This spring I was privileged to attend the death of a dear friend’s beloved cat, Sachi, who had terminal cancer and had reached the end of what she could tolerate. My friend, Reiki master and massage therapist Mary Van de Ven, had done everything possible to help Sachi, but the cancer was relentless.

Sachi was a stray kitten who showed up at my friend’s Hawaiian home on Thanksgiving Day in 2002, a few months after Mary’s previous cat died, and moved with her to Seattle in 2006. Mary and I met in Rose De Dan’s Reiki class series in the spring of 2007 (Wild Reiki and Shamanic Healing), so we’ve been close friends a long time. Mary knows my work very well, and was comforted at the thought of me attending the euthanasia and being Sachi’s advocate, to tell her what was happening, and to help her communicate with Mary at the end.

My Animal Communication Work

For those of you who are wondering, my animal communication work focuses on the human-animal bond. While I help locate lost animals and examine medical issues (but only if the information I provide is taken to a veterinarian), my focus is deepening our connection with our animal families, including family harmony and the tough issues involved in re-homing animals and dying. (For more on how to handle end-of-life issues with your animals, see my article, “How the Human-Animal Bond Meets, and Survives, Death.) That means my work is as practical as it is mystical: my goal is that multi-species animals prosper together, so that each soul has its best chance of achieving soul growth in its body’s lifetime. I work with individual clients and I teach animal communication as a bonding process for families.

Vet Clinics and Euthanized Animals

The euthanasia was going to take place at the vet’s office, a place where Mary and her animals felt comfortable and were warmly treated. I said goodbye to my beloved Murphy at the vet’s office, and I know how generous and kind they are to families and animals who face death together. But there can sometimes be problems.

Because I can and do talk with anything (chairs, cars, mountains), I usually walk around heavily shielded, or I’d never get anything done. So I had been surprised some weeks before when I had Alki at his vet and my sweet boy completely freaked out: he wanted nothing to do with his vet when he had always loved him and willingly cuddled. Instead, Alki sat rigidly beside me, eyes wide in horror, or raced around the room, crying. We finally moved to a different exam room, and Alki calmed down.

At first I thought it was that Alki and I had both seen a lot of our respective doctors since we were attacked by the neighbor’s dog in January, but it was more than that. When a friend and I checked in, we discovered that a dog that had recently been euthanized at the clinic was screaming at Alki: “Run for it, they kill you here!”

So I could hardly blame Alki for feeling terrified. When my friend and I checked with the dog, we discovered that his people had been with him when he died, and they were crying. That assured me that the euthanasia was necessary to prevent suffering from a condition that could not be resolved. Once I explained it to the dog, he promptly moved on to his afterlife, greeted by my dad, Ray, who runs a Way Station for Dead Things on the Other Side. (For a more detailed account, see my article, “What To Do When Your Vet Is Haunted.”)

I also mentioned it to my vet, suggesting that they institute a procedure to explain to the animals what was happening, and so prevent the trauma we had accidentally witnessed.

Because I walk around heavily shielded, and I’m focused on my kids or on clients’ kids at the vet, I hadn’t thought much about the stuck dead at veterinary clinics (which is not an excuse, only an explanation). The dead get stuck and don’t move on to their afterlives for a number of reasons, but in the case of euthanized animals, it’s usually because they are confused about what’s happening and weren’t told it was coming, or they didn’t want to die and wouldn’t accept it.

The problem is, this is happening at every vet clinic that euthanizes animals or deals with their dead bodies. So the night before I was to be at the vet clinic with Mary and Sachi, I sat down to look at the clinic with my dad, Ray. We saw a steady stream of cats, dogs, gerbils (lots of gerbils) … meaning the clinic had been in business a long time, and a lot of deceased animals were stuck. Now, this isn’t anyone’s fault: it’s not like people intend for the animals to be confused and get stuck. Instead, they just don’t always stop to think that, like us, animals have souls and can think for themselves, and we don’t always think through what that means, and act on what we learn. It’s even harder when we’re traumatized ourselves as we face the loss of a beloved animal.

