Monthly Archives: September 2016

27Sep

Asking an Animal Communicator for Help

I am not a woo-woo person. By this I mean usually when someone starts talking about past lives, I start edging towards the door. I tend to avoid palm readers and fortune tellers. I have a fair number of friends who use tarot cards, and others who rely heavily on astrological charts. While I appreciate the art work of the different decks, and have at times found tarot readings to be entertaining, I don’t put much stock in them. And yet, at the same time, I don’t dismiss all of this out of hand. I have run into too many examples of weird things that don’t fit into the purely rational. So I guess you could say I’m somewhat skeptical, but not entirely a disbeliever.

Malakai in our California backyard

Malakai in our California backyard

So last winter, when our dog Malakai was exhibiting troubling behavior, and my good friend Ruth Thompson recommended an animal communicator, I was willing to go there. We had already tried everything else at our disposal. What could it hurt?

Here’s what was going on. We were in California and had put our house on the market in the early fall, getting ready for a move to Las Cruces. It was now January. Over those months, our lives had become completely chaotic. First we got the property ready for showing, with landscapers cleaning up our one-and-a-half acres, and spray washing the house, while we spruced up the inside. Then we had our realtor over, and started showing. We ended up in escrow two times, only to have it fall through. We decided to go forward with a January move date anyway, and began serious packing. We made weekly trips with items for donations to the local library, to Goodwill, and other locations.  The entire house was in boxes; we were emptying out the garage and storage shed, had a Pod in the driveway for temporary storage, and haulers came twice to get rid of the stuff that wasn’t salvageable. Finally, as we neared the date that our moving van would arrive, we sent off our five cats to our local veterinarian’s for boarding, so nobody would get lost in the shuffle during that last week.

Malakai is normally a sweet tempered, social, easy-going dog. He suddenly developed a morbid fear of riding in the truck, an activity he used to enjoy. He would pant like crazy and drool whenever he was in the vehicle with us. At first we brought him with us everywhere, thinking it would help with his discomfort, but that only made it worse. We didn’t want to leave him alone at the house, but didn’t have any other options, as our other dog at the time was Ripley, my service dog, who always accompanied me when we left to go anywhere. Malakai also became clingy and anxious at home. He loved having all the people visit, but became inconsolable, pacing the house. We had no idea what to do with him, and were dreading the three-day drive to New Mexico.

Then Ruth gave me the name of Kathleen (Kat) Berard, an animal communicator in San Antonio, Texas. I contacted her via email. She asked for a good photo or two of Malakai, a close-up, which showed his eyes, and one that showed his whole body. She gave me a questionnaire to fill out. The questions included basic info (his age, breed, weight, height, favorite activities, main job) plus our primary concern, and any message we wanted to communicate to him. She also asked what his living environment was like, and who else lived in the house with him (people and animals). We set up a time for the “consultation.” I’m not sure what I was expecting; I guess at first I thought we would be on speaker phone or something. But then it became clear this was to be a psychic connection. Kat is a former court reporter; her services include a complete transcript of the conversation she has with your animal.

malaki-portrait-72

Malakai’s expressive ears

So then we waited for the day. Malakai simply seemed to be relaxed, resting. A few days later, Kat sent us her transcript. The thing that convinced me immediately was that Malakai SOUNDED like Malakai. I don’t know how to explain this to you, but it was his voice; the way I would have expected him to talk. He said we were all so busy now; it wasn’t like before. Kat explained that the busyness was temporary. He didn’t know where the cats went, and he was worried about them. Kat told him where the cats were, and that everybody would be making the move together. One of the things we often did when we were leaving the house was to say, “Malakai, watch over the house. We’ll be back soon.” That stressed him out; he didn’t like the responsibility. Hearing that, it made perfect sense. We immediately changed our language. She also told us to start talking to him, like we would to a human, each time we left the house, telling him where we were going, when we would come back. That comforted him a great deal. He said the truck anxiety was because someone had banged on the truck window when he was alone in the truck, threatening him. We used to say, “Guard the truck,” when we would leave him there. It scared him; he didn’t understand about the windows, that he was safe inside. It took a while for the truck anxiety to dissipate, but with all the other anxiety, we noticed an almost immediate lessening.

Mostly, we felt as if there was an avenue of communication. That he had been listened to, and had had a chance to express his fears. I know, it sounds a little crazy. But I became a believer.

