheless, knowledge is power, both for the animal knowing what the human wants and the human knowing where the animal is coming from. Why ask for compliance when communication gets you so much more?

Chasing trains, good tunes and goodwill

Nancy Crowe
Charlie and me when I came back to Louisville for my 10-year seminary reunion in 2006.

We were saying our goodbyes outside the restaurant when a train came roaring by. Charlie, then well into his seventies, sprinted across the parking lot for a closer look. Having known him for years, I knew he was taking note of what kind of train it was and its probable route and cargo. He’d be able to tell us its history.

But my partner, Kathy, who’d met him more recently, whirled around and stared after him.

“He’ll be back in a minute,” I said.

Charles Beaumont Castner Jr. — aka Charlie, or CBC in notes and emails — was retired from a storied public relations career with Louisville & Nashville Railroad (later CSX) by the time we met in 1994. We both worked with Religious Leaders for Fairness, which advocated passage of Louisville’s Fairness Amendment to protect LGBTQ rights.

Charlie was a seasoned Second Presbyterian Church elder and PFLAG dad. I was a twenty-something student at Louisville Presbyterian Theological Seminary, had just lost my father and was trying to figure out a ministry without a clear path.

The Presbyterian Church (USA) at that time was in the midst of study and dialogue on what to do with gay folk — to ordain, welcome or continue with “don’t ask, don’t tell.” Though single at the time, I knew I couldn’t ask a partner to stay in a secretive corner of my life. What was a theologically educated journalist to do?

Charlie and I became fast friends. He’d become an advocate for LGBTQ inclusion when his daughter Louisa came out, and we shared a vocation in storytelling. Along with writing about railroads and organizing tons of train documents, Charlie edited the Louisville Presbytery Pipeline, news of all the PCUSA churches in the Louisville area. It was part of the Synod of Living Waters newspaper covering all things Presbyterian in several Southern states. He was ready to scale back on that, and I became his co-editor with the plan of eventually taking over for him.

We went to monthly communications committee meetings. We covered presbytery meetings, which were all-day affairs with a meal, a worship service and scads of handouts. Then there were all the other events that called for photos and copy … bluegrass gospel quintets, food drives, forums, fellowship with a family of new Bosnian immigrants and more. Some of these took us to the outer reaches of the presbytery, and Charlie and I had great talks on the way.

To him I was not an issue; I was just me. Questions around LGBTQ inclusion were tough for church and society, but to Charlie, a way forward was possible with faith, constructive conversation and goodwill. He’d tell you that shared music — hymns sung in the church choir, boogie-woogie piano jams and more — helped too.

My work with Charlie, and the connections made through him, helped me reshape my career into writing and editing for church-based publications and organizations. Eventually I began doing communications and healing work with animals, too. You just never know where God’s call will lead. It’s never been the pastoral ministry I initially planned, but Charlie helped me see what was possible and craft something even better.

Charlie and his wife Katie remained my Louisville parents after I graduated from seminary and moved back to Indiana. Over the decades I’ve been blessed to know their adult children as well: Beau, Louisa and Fenner, all smart and musical.

Charlie and Katie sold their classic Indian Hills house and moved into a nearby Episcopal Church Home apartment; the Presbyterians were taking over, he jokingly warned his new friends.

Music lifted and powered Charlie through Katie’s passing, recovery from a stroke and a move to assisted living. Getting around with a walker slowed him down, but gave him more time to greet people in the halls. Everybody knew Charlie, and a whole lot of folks are missing him since he passed into the eternal Feb. 3 at age 97.

Somewhere, I’ll bet he’s sprinting after another train.

Charlie, me and Kathy in 2025.