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Overview
Animals are talking to us all the time. Patty Summers listens and understands. A renowned animal communicator, Summers can converse directly with a variety of animal species, from cats and dogs to rabbits, horses, and iguanas. In this beautiful and moving book, the animals share their wisdom, their perspective on life, and even how they feel about human beings.
The animals can teach us many things, and Summers uses her abilities to help humans listen, as well as to aid humans and animals in understanding one another better. She also describes the ways that animals comprehend the world, and explains that they always understand the intent of human communications, if not the words. And she teaches that they share our wants and needs, as they desire the same things that humans do—love, compassion, kindness, and respect—and they do not want to be thought of as pets or as beings to be exploited.
Summers shares numerous encounters with animals, and each story has a valuable lesson. Each is a gift of spirit from the animals. We have so much to learn from our animal companions, domestic and otherwise. Talking with the Animals provides a rare glimpse inside the minds of the creatures with whom we share our planet.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781612831732 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Red Wheel/Weiser |
| Publication date: | 06/23/2023 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 193 |
| Sales rank: | 923,528 |
| File size: | 1 MB |
Read an Excerpt
Talking With The ANIMALS
By PATTY SUMMERS
Hampton Roads Publishing Company, Inc.
Copyright © 1998 Patty SummersAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-61283-173-2
CHAPTER 1
Beginnings
Anyone can communicate with animals. Telepathic animal communication is not something new; it has been going on for ages in many different cultures. So what is telepathic communication? My definition is that it is the universal language that we all share as brothers and sisters on the Earth Mother. It is the foundation for all language.
Telepathic communication often comes in the form of seeing, hearing, knowing, and/or feeling. For example, a person may receive a thought in the form of a picture. A person may actually hear in his or her mind a thought with words. Many people relate to a "knowing" or "feeling." I will often hear someone say, "I knew that was what my dog wanted," or, "I had a feeling that was what was going on."
At one of my communication workshops I asked the participants to share any personal experiences with telepathic animal communication. One woman told us that she was reading a book when she had the feeling that someone was watching her. She lowered her book to find her Australian shepherd mix sitting in front of her, staring. She told us, "I knew he wanted me to turn the fan on, so I did; then I went back to reading my book. It was a few minutes after I started reading that I realized what had just happened. I lowered my book again to see my dog lying on the floor contentedly as the fan blew across his body."
I have been intuitively interacting with the animals since childhood. As long as I can remember I knew I was to work with animals. So for a number of years I worked in the animal care field. Because telepathic communication was not an accepted practice, for a brief time in my life I pushed my intuitive abilities aside. I found each of my animal-related occupations rewarding and educational, yet there was always something missing. There was a promise deep within, a part of me waiting to be lived. I was to incorporate my ability to communicate with the animals into my work. After reading Kinship with All Life, by J. Allen Boone, a book about the author's experiences with telepathic animal communication, I was finally able to step out and walk and talk with conviction of the heart.
I am but a messenger. Talking with the Animals is their gift of their wisdom and insights.
Don't Judge a Book
The room was constructed of all concrete, walls and floors. There were no windows and the chain-link fencing gave it the effect of a prison cell. Stagnant air and the fluorescent lighting added to the appropriateness of naming this room Isolation. This part of the humane society was reserved for dogs who had just come in and had not been checked over for health and temperament or, more often, for those who were considered unadoptable. Unadoptable meant they were either unhealthy or had aggressive personalities. I was standing near Iso (as we had nicknamed the room), when I felt someone intently watching me. There he stood, "Cujo" himself. I felt I'd been transported into a Stephen King story. Well, he wasn't the same breed as Cujo, but aside from that he could have played the part well. He was a chow chow, a little large for the breed. He had reddish hair that looked as if dust had been rubbed into his coat, dulling the brightness of the red. The scowl on his face reflected the brutality of his background; in his eyes a look of the wild, a look of utter confidence and self-reliance.