So this is one more thing in our tool belt now. I have been meaning to call Kat, because I feel that despite the fact I have been trying to talk to Ripley about her new role in the household, now that Rocky is here, she doesn’t completely understand. This weekend, we are going away for our first overnight trip with Rocky. We will be gone for three nights, a road trip up to Jemez Springs to see an art show by Sabrina’s sister-in-law. Kat will be talking to Ripley while we are away. It’s time. I can’t wait to hear what Ripley has to say back to me.

*Feature photo credit, Wendy Dayton

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23Sep

Lost & Found

So I’ve told you before about Rocky Houdini, my service dog with the tendency to escape. For a couple of weeks at the start, we were at our wit’s end, because she kept getting out of the yard. But she never went far. She always showed up at the front gate, as if to say, “Hi! I just found the coolest short cut!”

But we thought we had resolved all of that. We added extra chain link fence to the section by the low rock wall, ending that escape route. When Rocky was still managing to get out, we knew she was either going under the fence, or squeezing through gaps near the gates. (She has a weasel-thin body and is shameless about using it to her advantage.) So Sabrina, my wife, went for broke and put in a line of electric fence just off the ground all around the perimeter. We had done this at our last house for our small Catahoula-cross, Houla. When she hit the fence for the first time, we heard a little “yip,” then it was the end of the problem. Rocky is a bit more of a dramatist. We heard a huge “YIP-YIP-YIP!” and she came tearing into the house with her tail between her legs. She wouldn’t even go into the backyard for about three days after that. However, we had no more escaping dog. She now keeps a very respectful distance from the fence.

Well, a couple of weeks ago, we had two work projects going on, getting things ready for a friend arriving from out of town for a week’s stay. Miranda Otero had finished laying tile in the bedroom, and was due to arrive in about an hour to complete the painting of the hallway, and John Marble was in for the final day of the atrium project, finishing the new shade structure. All three dogs were in my writing studio with me. John started using a pneumatic nail gun for the final touches. Rocky hates that damn gun. I looked up at one point, and realized – no Rocky.

I went to Sabrina’s office. Rocky was not there with her. “Bri, Rocky’s missing.” We both went into high alert. It didn’t occur to us at first she could be outside of the house and fenced yard. We had closed all the loopholes. I started searching all over the house, and Sabrina went to the yard. Since we have been doing all of the work, there are not a lot of places to hide in the house. I looked in the living room, behind chairs, and under the futon couch and one piece of furniture she could possibly squeeze under. I checked the kitchen, then the bedroom, looking under the bed. I went back to my office. She wasn’t underneath my desk, or under the altar.

I heard Sabrina out in the yard, calling her name. Rocky was not in the yard. The other two dogs stood at the door, looking at us expectantly. Sabrina went out into the front, and started searching the neighborhood. Our next door neighbors were just pulling out of their driveway. They immediately volunteered to help, offering to drive one way down the loop, looking for her. Another neighbor heard the calls, and volunteered to go the other direction.

John got into his truck, and joined the search. Sabrina came back to the house, and looked through every corner of the garage. Still no Rocky. We were still incredulous that she had gotten out of the yard. Sabrina said, “Search the house again; I’m going to get in the truck and start looking.” So now there were four vehicles driving through the neighborhood.

I went back to the house, and started over. I opened every door: the kitchen pantry, the laundry room door, the linen closet in the second bathroom. I looked under the bed again. Two cats were there, staring at me, obviously hiding out from all the fuss. I said to them, “Well, you guys. Where is she?” Then I stood up and turned around. The walk-in closet? I opened the door – and there sat Rocky, with woeful eyes. She’d been in the bedroom closet the whole time. How she got in there, I’ll never know. The door opens out; it must have been ajar just enough for her to paw open to go in there to hide, and then someone else (as in another dog) pushed it closed.

Rocky Found

Rocky Found

I gave her a huge hug, and then went running for my phone. I called Sabrina’s number – and heard her ringtone two feet away. She had left the phone behind. So we had a whole posse of people out looking for Rocky, and I couldn’t tell them she had been found. Right at that moment, Miranda showed up, so I asked her to help me call off the search. She drove back out until she found one of the circling cars, and within minutes, Sabrina and John were at the house, and all our wonderful neighbors were back at their original tasks. The neighbors said only, “Glad we could help; this is a great outcome.”

Last time Rocky escaped, Sabrina was annoyed as all get-out. This time, Sabrina fell to her knees when she saw Rocky and started to cry.

This dog. She’s officially part of the family. No more tests of affection, though, OK?

 

 

Michelle Wing © Copyright 2014, All Rights Reserved
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