‘The journey is yours, you know the path.’
MORGAN
Morgan, as I mentioned earlier, wasn’t actually perfect when he arrived. He had emotional blocks from his life before rescue and it took a little while to help him through these. He barked at every elderly man with a walking stick, desperate to get his attention. I’m sure he felt each of these men could be his previous guardian. There was also his desire to chase Texas, who really couldn’t have been less impressed. Being of mainly beagle nature, Morgan was also greatly skilled at going deaf on recall, preferring to bound and bark through dense woodland after fox scents. It was only when silence fell that I would begin to worry. One time I was out with my partner and friends and their well-behaved, stick-to-your-side-like-glue golden retriever when Morgan disappeared for over 10 minutes. It was hard to ignore their looks of concern and disapproval. The four of us tried to cover every possible exit of the wood and eventually he came out trotting along with the biggest smile, not realizing that our blood pressure had soared sky-high while he was up to his capers.
Morgan also pulled hard on the lead at first, vacuumed up everything in sight and would virtually rip my arm out of the socket if he encountered a fox on a late-night walk, barking the whole street awake in his excitement. Not one to need physical affection, he would outsmart anyone reaching out to give him a friendly pat, manoeuvring away from outstretched fingers with utmost precision. He was healthy, active and stubborn as hell.
He was also sheer joy. Once he had let go of the past and had his paws firmly rooted to the sofa, he exuded self-contentment. He loved to be playful, though not with toys that he considered pointless. He’d only chase a ball if there was something in it, and that had to be food-related. His playfulness was different: he preferred to instigate running together, beaming a huge smile as he did so.
He came to teach at some of my animal communication workshops and was determined that every student in the room should experience some level of true connection. He could be anxious beforehand, but once in the room he was exemplary and touched many hearts. He also had great timing and knew to the minute when he was scheduled to teach, getting up and standing the other side of the door waiting to be let in.
He helped me with my clients’ animals too – those in physical body, those missing and those who had transitioned. If I ever got a bit blocked, I’d simply ask Morgan for help and he’d give me an answer.
He could also help me understand confusing situations by revealing their essence. Humans have many veils, but animals can see past the hype to the truth of the situation. Morgan’s finely tuned radar has helped me on many occasions when humans have tried to mislead or manipulate.
Everything was wonderful for five years and he was a huge blessing in my life, but then I began to get the feeling that something awful was about to happen to him.
This usually happened when Morgan and I were out walking together. I would feel the fear in my stomach, a heavy pit of dread. It happened time and again. I wanted to push the feeling away and kept telling myself, No, he’s fine, he’s well and he’ll be here for quite a while yet. Having recently come to believe that our thoughts could be very influential, I wanted to remain positive.
On 14 January 2009 the feeling was too strong to ignore. There didn’t seem to be a particular reason for it. Morgan had walked a bit funny when he’d got out of his bed in the morning, as if he had his sea legs on, but within 30 minutes or so he’d seemed to be more stable. He’d managed his morning walk without a hitch and eaten breakfast as usual. Nevertheless, during the walk I decided I’d have to make the call I’d been putting off for weeks.
Around 11 a.m. I rang my friend Lynne, the guardian of Riki, the Spinone dog who features in Heart to Heart. The main purpose of the call was to ask her if Morgan had said anything to her about his health. They’d always had a strong connection, even though physically they’d only ever met once. I knew Morgan trusted her.
I asked, ‘Do you sense anything from Morgan about how he is feeling physically?’
‘No, why?’ she said.
‘Oh, it’s just this feeling I have. It won’t go away. I’ve had it for weeks.’
‘Do you get premonitions?’ Lynne asked.
‘Yes, occasionally. I just hope that this isn’t one of them.’
Morgan was an older dog, but he wasn’t frail. He was still running and enjoying life.
Literally as Lynne and I were talking about this, I was drawn to Morgan, who was lying beside me on the sofa. I didn’t know what was happening straightaway.
