Four things to know before hiring an animal communicator

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A mischievous kitten might have some valuable insights for you. (Photo by Nancy Crowe)

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 — what is animal communication, anyway? — but here we are.

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 consider.

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. Do your homework AND trust 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 in northeast Indiana, maintain directories of healing arts practitioners. A worldwide directory of animal communicators, with paid listings and ads, is on 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 probably best avoided.

4. What you can learn will almost certainly be worth the investment.

There are no guarantees in this line of work. However, 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.

 

 

 

 

Lola’s legacy in spots

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Any child Lola carried was her No. 1 priority. (Photo courtesy Summit Equestrian Center)

I watched Lola carry the young rider around the grounds at Summit Equestrian Center, accompanied by two side walkers and director Allison Wheaton. The 15-year-old Appaloosa mare moved with the ease of a practiced therapy horse.

What’s more, she’d attuned herself to the energy of this young girl, who lived with a condition affecting neuromuscular and other systems. The child had groomed and saddled Lola, with plenty of pets along the way, and now sat beaming on her back.

Writing a Fort Wayne Magazine story on therapy animals had brought me to the barn to meet Lola and watch her work. Lola adjusted her stride to each child who rode her, I would learn. Once, she abruptly stopped because she sensed a child’s oncoming seizure.

Even her coat was beautiful, fun, and functional; kids counted her spots or adorned them with nontoxic finger paint during summer day camp. She stood perfectly still as riders stretched to touch one spot or another.

Just a couple of years before, Lola had arrived at Summit Equestrian Center — a nonprofit which offers therapeutic riding lessons and equine-assisted counseling — worn down emotionally and physically. Months of good nutrition, training, and mindful care helped her recover and decide on her new role.

From then on, Allison said, it was forward all the way. Whatever happened in those first dozen or so years of Lola’s life could not be undone, but they would not define her. She made sure of that. She had better things to do.

Lola and I met again a few years later, this time in my capacity as an animal communicator and animal Reiki practitioner doing weekly rounds at Summit. She was always happy to see me — and to fill me in on anything she thought needed attention. Ever the matriarch, she kept watch over the herd, as well as the goats, pigs, chickens, cats, dogs, sheep, the rest of us volunteers, and especially Allison. The two of them built Summit’s mission one lesson at a time.

As time passed, Lola’s physical body began to weaken, but her spirit and sense of humor remained strong. A few months ago, I caught up with her as she was eating breakfast and asked her how she was. “I’m an old lady. I’m up. I’m eating. What more do you want?” she replied wryly.

This spring, I watched her follow newcomer Mojo, a handsome Tennessee Walker, around the pasture, at once shamelessly flirting and telling him things he’d need to know and take care of when she was no longer there to do so herself. Lola had plenty to tell me, too — thanking Allison for her loving care and the difference they made together, a caution not to take much sass from a certain mustang, a reminder about keeping gates closed, and more.

Under a summer solstice sky, Lola completed her work on this plane and went to join old friends Whinnie and Ritzy on her next adventure.

When I look at Lola’s life, I see each lesson, ride, encounter, and experience as a spot like the ones on her coat. No two are exactly alike. Some overlap and even seem multilayered. Together, those spots form a pattern like no other.

Thank you, Lola, for inspiring us to find the beauty in our own patterns.

 

 

 

That’ll do, pig

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Josie enjoys the sun at Summit Equestrian Center. (Photo by Allison Wheaton)

It’s challenging to maintain that peaceful “Reiki space” when your client is jumping on you, pushing you, throwing a class-A tantrum, or in Josie’s case, all three.

To be fair, the pot-bellied piglet had been a good sport about coming to live at Summit Equestrian Center after a couple of stints as a house pig. But a new home is a big adjustment for any young being, and now Josie’s hormones had catapulted her into the porcine equivalent of ‘tween divadom.

This is the Year of the Pig in the Chinese astrological calendar. Pigs are associated with greed, rudeness, aggression, and other characteristics that seem rampant in our world. Pigs are also symbols of tenacity, abundance, and forward movement. While we can’t choose which characteristics a pig will show us at any given moment, we can choose how to respond. Josie is a walking, grunting, greeting, rooting, Reiki-sharing example.

On this day during my weekly rounds at the barn, she was mad at the world and I was there. As an animal Reiki practitioner and animal communicator, I want to listen and hold space for whatever the animal needs. But every time I thought Josie was done ramming her snout into my leg, she wasn’t.

In possibly the most awkward barn dance ever, I kept moving. Josie kept rooting. Until she wore herself out and settled down for a nap.

Of course I knew Reiki can be shared just as effectively from outside a pen or other enclosure. I could do that differently next time. The reminder I needed even more was not to let the desire to help override the need for safe, sane interaction.

When Josie strolled up to me the following week, I told her I was happy to share Reiki and a chat. I also let her know any wayward snout or hoof movement would bring the session to a halt until she was in her pen. “Fine,” I heard, along with a few grunts. We shared some energy for a few minutes while she nibbled clover, and then she trotted off to some other task.

That was my first lesson from Josie: Boundaries are only as good as our willingness to enforce them.

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Duke, who’s been learning about boundaries, advises Josie that now is not a convenient time for stall browsing. (Photo by Nancy Crowe)

As time passed, spay surgery, acclimation, and maturity — and maybe Reiki? — helped ease her path. But progress is never linear, and Josie is Josie. I’d work with her while she was penned in timeout after breaking into the feed room or playing too roughly with the other animals. The next week, she’d come through like a team-playing rock star. You just never knew.

Recently, as I sat on the floor with Jake the senior barn cat at my side, Josie walked in with her customary “what’s up?” grunts.

Jake crouched, ears swiveling back. But Josie stopped two or three feet away from us and just stood there quietly. Jake sat up and stayed put, and we all shared Reiki.

Second lesson from Josie: We can recognize limitations without giving up on one another.

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Josie has a word with Marcus the barn cat. (Photo by Nancy Crowe)

On another day, when director Allison Wheaton was away from the barn, Josie and goat roomies Gabby and Mildred did not have their usual roaming privileges. They were sick of their enclosure and sick of one another, and everyone in the neighborhood was hearing about it.

I sat just outside the pen and began my meditation. After several minutes of Reiki, I noticed the squealing and “naaa-aaa–aaing” had stopped. Josie and Gabby had settled at opposite ends of the pen. Mildred lounged just inside the shed, relieved not to hear the other two complaining.

A moment later, I found a treat — left by my dog after a groomer visit — in my car. After determining it hadn’t crossed the line between stale and disgusting, I divided it among the three. Pigs and goats are not known for being finicky, but they were as happy as if it came straight from the baker’s case.

And there was the third lesson from Josie and company: The smallest, most seemingly insignificant gifts can make your day.

Though we haven’t told Josie it’s the Year of the Pig (we’d never hear the end of it), it seems pretty well timed.