The beauty of sharing a life with an animal comes with the guaranteed opportunity to share the beauty of the death experience, no matter what form it takes. With the ending of the physical relationship with your animal companion, you have the opportunity to open, widen, and deepen your telepathic skills in the spiritual arena, to communicate with them on another level, enriching your shared bond even further.
—Joan Fox, animal communicator
HOW YOU WILL KNOW
It’s vital to know and be sensitive to what animals feel about their own life and death process. If they are fighting to live, want to get well, and are willing to undergo potentially helpful treatments, then that’s the way to support them. Sometimes, animals who can’t even move without human assistance want to keep living and be of service to their human companions. The inspiration, love, and growth that animals and humans derive from each other cannot be measured.
It may be hard to know when to end treatment and let go. Your animal companions may not know either. They often wish to do what will make you feel better, even if it means continuing with painful or useless treatment. With the help of your veterinarian’s diagnosis, your own intuition, and direct communication with your animal friends about their feelings and wishes, the transition to death can be made easier. Although the loss of the animal’s physical presence is saddening, and we need to honor our grief and let our feelings flow, the connection with the animal as spirit helps to put the whole process into perspective.
Even if you understand animals easily, it can be difficult to know if and when it’s okay to assist them in their dying process using euthanasia. Your desire to have the animal live or your worry about their death may block clear communication.
Even if an animal companion asks to go in their own way and time, the situation may change. They might need help in leaving the body if they are suffering excessively. Ask them to let you know. Being so close to them, you can feel their wishes and interpret their signs. When you can allow yourself to breathe, connect to the Earth, and open your heart to what is truly best for all concerned, you will know what to do.
When they feel their bodies deteriorating, some animals say: “Let me go now. Help me along before I lose my dignity.” Sitting quietly with your animal friends, listening as best you can, making peace with them, going over the life you’ve had together, and being willing to let them go are the best things to do when it’s obvious that life can no longer be sustained. Many animals can then go quietly and happily. Even with the sadness of losing their physical presence, it’s possible to experience their joy in being a free spirit when the body dies. You can learn to maintain a spiritual connection and communication with your departed friends, which also helps to put the whole process in perspective. Elizabeth Severino tells about Bodie, a 14-year-old dog who clearly knew what he wanted:
Bodie was losing the ability to function. During our consultation he told us the integrity of his internal organs was failing, and he was losing mobility in his rear leg. He was quite clear that he would give several signs to his human companion: he would lose his appetite; he would experience loss of urinary and bowel control; he would emit a moaning sound, which would steadily increase; and his leg would fail completely. It would be clear at that time, he told us, that his “bad” days would be outnumbering his “good” days. He further advised us that he wanted all “pushing and prodding” to stop. He anticipated that the playing out of the body’s deterioration to the point of wanting assistance in leaving would take three to four weeks. Later, his human companion advised me that three weeks to the day, all of the signs became evident.
It’s natural to seek the best treatment you can to help restore an animal’s health. If you are also willing to view death as a natural, profound, and even beautiful part of life, it becomes easier for the animal to relax and either get well or leave peacefully. Accept your emotions as they come, but don’t put the burden on your animal friends to handle your feelings by requiring them to hang on to life. Listen to them and keep in touch with their spiritual nature. Understand their viewpoints, and let death, like life, be a growing process.
LESSONS IN LETTING GO
Learning to let go and surrender to the flow of life and death is an ongoing process that we experience in different ways during our time on Earth.
One woman had to release her lost dog as dead before she could allow the dog to come back into her life alive. Animal communicator Karen Anderson tells how she attempted to help the woman find her dog, Shadow, who had run away (Exerpt from the book Hear All Creatures!):
I connected telepathically with the dog, Shadow, who told me she was still alive, just upset and disoriented. She said she had gone south of her home, and even had an opportunity to go to other people, but she was too scared to approach them. Shadow relayed an image of herself hunkered down near an old truck close to a fence and a field.
The woman was on an emotional rollercoaster. She posted signs everywhere for Shadow and went door to door in the farming region, talking to anyone who would listen. She called me frequently over the next week to see if I had received any more clues from Shadow. She drove the back roads day after day, calling for Shadow. No one had seen her dog.
The woman contacted a psychic and asked whether Shadow was still alive. The psychic told her, “No, the dog died several days ago.” The psychic said the “Shadow” I was talking to was the spirit of Shadow, now feeling younger, happier, and loving life on the other side. The woman called me in tears, saying she now knew that Shadow was dead. She thanked me and said she was going to say good-bye to [Shadow] with a quiet ceremony at home. