it’s about being a receptive vessel. I now realize I’d been subconsciously preparing for this. Over the years I’d been drawn to jobs where it was important to listen. Before I began to communicate with animals I volunteered on a helpline. Every weekend for approximately three months I attended training, culminating in a mock-up practical test at the end. The tutors would only allow you in the phone room if they felt you were ready and once there you received a buddy who would give you one-to-one support and guidance in the first few weeks. After I’d finished working in the theatre in the evening I’d head over to the helpline headquarters and stay up all night manning the phone. The ‘graveyard’ night shift was very unpopular, so I’d often be there on my own. People rang with a whole range of problems, some extremely upsetting, some shocking, some traumatic, and then there were people who just needed to talk to someone who would listen without their own agenda or any judgement.
Looking back now, this provided the groundwork of how it feels to truly listen and I am sure it was one of the building blocks for communicating with animals. And of course I had worked with actors and creative types in the theatre, which meant I had learned to juggle different personalities within a pressured profession where deadlines were absolute.
Sharing my discovery wasn’t easy. I was nervous about telling my friends. I felt awkward saying the words, ‘I’ve discovered I can talk to animals,’ sort of embarrassed, and also scared of how they would respond.
I began by telling two close friends whom I’d known for the longest time. One of them, also called Jo, took a little while to get her head around it, but at the same time felt there was no reason why it shouldn’t be possible. She said, ‘I think when you’ve had a pet you feel really close to, it doesn’t seem such an alien idea that someone would find a way of communicating with animals.’
But my other friend from theatre school, Caroline, went silent on the phone. She still doesn’t understand it.
Dinner parties, and most social events like birthdays and weddings, have since become a great adventure. Sometimes I’ll be asked what I do and I’ll tell someone and the brick wall will immediately come up or their eyes will glaze over or they’ll be speechless. Others might say, ‘Really? Glass of wine?’ then make a hasty retreat, never to return. There are some nights when I’ve received a handful of these types of reactions and I’ve been tempted to tell people I’m a mortician instead, or a fire fighter, or a pole dancer, or even an astronaut. A lot of people use humour because they don’t know what to say. On the other hand some will immediately believe me and have a million questions, or else pin me in a corner, desperate to resolve the ins and outs of their cat’s inappropriate toileting. Largely, people are intrigued and want to know all about it and how it works.
The most popular question is, of course, ‘What did the rabbit say?’
I was so intrigued by the thought that I might be able to talk to animals I immediately signed up for a second workshop. During this experience I felt excited and found my communications with animals had a better flow of accuracy. I was able to give the colour of an animal’s bed, where it was positioned and even whom the animal lived with. It was at this second workshop that I discovered my life’s purpose. I know that might sound like a cliché, but it’s true. That is how it happened. It wasn’t a logical decision – I just knew in my heart that I had discovered what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. It felt right.
So then I felt confident enough to concentrate on the reason why I’d started all this in the first place: Morgan. I wanted to understand why he looked sad and so I spent a long time talking to him. He was lying in his bed in my light, homely living-room and I was sitting on the wooden floor in front of him. I began by asking him whether he liked his food.
‘It’s OK,’ he said.
‘And do you feel you receive enough exercise?’ I asked gently, looking into his watery brown eyes.
‘I suppose. It’s a bit boring. I’d like some bones, something to crunch,’ came a downhearted voice that melted my heart and sparked worry lines across my brow. I wondered whether it was me. Maybe he didn’t like me?
‘Do you like me, Morgan?’
‘Yes.’
Then he decided to bite on the duvet in his bed, like a child sucks on a ‘diddy’.
We’d reached the point where I had to ask him: ‘Why are you sad, sweetheart?’
After much patient cajoling, Morgan slowly revealed the background to his feelings. He showed me an image of an old man with a walking stick and I felt guilt – Morgan felt he was letting the old man down. Then there was an image of an old woman sitting in a high-backed armchair with Morgan lying at her feet. She appeared very smiley and gentle, and I felt she had now passed over and was in spirit. Then I heard the words, ‘Look after my husband when I’m gone.’ She was looking at Morgan when she said it. I was hearing these words in my mind, but the voice wasn’t mine, it was older, softer and slower. I could feel the love Morgan felt for the woman and the love she felt for him. They adored one another.
Morgan told me they were his previous owners. As I looked into his eyes, I tried to tune into the old man again and saw an image of him standing in a small galley kitchen. He seemed flustered and unable to cope. He was holding a walking stick, which reminded me of the old men with walking sticks that Morgan would bark at on our walks. As Morgan shared his secret I could sense how confused he was feeling. Tuning back into the image of the man, I got the feeling he’d been taken into care after his wife had died. That must have been why Morgan had been taken to death row.
I’d learned on the workshop that one way to resolve emotional upset between people and animals, and even animals and animals, was to invite them into the same space. I began by imagining a bright safe space with a wooden door, and while I looked into Morgan’s eyes, I invited the spirit of the old lady to enter and take a seat in the high-backed chair I’d created for her.
Once she’d settled, I invited Morgan to enter the space. He walked in, body tense, refusing to look at the old lady, keeping his eyes permanently fixed to the floor. ‘Physical Morgan’ still lay in bed, but ‘energetic Morgan’ came into the safe space. The feelings of guilt and remorse were palatable.
I invited the lady to take over. She turned to face Morgan and told him how much she loved him. This caused him to sink even lower into the floor, as if he wanted the earth to open and swallow him up.
‘He couldn’t take care of himself anymore,’ the lady said to his back. ‘He needed a very special home. He wasn’t able to take you with him, that’s why you were parted.’
Tears started to trickle down my cheeks as I was feeling what Morgan was feeling. He was listening transfixed to what she was saying and had begun to cry.
‘It’s not your fault. You did nothing wrong,’ she said.
For the first time, Morgan turned round and looked up at her, a pleading look in his eyes.
