How I Became An Animal Communicator (Part 2)

Updated: Sep 15, 2021

How I became an animal communicator continued…

If you haven’t read How I became An Animal Communicator (Part 1), I recommend doing that first so this story makes sense.

Okay, let’s begin.

Have you ever bonded with an animal so much, that if you think about the love you have for them, it literally hurts your heart?

I have. That was my bond with Foolish, my horse, my first true love and one of the best teachers I’ve ever had.

(Image: The day I got him)

We spent a beautiful 15 years together. He went to college with me, helped me stay grounded while I tried to find where I fit into this world and was there to help with the adjustment of becoming a mother.

(Image: Kid helping me do chores )

He watched me struggle, flop, flourish and repeat many times over the years.

Our bond was one of those that happens only once in a lifetime and one that had to suddenly and unexpectedly come to an end.

There’s a lot that happened in a short time-frame and it has taken me a while to dissect it and understand the events that unfolded enough to share his final chapter with the world.

I’ll start at the beginning of the end…

My family and I moved to a different state, nothing we hadn't done before. I sent my animals to a trusted friend to keep an eye on them while we settled in and prepared the property to bring them home.

Unfortunately, buying hay in October in Montana isn’t really possible, so I had to wait 7 months until the farmers started to cut so I could grab a years’ worth and bring my boys (Foolish and his pasture mate Rooster) home.

(Image: Foolish, left, Rooster, right)

I’d visit the horses regularly, say “hi” and check-in. On the outside everything seemed normal but something kept nagging at me..something was off with Foolish. I didn’t know what it was. Was I not visiting enough? Was he unhappy in his pasture? Did he need his teeth checked?

I just felt like something was “off” with Foolish.

He looked fine, was eating normally, his vet check and blood work all came back clear. So why on earth was I obsessing over this feeling. He was fine, I was going to get hay in a couple of months, I’d bring both horses home and we would all live happily ever after, right? Not exactly.

Memories of our time together started popping into my head randomly. Great memories, my favorite ones. When these memories popped in, they were so strong and emotionally charged they’d catch me off guard and would typically make me cry (if you haven't noticed, I cry a lot!).

(Image: One of my favorite rides)

I have always had my animals at my house, so having them off-site was a struggle to begin with and I generally missed seeing their faces all day, every day, but this was different…

I missed him in my heart like I miss my animals in spirit. It was weird. I missed him being home. I missed our younger days when we would ride the trails. I missed singing to him while I cleaned out his stall and him watching me with total amusement. I missed his sense of humor, he was sort of the life of the party. It was like he was already gone but he was right here, a 15 minute drive down the road.

That nagging feeling kept popping in and made all of this so much harder and confusing. What was going on? Why did I miss him so much? I could visit him whenever I wanted to.

I convinced myself that everything was fine, he’d be home soon and we could get back to normal.

We were a month away from cutting season and just about ready to bring him home when he hurt his leg. Not like anything out of the ordinary, just a little scrape in the same spot he always scraped. It was an annual thing, Foolish would cut his leg, we would wrap it and then move on with life. No. Big. Deal.

When my friend called me to tell me he hurt his leg and that the vet was coming out in a day to check it out that seemed about right. So, I thought, okay, we are good…I’ve never had an issue before with this type of injury so why would I this time?

I ignored all of my red flags that had been flapping for months and my internal alarm was literally screaming at me, but I shut off my intuition because he’d be fine, he was always fine, we were so close to bringing him home and I was convinced that there wasn’t really any other possible ending.

I held on to what I wanted to happen and ignored what was in front of me.

I failed him in that moment.

At first, we all thought he’d heal, but a few weeks in, the infection wouldn’t go away. You see, the location that he scraped himself at was set up to fail. He had an old wound where he was caught in barbed wire as a colt and had severe scar tissue in his leg and joint.

That scar tissue, from his injury as a baby was acting like a sponge and holding the infection in his joint, slowly eating away the cartilage and everything else around it. Without any blood supply in the scar tissue, the antibiotics we were giving him weren’t helping.

The vet I was using told me it was time to make the call to “put him out of his misery”.

I fired her.

I was pissed. How dare she. I was confused, in denial, panic, self-blame…How could this happen? Weren’t we doing everything right? I refused to accept his fate.

I called every other vet in the valley and ended up sending him to the equine hospital. I wasn’t done yet, and I could tell he wasn’t either. How dare anyone just give up on us…on him. I looked into his eyes and I knew he wasn’t ready.

They say the eyes are the gateway to ones soul and that couldn't be more true.

I reached out to one of my animal communication teachers at the time to get a clear view of what Foolish was thinking and wanting. She asked him if he was “ready” or if he wanted us to keep fighting.

He wanted to keep fighting. I wanted to keep fighting. If he was up for it, so was I.

The new vet I was working with told me the reality of our odds at successfully healing his wound which was a grim 1%.

We had a 1% of a chance to miraculously heal his leg. I decided to shoot for those odds.

I didn’t care what it took, but I was going to either magically cure him or give both of us time wrap our heads around the tornado we were just handed and told to deal with.

The equine hospital conducted a procedure that, in the very least, did buy us some time. He had to live in a small stall for four days before he could come home which he referred to as “jail.”

It was horrible. He was so stressed out, alone, in a weird place...If he was going to die, he shouldn’t have to be in a dang stall for even a minute. This horse loved open spaces. I couldn't handle him being in a tiny box and neither could he.

I was desperate.

During his four days at the hospital, we prepared a special area for him, bought whatever hay we could scrounge up and brought Rooster home. Foolish had to be home with his family, there was no other way. Everyone had to be home.

I started dabbling in energy work at this point to alleviate any other pain or emotional baggage he was holding. I was willing to try anything...

Anything that might help give us one more day, hour, minute...

The moment we brought him home, there was a strong sense of peace that settled in almost immediately. The goats missed him, and gave him a very joyous welcome and Rooster went over to make sure he was doing alright.

Rooster played an important part during the final weeks too. Have you ever seen a horse hug? They're very intimate and intentional. A communication between two friends that I can't even begin to described but I could gauge how Foolish was feeling based on the actions of Rooster. That's a story I'll get into in another post however.

We were all together again, finally.

(Image: Goats left to right: Bo, Harold, Watson Horses: Rooster and Foolish)

During the following weeks, I sat with him every day, all day, except when he needed to rest, changed his bandages 3 times a day and checked in on him during