This must be the dog the animal wardens had been talking about earlier. I had worked in several different animal care occupations, including once being an animal control officer myself, so I had seen numerous dogs that other people considered vicious. It wasn't often that I carried the same opinion. My heart went out to these dogs because, usually, there was a reason for their behavior, and quite often it had to do with a human's treatment of them. This dog, however, had strength and power coming through that didn't elicit my heart's compassion. I found myself in fear. I stood frozen for a moment, until I became fully conscious that he was locked in a secure area.
He stared at me, his head lowered just a touch. Once I relaxed a bit, the communication began. "I know you can understand me," the message came. I was dumbfounded. I had just met this dog, actually just laid eyes on him. How did he know I could understand him? I hesitated, then communicated to him, "Ah, yes, that is correct." What's next, I wondered. I was expecting something profound or enlightening. Instead I got, "I need to go outside to relieve myself." The reply was matter-of-fact. I didn't answer; I just walked away. What on earth does he think I am going to do about this? Is he crazy? I'm not taking that dog outside. I know his type. Even if I'm lucky enough to get a leash on him without getting bit, he'll attack me once I get him outside. No way am I.... I stopped my mind's chatter. "Hey Patty," I said to myself, "aren't you the one who said you wanted to devote your life's work to animal communication? Aren't you the person who made a commitment to utilizing and trusting your abilities to their fullest?" I knew this was the Universe's way of saying to me: you want it, then show me. Only minutes later, I found myself standing in front of the dog's run. One thing the animals had taught me was the need to be honest. Animals receive my intent, not my words. A lot can be said for animals being good judges of character. They see the real you and the real meaning behind your words.
"Listen," I said, "I am afraid of you. You present an aggressiveness that puts me on edge. Not to mention that I have had bad experiences with dogs of your breed in the past. I realize it's not fair to judge you by your appearance, but you can already sense my concerns and there is no need for me to try to disguise them."
"I will not harm you," came the response. Its softness did not match its sender. I wanted to say sarcastically, "Sure, right; I believe you," but I couldn't. The dog had integrity. Yet the mind chatter began again. What do you think you are doing? You must be crazy! Here you are in Iso thinking about taking Cujo outside. If this dog decides to turn on you, you're on your own. No one can hear you back here. I thought about going up front and just asking someone to listen out for me, but I knew they would try to talk me out of it. This dog was already labeled as vicious. Even though people at the shelter generally accepted my animal communication, they would not accept my putting others or myself at risk. I looked at the dog again. He picked up on my conflict and sent to me feelings of calmness. Finally I said, "Listen if I let you out and you bite or offer to bite me, that is it. No more help from me. If on the other hand you live up to your word, I will come back here daily to take you outside." He repeated, "I will not harm you."
With shaking hands I reached down to his furry body to place a leash on him. He stood perfectly still and I knew his stillness was to reassure me. As we walked down the aisle that separated the two rows of chain-link dog runs, he was slightly ahead of me. The other dogs in Iso barked frantically as we moved past their runs; the chow pranced by them with a strength and dignity. The pounding of my heart slowed and my hands steadied as we stepped outside. He sniffed the ground only briefly before choosing a location. Boy, he wasn't kidding when he said he had to relieve himself. After his "flood" of relief, I took him back into his run. He was a perfect gentleman. I thanked him and told him I'd be back. He had lived up to his word and now it was time for me to live up to mine.
Each day I would take him outside and soon a friendship developed. It took a while for the staff at the animal shelter to accept our friendship. But after a while they came to see him differently. They began to see that they had misinterpreted the "air" he carried about him. Most of the general public who entered the shelter could not see past his appearance and would label him mean or vicious, even though we never heard or saw him snap or growl at anyone. His name became Dusty, after his hair color.