Sachi … and Harold

The upshot of this session with my dad was that I agreed to get to the clinic early and unobtrusively help the stuck dead move on to my dad, and then he would stand by for Sachi. Yes, of course, we could have done it that night, but I was going to be in the space, and I wanted to honor the animals by actually being present with them as they moved on.

Oh, the best laid plans. The next morning it was pouring down rain and I got lost. As I was driving, my dad suddenly popped in.

“I’ve asked my friend, Harold, to take all the other animals, so all I will do is take care of Sachi,” he explained.

I was surprised, but I wasn’t going to tell my dad how to do his job. He had figured it all out, so I simply agreed. Then Harold started talking to me, and would not shut up. Interestingly, I could clearly see him as he talked, which doesn’t always happen (I will know who I am talking with, but they aren’t usually as vividly present as Harold was).

Harold was still talking when I went into the clinic. He made it clear that he was somehow connected to the clinic, and that he wanted that acknowledged, so after I greeted Mary and her sister and Sachi, I asked the vet technician working with them if someone in the clinic was connected to a deceased man named Harold. She didn’t know of anyone, and left the room, saying, “Oh, I wish one of my dead would ask for me.”

I figured that was the end of that, and focused on Mary and Sachi. I was honored to help them say goodbye to each other, and to transmit loving messages from Sachi to Mary as we waited for the vet. This is always sacred time, and it is such a blessing to share it with families.

Then the vet came in, and I immediately realized that my dad had set me up. The vet was the clinic owner, and he was the spitting image of Harold, who was once again eagerly chatting away, and refusing to be ignored.

“Are you Harold’s son or nephew?” I asked the vet.

He smiled shyly and said the vet tech had told him what I had said. Harold was his dad, and, as Harold had insisted, he had always been interested in animals but had never worked at the clinic and was not a vet. I explained to the vet that Harold ran a way station like my father did, and that he was volunteering to be present at the death of every animal coming into the clinic, to ensure that they got safely to a way station. I also suggested that he establish a practice that each vet explain to every animal what was going to happen and why, and if the families weren’t open to that, they could do it silently in their heads, because the animals would hear, and Harold would be there.

He was thrilled that his deceased father was eager to assist him, and readily agreed. Yes! One vet clinic out of how many? But one that was going to see to it that deceased animals had an escort to their afterlives. That sneaky Harold, and my far-seeing dad, who, unlike many way station managers, can see energy lines between the living and the dead. Meaning that when he looked at the clinic with me the night before, my dad saw the connection between Harold and the clinic, and set about connecting father and son in service to the animals. Awesome, isn’t it?

And, yes, Sachi had a beautiful sendoff, and died peacefully in Mary’s arms. Sachi quickly and safely transitioned; my dad smiled at us as he held her in his arms. Later, I told Mary that she was streaking around the Way Station, enjoying the mountain scenery and the other animals who visited there or worked with my dad.

We celebrated Sachi’s life at a local restaurant with Mary’s sisters and a picture of Sachi on the table with us.

How to Deal with a Sick and Dying Animal

The point of the story? Remember to tell your animal companions what is going on, whether they are sick or dying. Sometimes animals who are very sick or in a lot of pain panic, or get worn out by the pain, and tell me they want to die: this is your clue as their companion that they need comfort and support, and possibly additional medical attention. Too often people, especially energy healers and intuitives, think of their animals as teachers and healers, or sponges to their human’s worries and ills, so dismiss anything else by insisting their animals ‘are mirroring their feelings.’ This is a disservice to the animals and to you: they have real fears and concerns, real joys they want and need to share with you. Be open to them and listen; your caring response and support could be all they need to hang in there and recover and thrive again, much quicker than they can do when their concerns are being ignored. Think about it: when you’re sick or hurt and don’t know what’s wrong, or the extent of the damage, you relax and recover faster when your care team keeps you informed and attends to your concerns. Your animals deserve that level of support from you, and you deserve it as well. Your entire family will feel better.