‘Something’s wrong with Morgan,’ I said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘He can’t control his body, it’s gone tense and his eyes are flicking manically from side to side. Something’s not right.’
There was a moment’s pause and then Lynne said very calmly, ‘It sounds as though he could be having a stroke or seizure. Keep him calm and reassure him.’
I could feel his distress. ‘OK, Morgan, you’re all right,’ I said to him gently. ‘I’m with you. You’re going to be fine.’
‘Is he twitching or jerking? Make sure he can’t hurt himself,’ Lynne instructed.
‘No, he’s quite still and tense really. He’s holding his head at a bizarre angle. He’s on the sofa next to me and I can make sure he won’t fall off.’
Morgan had no intention of moving off the sofa. He
was suffering.
‘What do you feel?’ I asked him and I mentally tried to put myself inside his body.
He refused to let me in, but replied, ‘Burning. Fire.’
I could see an area moving rapidly on the top of his head just behind his right eye. It was undulating, as though little volcanic explosions were happening just underneath the surface.
‘What can I do?’ I said to him.
But now Morgan was silent. He was in a different place. In the stroke. Experiencing the pain.
‘Have you got any homoeopathic remedies?’ Lynne asked.
‘Yes, lots,’ I replied.
She suggested some remedies that could help him. Thank goodness I was on the phone to Lynne! I hadn’t experienced this before and didn’t know what to do.
Even worse, I could feel Morgan going further and further away from me. Lynne and I decided to hang up so I could put all my focus on Morgan. I wanted to channel healing to him, speak to him and reassure him that everything would be OK.
I kneeled on the floor in front of the sofa, cradling his head in my hands. I looked into his eyes, but they were still darting from left to right and back again. Tears streamed down my face. I could feel I was losing him.
‘Morgan, I love you. I love you and I’m not ready to let you go yet. I need you to stay. I want you to stay here with me, OK?’
I couldn’t feel if Morgan was connecting with my words, so I carried on saying them.
‘I’m not ready to let you go, Morgan. I need you to stay. It’s too soon. I want more time with you.’
Then I sensed his spirit hovering up in the air out of his body.
‘Please stay with me, Morgan, just for a little longer,’ I pleaded, as tears burned my cheeks.
While keeping an eye on him to make sure he couldn’t fall and hurt himself, I reached for the phone. Within minutes I was listening to the very soothing and sympathetic voice of veterinarian homoeopath Richard Allport. He prescribed some remedies, instructed me on dosage and explained that with good nursing care many dogs were able to work through strokes.
‘What does that mean, “good nursing care”?’ I said.
‘It really means being there for them. Supporting them and waiting to see what happens.’
I knew I could be there for Morgan. I also knew I needed to be positive while waiting to see whether he had the strength to recover.
While I was cradling his head, I heard him say: ‘Mackerel.’
I knew this was important because Morgan was mostly a one-word dog. I’d make sure I got him some mackerel if that was what he felt he needed.
I grabbed the drawer full of homoeopathic remedies and scattered them across the rug to discover I didn’t have the specific remedies in the correct strength. I would be able to begin giving them in a weaker strength, but this wouldn’t be enough.
I rang my friend Jenny, who adored Morgan and lived close by, but only reached her answerphone. This time I was not so controlled as the truth of the situation hit me. I struggled to sputter out: ‘Morgan is having a stroke. I need some homoeopathic remedies really quickly. Jo is away and I can’t leave him. Can you help? He also wants mackerel. Please ring me back.’
Next I rang my partner, Jo, who was on a train to Leeds. She was in work mode, thinking about her lighting design for her upcoming show, and it took a couple of calls to get across the severity of the situation.
‘He’s really not well. I don’t know what’s going to happen,’ I reiterated.
Jo caught the next train back home.