I asked him about his background and he shared with me the information that he had once been someone's dog. Apparently his people had intended for him to protect a woodpile. He showed me an image of himself chained up in an inner-city area. The house he lived at appeared to be a one-story wooden house with green paint that was chipping. The steps leading to the front porch were crumbling concrete; the wooden porch bowed in the center. The houses on either side were not in much better condition. I saw no doghouse, just the disarrayed pile of scrap lumber and cut logs. A male person would feed him, reminding the dog that he needed to be "tough." Then the feedings became less frequent, along with any visits. People would pass by, giving him a wide berth. Anyone he started toward would either run or jump back further away from him. He disliked being chained, and finally one day he got loose. The people didn't seem to care. In fact they had decided he had grown too big and they were now frightened of him. He would roam the neighborhood, walking up on people's porches looking for food, only to be greeted by broomsticks and flying objects hurled at him. Weren't humans supposed to give him food? Why were they afraid of him? Even though he found human behavior frustrating, their abuse did not break his spirit. He was a survivor.
Dusty asked me about the fear he encountered from humans: "Why is this?" We were outside in our large grassy, fenced-in area and I was letting him run loose. Watching him run was like watching a wolf in the wild. He came alive outside. His eyes shone and his beautiful coat ruffled in the wind. His question reminded me of my first encounter with him. I realized that in essence he was a lone wolf. Some humans could never capture or understand his wild spirit. His independent nature and assuredness threatened most. I conveyed this thought to him. I told him that, sadly, most people were governed by first impressions and rarely looked deeper to see the total being or even why someone may appear a certain way. Why we humans had this tendency, I did not know.
What I do know is one day a dog who had been abandoned, beaten, and generally abused by humans was taken to an animal shelter. There he met a woman who was judging him just as the other humans had. She had put him in the category of vicious dogs. Yet he chose not to follow typical human behavior and make a judgment on what he saw on the outside. He looked deeper and saw the opportunity for something else. He reached out in trust and honesty and touched my heart forever.
After several months of searching for Dusty's new home, we found it. He moved to a farm where he was allowed to run free. I had some misgivings, but I knew that was the way he wanted it. So I honored his wish. In the end Dusty's freedom was the route to his ticket out of this lifetime. He was following his new person, who was driving a tractor across a road, when a car struck and killed my friend.
I was numb from the news. I went home and sat in the woods surrounding my property, the place I go to seek answers and solace. I felt a presence, just as I had the first time he introduced himself to me. I turned to look and there he stood. He was in spirit and yet real, as if he were there physically. He had come to let me know that he was okay and to tell me goodbye. "You are my friend," I heard. Then his image faded away.
The Need for Respect
working for the humane society was a conscious choice for me. I had decided it would be the perfect place to incorporate my animal communication abilities and improve my skill. Meanwhile I could do private consults and teach workshops on my days off. I knew of the emotional harm that the shelter had caused for others before me; just the same I was willing to take that risk. It became one of the most bittersweet experiences of my life, and definitely a place of powerful teachers and lessons.
Our front office at the humane society seemed like Grand Central Station most of the time. There was a long countertop that faced our reception window to the public. The counter was often cluttered with various forms, literature, and animal-related items such as leashes and collars. In one corner of the office stood a desk that was always covered with paperwork and had a constantly ringing phone. File cabinets, a copying machine, and two large stainless steel cages took up the rest of the wall space. Add to all of this six staff members coming and going, plus what we called the general public (visitors to the shelter), and you have Grand Central Station.
Early in my employ at the humane society, I happened to be in the front office looking through a file cabinet for a record when a man walked in holding a cat carrier. He was the type of man who would blend into a crowd easily: brown hair, glasses, average build and height. He seemed mildly uncomfortable. I saw Page, our office person, heading over to help him, so I continued on with my record search.
"Can I help you?" asked Page.
"Yes," he said, "I brought my cat to be euthanized."
There was no emotion in his voice, but he did shift his weight back and forth, expressing that discomfort I'd seen before in people who were dropping off animals.
