Animal Communication: Vibrations of Trust

I’ve always loved animals. As a little kid, I’d sit on my mom’s lap flipping through animal encyclopedias. I could name and recognize an Okapi – a forest giraffe endemic to the Congo of Africa – long before I could write my own name.

Naturally, I wanted animals of my own— horses, dogs, cats, hamsters, even mice. Anything really. But my dad had severe asthma triggered by fury animals and dust, so I grew up in an immaculately clean, animal-free home. Even my dream of a goldfish was crushed one summer after my mom had to fish-sit for a neighbor. One of the fish jumped out of the tank, and she had to flush it down the toilet. That was the sad and tragic end of all the hopes for my own pet.

That longing for animals never left me. My first boyfriend was a farmer, and together we ran a small dairy farm in Switzerland: 14 cows, 20 chickens, 2 pigs, 4 goats, countless cats, and anywhere between 4 and 10 dogs – we got surprised with a six-puppy pregnancy at one point. While managing farm life, I also finished a master’s degree in biology, focusing on animal behavior and agriculture. After 10 years I left the farm and devoted myself to my medical studies and lived without animals for the next 10 years.

Then my life guided me to Maui, where I moved into a household with two dogs. One of them, Skippy, was a fiercely independent little spirit. He often took himself on beach walks, kept to himself, and had a quiet confidence that made people adore him. Skippy was the one who showed me first that animals communicate telepathically. One day, I was lying on the grass reading a book with Skippy nearby. A sudden sting in my nose told me he had rolled in something awful—probably a dead fish as usual. I didn’t move or say a word, but in my head I thought: Well, Skippy, you’re definitely getting a bath later. He turned his head immediately, looked straight at me, and sent back a very clear message: I don’t think so. Then he got up, his tail in between his legs and he vanished for hours. That moment stayed with me.

A couple weeks back, I was sitting for two hours in a chair outside a car body shop and was waiting for my vehicle to be done. I had brought my lab top with me and studied chiropractic assessment techniques for horses and dogs. The owner had a little dog named Bentley, which I just met. He returned from a walk and chose to sit next to me instead of going back into the house. He planted himself next to my chair and wouldn’t leave. The owner gave in and left him with me, while she went back into the house. After a few minutes, Bently positioned himself in a sphynx-like posture directly in front of me, starred at me, and I clearly heard the words in my mind: I know what you’re studying. I have serious neck pain. Sure enough, when I reached down to him and gently touched the right side of his first cervical vertebra, he whimpered—but didn’t move. He held perfectly still as I worked on him for about three minutes, gently freeing up the  upper cervical vertebrae and the base of is skull. When I was finished, he got up, crawled under my chair, and took a nap. As he settled in, I heard his voice again: Thank you. I knew you could fix me.

I could not help but smile.

Non-domesticated animals communicate with us as well – and they listen to what we have to say. Last month, when I spent a week working in the Bay Area. A colleague of my sister’s showed up, frustrated because her car was covered in bird poop. She told me she had been feeding the birds, and as a “thank you,” they were turning her car into a mess every single day. I suggested she simply talk to the birds—tell them she really didn’t appreciate the mess and would be grateful if they could spare her car. The next day, she came back with a big smile and a spotless clean car. I reminded her not to forget to say thank you!

Outside on my lanai are to small wasp nests – everybody warns me about them and offers me poison to take them down. But I made an agreement with the wasps and told them that I would not interfere as long as they would not come into my space. So far, I only saw one wasp right at the opening to my space – I just asked… What did we agree on? The wasp turned around and flew out into the open. I have not had one single wasp bothering me on my lanai or inside my house – even when I have food with me.

As these examples show, animals are constantly communicating with us. When we slow down and truly listen, we can start communication with them and if necessary support them in profound ways: emotionally, physically and spiritually.