Time ticked on slowly while I held Morgan, gently stroked his head and tried to take control of my emotions. His eyes continued to dart and the top of his head to bubble. I was so worried for him. He looked so vulnerable.
It felt like eternity before I heard from Jenny, even though it was less than 20 minutes in reality.
‘Sorry, Pea, I had no phone signal. How is he? What do you need?’
Over the next hour I was able to calm myself and give Morgan homoeopathic remedies at 10-minute intervals as instructed. I also channelled Reiki healing energy. I was thankful that I’d trained to Master level. I could feel he was struggling. Although he wasn’t communicating his thoughts to me, instinctively I knew I needed to stay by his side with my hand touching him so he could feel my presence.
Then Jenny arrived and I was able to give Morgan the stronger remedies. She spoke sweet soft words to him and gently stroked his side. It was such a support having someone in the house who was calm and soothing. Very soon her partner, Tony, joined us too, loaded with varieties of mackerel.
I offered Morgan the mackerel, but he didn’t take it. He’d lost the use of his neck and his head was at a very acute angle to the left. I tried him with some coley, but he didn’t take that either. It was hard to see this, because food was always the one thing that could be guaranteed to get his interest.
Looking back, I feel those early hours of care were crucial. I kept a notepad to hand and wrote down every time I gave Morgan the remedies to make sure I wasn’t missing a dose. It was amazing how time would just slip by. Before we knew it, the next dose would be due. I continued to offer him the mackerel, too, and finally he took some from my hand. It was only a tiny amount, but it gave me hope.
Over the next four hours I felt he was making steady progress. He ate mackerel on and off, and started to look more relaxed. I could feel myself relaxing too. Morgan’s eyes were still very glazed over, but the feeling of confusion had lessened. With every glimmer of recovery, I had more hope that he was fighting his way back to me.
Remedies and care continued all afternoon and Jo made it home. Texas remained absent; maybe he knew it wasn’t a good time to come back.
A little later, Morgan’s eyes stopped flicking and finally came to rest.
In the early evening he tried to get off the sofa. His head was still strongly angled and he couldn’t stand by himself. Some dogs will allow you to support them with towels underneath their body, but not Morgan. We tried his soft fleece harness instead and he accepted this.
Thankfully, he was able to toilet. You might not think this counts for much, but we were delighted that this bodily function was working OK.
As it began to grow dark outside, Morgan was keen to go out of the front door. He had always been a very determined dog and once he’d made his mind up about something it was very hard to change it, so we opened the door and supported him over the threshold and through the creaky wooden gate. He marched off – insofar as you can march when you’re being held up by your bright yellow fluorescent harness and have little control over your direction – and made it three houses up the road before he was ready to go back. It was another cause for celebration. His inner routine was still there and would help him pull through. Most dogs love routine and Morgan was no exception.
Later that evening our friends headed home and Jo and I turned the sofa into a makeshift bed so we could do shifts and give Morgan round-the-clock care. I am convinced that animals know we are by their side supporting them even if they don’t outwardly show it. If we are able to be calm and positive when we’re with them, this energy can have a positive influence on their recovery.
Texas returned home and from his face it was obvious he knew Morgan wasn’t right. He kept his distance and an uncharacteristic low profile – no cries for food, no requests to be let out or back in, no waking us up, no demands at all. He virtually vanished into the shadows.
I took the first shift and lay on the sofa watching Morgan doze in his bed. I felt wiped out by the day’s emotion and found it a struggle to stay awake. Morgan’s breathing was heavy and erratic. He wasn’t settled. He was going on his own journey now. Only time would tell if he could get through this, if there would be lasting damage affecting his future or if, by some miracle, he could make it back to his former self.
By the time Jo took over at 5 a.m., I was feeling sick with tiredness. When I came back down about 9 a.m., I found Jo and Morgan cuddled together on the sofa. He’d had mainly quiet hours and no more dramas.