"Can I ask why?" I'm not sure why Page formed it as a question; it was quite obvious that this was a polite demand. Page was a retired government employee who had a different style with the public. At first glance one might be deceived by this petite lady who loves animals; however, her patience ran thin in the face of ignorance in the care and well being of animals.
"Oh, well, all of a sudden she's taken to urinating on the carpets, not to mention she's been acting lethargic," said the man.
The aggravation in Page's voice gave hint that her temper matched her red hair.
"Have you taken her to the veterinarian to make sure there is no medical reason for her actions?"
"She's been checked and the doctor could not find any cause for her behavior. Look, we feel she is very unhappy and just doesn't wish to live anymore. So we want her put to sleep." The man had become defensive.
While he and Page were discussing the situation I peered into the carrier to see a beautiful, white, green-eyed cat. She huddled toward the back of the carrier, as if trying to get as far away from this conversation and place as possible. I didn't blame her.
Not able to keep my mouth shut anymore, I interrupted, saying, "Sir, this is a young beautiful cat. I wish you would just sign her over to us and give us a chance to find someone to adopt her. If the veterinarian found no problem with her health, that probably means she is unhappy about something in her present living conditions. Cats often urinate outside their litter boxes as a sign of protest or unhappiness. We may be able to find her a home that she would be better suited for, so she would not exhibit that behavior. Perhaps we won't, but at least it gives her a chance."
"Well, I can't imagine anyone wanting a cat like this," he remarked, "but she is actually my wife's cat, I suppose I could call her and run this past her."
Page handed him the phone and we just looked at each other. We both knew if he signed the request to put her to sleep, there was nothing we could legally do to stop him. It would be such a waste not to give this cat a chance. In so many similar cases, we had found appropriate homes for cats like this one.
"Okay," the man said after hanging up the phone, "my wife says we'll just sign her over for you to do as you deem necessary."
I quietly smiled to myself, "Yes!" I thought.
I took Jane (as I will call the cat) to a private holding room. The room was all concrete, with fluorescent lighting and no windows. At least it was quiet for the most part, for we usually housed only cats here. One side of the room was lined with stainless steel cages. Several of the cat occupants meowed a greeting to me.
Once inside I closed the door and proceeded to introduce the other cats to Jane. I then went on about how my intervention had bought Jane a second chance. Thinking back on it now, I have to laugh at my pompous self-righteousness in sounding like a person who thought she was a knight in shining armor. Not once had 1 stopped to ask Jane's opinion on things. I was too caught up in what a wonderful thing I had done for this cat. I prepared a cage for her, then went over and stooped down to unlock the door of her carrier.
"Come on sweetheart," I said as I reached in to pull out this poor, depressed cat. As my fingers came within inches of her, I heard, "Rawwll, hissss!" The cat came to life; with the fire of a tigress in her eyes she came at me.
The next thing I remembered was sitting on my backside with my foot holding the carrier door shut and Jane clawing at my shoe. She continued with a lower growl. The communication was clear, "Try it again lady. I'll show you who's helpless." Well so much for being the poor, pitiful little kitty. "Okay," I said, "you've gained my respect." I decided to give her a little time to cool down, not to mention time for me to regain my center.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Talking With The ANIMALS by PATTY SUMMERS. Copyright © 1998 Patty Summers. Excerpted by permission of Hampton Roads Publishing Company, Inc..
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
Contents
Beginnings,
Don't Judge a Book,
The Need for Respect,
That's "Ms." Goat to You,
Definition of Friendship,
Julio's Message,
Tossing My Head into the Wind,
Queen Honey Boo,
Gift of Grace,
Peace As You Walk Your Walk,
I Heard What You Said, Now What Do You Mean?,
Popagolis Speaks,
Proud to Be Your Dog,
We Choose Our Path,
The Transcending Power of Love,
Dusty, Is That You?,
Making Peace,
Circle of Love,
Walking in Balance and Harmony,
It Goes Both Ways,
Reptilian Wisdom,
We Are One,
Reawakening to Animal Communication,