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.
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.
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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