15 January 2009, Day 2: Custard Tarts
Our allopathic vet looks into Morgan’s eyes, gives him a general exam, concludes he’s had a stroke and prescribes some medicine. We discover it primarily contains omega-3 fats, which help provide fluidity to brain cell membranes, improving communication between the cells, and are essential for efficient brain function. The mackerel Morgan requested is also high in omega-3 and it is clear to me that he knew what he needed to make himself well again.
I break down in tears standing in front of the receptionist’s desk fumbling to pay the bill. Despite the fact that Morgan is now wobbling along with support, for some reason it has upset me to receive this concrete diagnosis.
At lunch I speak to our holistic vet again and he tweaks the prescription. Jo and I decide to leave the allopathic medicine in the drawer as back-up and continue with the homoeopathy instead. Morgan hasn’t reacted too well to mainstream medicine in the past and has seemed to do much better on something holistic. This is not to say we’d turn our back on allopathic medicine completely, as everything has a time and place and it can be brilliant for emergency treatment. But in this case we are looking at a dog who has already begun to recover and needs long-term support.
Morgan is still very tense in his neck and struggling to hold his head up. Physically, he is exhausted. I am wondering if there is anything else I can do to help him…
Our Spinone friend is quick to connect and tell me, ‘Give him a custard tart.’
Jo races off to the supermarket and stocks up. The tarts are the only food to pique Morgan’s interest; over the course of the day he accepts being hand fed three of them. The boost of egg and sugar will give him energy while his body is engaged in repairing itself.
We decide to make life more comfortable for him and place the double mattress from our guest room on the living-room floor along with a couple of covers and a soft duvet. Morgan happily sets up camp there and visibly relaxes. We help create a healing environment by keeping the lights low and the room warm and quiet. It is now possible to leave the room knowing that if Morgan wants to try to get up to follow us he won’t fall far or hurt himself.
Sometimes he is unsure where he is or what he’s doing, and when we call him he looks in the wrong direction. He is unable to close his right eye, so we bathe it with eyewashes to avoid it becoming dry and sore.
When I ask him, ‘Do you know what’s happened?’ he replies, ‘Explosion in my head.’
16 January, Day 3: Progress
Morgan manages to jump onto the sofa next to me. How did he do that? It’s remarkable what he can achieve even when his body is shattered. He also makes the decision to go to the kitchen in search of his food bowls, marching off like a puppet on strings. He uses the wall for support some of the way and we hold him up by his harness for the rest.
In the evening we watch as he staggers like a good drunk out onto the grass completely unaided – just as he wants it. My heart soars because I know he is determined to carry on.
17 January, Day 4: Panting Zombie
Morgan’s head is still at a very acute angle, but with the assistance of the wall he makes it all the way to the front door to greet Jenny and Tony, who have come to see how he is doing.
However, he is off his food and keeps waking up and panting excessively. Once his paws are on the cool green grass of the garden he’ll urinate for England and the panting will abruptly stop. His bowel movements aren’t good either and there is a moment outside when he is totally unaware of what he is doing. I guide him back by talking softly to him.
I think because he has been able to perform daily functions such as walking, toileting and eating so soon it has been easy to forget that the important recovery is taking place inside his head.
18 January, Day 5: Toxic Meltdown
Morgan wakes up stronger and more relaxed. But later he loses his appetite and his bodily functions go into meltdown with a long period of bright yellow diarrhoea. Is this toxins being released from the chemical reactions of the stroke?
He curls up tightly and squeezes himself into Texas’s rectangular burgundy bed, the one with the wording on the front: ‘Do Not Disturb’. He could not make it clearer.
Thankfully, by evening his tummy has settled and he is smiling from his own bed.
Then something wonderful happens – Texas starts to be vocal. For nearly five whole days he has acted completely against character and faded silently into the shadows. We take this as a very positive sign that everything is getting back to normal.
19 January, Day 6: Granny’s Funeral and a Ritz Biscuit
I have to leave Morgan. It is my granny’s funeral. I will attend by myself while Jo stays and cares for him.