My friend, Mary, was totally tuned in to Sachi, and they were able to share her final weeks together peacefully, and to say goodbye tearfully but confidentally, knowing that Sachi was aware that everything that could be done for her was done, and that she both understood and greeted her death as bravely and joyfully as any human who is well prepared. Sachi was ready, and so was Mary—as ready as any loving pair who have to separate. It isn’t easy, but it’s possible.

Questions about animal communication or my upcoming animal communication class? Please contact me.

© 2014 Robyn M Fritz

Nearly every week for the last two years I’ve received emails thanking me for the article I wrote about taking my beloved Murphy to the veterinary surgeon to discuss treating the cancer that would inevitably kill her. Most of these emails are private; many are also here on the blog site. Today I am remembering Murphy, who died on March 8, 2012, and the story that has helped so many families deal with their own tragedies. Check it out: The Real Life Crappy Choice Diary, Entry 13.

Now, what are we going to do about cancer in our animal family members? Start by refusing to adopt any animal that has been spayed and neutered against your wishes (and those wishes should be to take your females through at least two heat cycles so that they are sexually mature, and there is almost NO reason to neuter a male dog). The science is there, people. The common sense should have been there long ago. Nature gave us hormones to help our bodies grow and develop; depriving our animal companions of those hormones for political reasons, and not a serious medical emergency, is barbaric.

Right now we’re listening to political ranting and bad science. We know better. Stop the madness: refuse to adopt spayed or neutered animals in the animal welfare system.

Refusing to continue to harm our animal family members by refusing to adopt these mutilated animals will shut down the current shelter and rescue system within a year. Why? Because they won’t have any money and will have to listen to the truth, not the pandering. Help rebuild our families’ health.  Take charge. 

NOW!

© 2014 Robyn M Fritz

Even though I talk with the dead, both people and animals, I never once thought about my vet being haunted. I guess because I’m usually there on personal business, meaning one of my animals is ill, and practicality rules: I’m interested in dealing with the illness, not in looking for dead things.

So I was surprised one day a month ago when I was at the vet with my Cavalier King Charles spaniel, Alki. My poor boy and I are both recovering from a vicious dog mauling early in the year. In the aftermath he suddenly developed severe heart disease, lost a lot of weight from stress, suffered extreme pain from being beat up, and his gastrointestinal illness, IBD, is quite severe after being under control for nearly a year.

So we’ve been at the vet a lot in 2014. Still, Alki loves his vet, and doesn’t mind being at the clinic, so I was surprised when we were waiting in the exam room and Alki was acting both distraught and scared. He was whining, pawing at me, and pacing. When the vet came in the room Alki would have nothing to do with him. He sat rigidly beside me, shivering, eyes wide in fright as he stared at his vet and refused to move. No matter what the vet or I tried, Alki refused to have anything to do with him. The vet finally moved us to another room and Alki calmed down, although his heart rate was through the roof and it was several hours before he was completely himself again.

What was wrong with him? I thought back—the only other time Alki was afraid of the vet was the first time we were back in the clinic after my beloved Cavalier, Murphy, died there. That time, too, Alki was nervous and shivering, clearly worried about dying. I talked him through it, which reminded me, yet again, that we need to talk to our animals about what is going on. They do understand us even if we don’t understand them. Alki knew very well that Murphy had died just down the hallway, and I had to reassure him that he was not dying, too.

But a month ago Alki’s fright was a mystery, one I pursued with him that evening in a conversation. It turns out that a big black dog had died in that exam room within the last few weeks and had been roaming the clinic halls as a ghost, and that room in particular, since it had been euthanized. So this ghost dog had literally been standing there yelling at Alki to “Run for it, they kill you here!” After hearing that I could hardly blame Alki for being frightened, and I felt bad for the dog who had died.

Bad enough to do something about it.

How We Helped a Dead Dog Move On

My friend and I sat down together to talk with the dead dog. I asked it, “Were your people with you when you died?” When the dog said yes, I asked it if they were crying. He said yes. I then told the dog that I was sorry they had not explained to him what was happening, but I was sure they were crying because they loved him very much, there was nothing they could do to save his life, and they euthanized him so that he would not suffer any more. I’ve been through enough situations like that with clients to know that it was true, although I didn’t know the exact circumstances.

