Animal Communication

Bonny's Animal Family

I've always wished that I could communicate with animals beyond the obvious feed me/pet me/walk me stuff. When I started devouring books on spirituality and psychic phenomena in my twenties, I came across stories of people who had entire telepathic conversations with animals. Through one of these books I found a listing for Teresa Wagner, and she’s been communicating with my animal family for four years now. Her gift has afforded me practical help and a number of insights from my companions. What’s funny, though, is that I never know if these insights are going to be about the nature of the universe, or about what my dog thinks I look like naked (funny—no fur).

I really never expected to learn about the relativity of time from a rat named Spoot, or to be lectured on the way cats prevent chaos by Taco the cat. One of the first things I learned from communication, though, is that special beings are special beings no matter what form they come in, human or otherwise. Actually, this wasn’t a very hard lesson for me. I have to admit that I’ve known dogs, especially, with greater strength of character than many people possess, and that only a gentle and fragile cockatiel friend was able to comfort me during a really dark time. I’m not being anti-human here—I just think it’s too bad we’ve been taught that certain qualities and behaviors are exclusively human when animals give us ample indication to the contrary.

When Tim, my husband, travels for work, our most senior cat, Audrey, changes her whole routine to sleep next to me in bed, and follows me around the house like a shadow as I do all the chores. When I thanked her, through Teresa, for being so attentive, she said that she wanted to give me support and be my helper while dad was gone. Audrey is the same cat who, at our first session with Teresa, gave us a glimpse into animals’ ability to reason. She was a two-year-old feral cat living on the rural property we’d rented, and because she was dying of starvation, we were eventually able to coax her inside with food. Once inside she hid all the time and seemed nervous, and she explained to Teresa that she lived in fear of breaking a rule as our houseguest. The poor thing had no previous experience with the love and tolerance of human/animal companion relationships, so her anxiety was logical given the limitations of what she knew. When Teresa explained what we could provide for her and formally invited her to live with us, she responded by sauntering into the room and claiming the mantle as her spot. She was never a skittish cat again, and from this experience I learned never to assume that any feral cat is too “far gone” to live with humans. After all, everyone I’d talked to who “knew about cats” had said that Audrey would never domesticate, except for Teresa.

This isn’t to say that animals always cooperate or change their behavior even when you talk to them, though. They have free will, and, just like teenagers, may or may not choose to be safe and do as you ask. I asked Teresa to talk to Carson, our White Capped Pionus Parrot, about the need to trim his nails and beak. Because he’s not a chewer, his nails and beak grow too long, but when we try to trim them, he shrieks and fights with us as though we’re trying to kill him. I’d assumed he was scared, or that it hurt. Instead, he told Teresa that filing one’s nails and beak was an extremely private matter, and that getting trimmed by someone else was a great indignity. He said that he’d file his nails and beak on the rough sandpaper perches we’d provided when the other animals in the room weren’t looking. He hasn’t, and I’m going to have to have another little talk with him.

My animal family has specific and strong ideas about what they need to be healthy and feel good. One of my dogs has even asked for digestive enzymes! Teresa’s consultations have been invaluable in helping us understand our animals’ needs, because sometimes a change in routine that’s minor to us really upsets our animals, and they take it personally, and get sick. For instance, When Tim gets busy at work and doesn’t spend enough quiet time with Betty the cat, she’ll get urinary problems again, because that’s where her body manifests stress. It turns out that Betty is, in Teresa’s words, “a piece of work”, a real needy martyr type! It seems obvious now--Betty had cost us thousands of dollars in vet bills for bizarre injuries and illnesses that seemed to be miraculously cured when the treatment included undivided attention and the most expensive cans of unsalted tuna. Our animals don’t seem to question their natural ability to heal themselves, and it’s been our experience that if we can give them the conditions they need to be healthy on all levels, they just don’t get sick in the first place.

Actually, I should qualify that last statement—our animals DO get sick, even fatally sick, when it fits into what they’ve set out to do with their present incarnations. You see, they generally know why they’re here, and for about how long. They take for granted that their spirits endure when their bodies die, so death is no big deal to them. Sometimes they hang around the family as spirits for a little while, checking on their buddies (animals grieve, too) and making sure, with Teresa’s help, that there’s closure. Their lives are always too short from our human perspective, but they consistently seem to get what they need from their time, and to be grateful for it. Our rats tell us that they feel ancient at about two years and six months old, and they think it’s hysterically funny that we wish their lives were longer. What a blessing all of this communication about death and dying has been! Certainly we still miss our animals terribly when they’ve gone, but the grief isn’t filled with anxiety or regret, and I don’t know that you can do any better than that.

Animal communication has enriched my life so much that I always want to tell people about it, but not everybody’s ready to go there. It reminds me of that movie Pleasantville, where the people who desire more than the limits of their pleasant black and white world suddenly turn color, perceive an entirely new reality, and can’t go back. I was eager to turn color—to speak with animals—and Teresa has been my gracious, responsible guide.

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