I return feeling depressed, but a very simple thing changes my mood completely: on the evening walk Morgan pulls me by his lead in order to reach a discarded Ritz biscuit on the street. This small gesture of normality makes me laugh out loud.
20 January, Day 7: Morgan’s Return
Seven days after his stroke the clouded gaze lifts and Morgan returns, his eyes bright, sparkling with sunshine. I look into those chocolate-coloured depths and his soul essence looks lovingly back at me.
‘You’re back, sweetheart,’ I say.
His eyes smile.
Morgan now started to make great improvements every day. He could walk more by himself and began to eat without help. He still preferred to have us in his sight, but a lot of his day was taken up in sleeping, except in the afternoon when there was a daily release of toxins, with less each time and a quicker recovery.
He’d been receiving support through communication, healing, lit candles and positive thoughts, which I am sure helped him a lot, but I believe in the end it was his incredible determination that saw his return to us. He chose more life.
Up until his stroke Morgan had always been independent and happy to sleep downstairs in the living room at night. But afterwards Jo and I decided to move his bed to our room so if anything happened in the night we would be close and able to react quickly.
As time passed, Morgan began to be much more his old self. Jo and I drove him to the bottom of the road one day so he could walk round his local woods without the restriction of a lead. He was thrilled, wagged his tail the whole time and in fact walked us round. He was beaming with happiness. I feel some woods hold a kind of magic that can heal animals on a deeper level.
The following day, one hour before his usual walk time Morgan insisted that we go to the woods. I surrendered to his demand and we headed off at a steady pace for a boost of nature’s healing energy. I later realized it was the only time all day when the sun was shining.
On the walk back a dishevelled-looking old man shuffling along the pavement pointed to Morgan’s fluorescent harness and asked if he was in training.
Morgan stopped by a tree for a sniff and I answered, ‘No, it’s because he’s a bit wobbly.’
The stranger said, ‘He’s all right. God bless him. He’s all right. All the best to him. He won’t hear me, but all the best to him.’
‘He’ll hear you,’ I said, smiling, thinking If only you knew.
The man giggled, ‘All the best to him. He’s good as gold. He’s all right. Look, he’s wagging his tail.’
I looked at Morgan and he was wagging his tail.
‘All the best to him,’ the man repeated.
‘Thank you,’ I said, touched by his kindness.
‘All the best to you too. God bless you. God bless you both,’ he said.
Morgan and I continued home with the old man shuffling down the pavement behind us. As we were about to round the corner, I glanced back to wave goodbye, but he’d completely disappeared. I looked all around but he was nowhere to be seen. Within the space of 10 yards he’d completely vanished.
The stranger didn’t know that one of my stock phrases to Morgan was ‘you’re good as gold’. It felt as though he was a messenger giving me a sign that all was well.
Did he know Morgan could hear him?
The sky was blue and everywhere was quiet when Morgan made his prediction. He was lying in his tartan-patterned oval bed in the living room and I was sitting on the sofa opposite him.
‘Thank you so much for staying with me,’ I said, thinking back to when I felt he was drifting away from me.
He raised his head, looked directly into my eyes and in a matter-of-fact tone I heard him state: ‘Two years.’
I knew what he meant straightaway: he was telling me he planned on staying two more years and then his current lifetime would come to an end and he would let go.
Sometime later I told Jo that Morgan had given me his predicted lifetime and as I expected, she didn’t want to know. I respected her decision. Morgan and I would keep it our little secret.
Two more years, I thought to myself. Then we’d better make them the best two years ever.
Do animals know what lies ahead for them? In the next chapter, the guardian of BeBe Begonia, a 15-year-old black cat diagnosed with lymphoma and priapism, asked, ‘Does he know how sick he is?’ and ‘Does he want us to aid his death or does he want to go through the entire process on his own?’