The dog understood then what had happened to him, and was comforted by the simple knowledge that he was loved and not randomly murdered; instead, he was dying and his family loved him too much to let him to suffer anymore. My friend and I then helped the dog to move on to be with my dad at his Way Station for Dead Things on the Other Side—yes, one of the places the dead go to rest up before moving on to review their lives and choose their next adventure.

The next day when our vet and I discussed Alki’s condition, I told him about the dead dog. He was silent for a moment, then said, “Well, I’ll do know Alki clearly wasn’t himself.” I told him about telling animals what is happening as they prepare for euthanasia, and that he could silently tell the dog in his head and not verbalize it out loud if he didn’t think the family was open to it.

Some people are still not on board with animal communication, including the concept that animals can and do understand us and do have feelings and concerns of their own. Others are, like many Japanese, completely silent on death, and do not even tell human patients that they are dying, a mindset that I simply do not understand, but there it is.

How To Act When Your Vet Is Haunted

So the ghost dog has safely transitioned and I learned a big lesson, which is that someone like me who works as an intuitive is sometimes on the job whether they know it or not. That does not mean we are supposed to be wide open to anything all day long, but when you see a reaction like Alki’s you need to pay attention to what is happening in case there is something that you need to do, or at least can do.

Here’s the thing. Every veterinary clinic is potentially haunted because animals die there, just like people die in hospitals and care facilities, which are also frequently haunted. (Believe me, even self-professed skeptics who work in those places will tell you that they are very aware of ghosts, and will avoid being alone in certain places, even though they don’t like to admit it.)

So what do you do when your vet is haunted?

• Make sure you are well grounded at all times, especially when you first go into your vet’s clinic.
• Explain to your animals that you are going to the clinic with them and why.
• Assure your animals that they will be fine.
• If you are going in for euthanasia, then by all means explain it to your animal, and take someone like me along with you if possible, or at least arrange a consultation so that you and your animal are completely clear about what will occur. For more on what to do in the dying process, consult my article, How the Human-Animal Bond Meets, and Survives, Death.
• Make sure that your vet and vet technicians working with your animals understand and respect the ‘spiritual’ or ‘intuitive’ relationship you have with them by participating in a discussion with you and the animal about what is occurring, why, what will happen, and what it means. Many vets are open to animal communication, and certainly respect the human-animal bond, so if this sounds strange to your vet I suggest you find another one.
• Because you are occupying that veterinary clinic space, you are free to ask the space to be clear and healthy for you and your pets, and use whatever clearing remedy you need, particularly a pinch of sea salt in the room with you, or crystals, or whatever works.
• Suggest to your vet that the clinic hire someone like me who clears traumatized spaces to routinely clear the space and help ghosts move on.
• Make sure to ground and clear yourself after a visit to a place where animals and people die, so you don’t carry that stuck, heavy energy home with you (this is a routine daily care practice for everyone, but here we’re talking specific places).

Of course you can’t force a vet to clear their clinics, but you can clear the space around you, and maintain an open line of communication with your animals. You may not hear them, but they do hear you, so make sure you tell them what’s going on; animals, like people, can easily get confused about a situation, particularly an emotionally intense one like death, and need reassurance and an opportunity to ask questions. I’ve seen enough confused and frightened animals, alive and dead, that are suffering emotionally simply because they don’t understand what is going on. Please don’t do this to your animals, or yourself.

If you don’t do these things, odds are someone like me will meet your deceased animal in a very sad way. At least you hope they will, so they can help your beloveds completely, and safely, transition.

Unfortunately space clearing is not as routine in our society as it could be, so it’s up to you to make sure that when your vet is haunted you aren’t haunted, too.

Have you ever noticed that your vet is haunted? What would you do to make your vet’s clinic a healthier, happier experience for you and your animal family?

© 2014 Robyn M Fritz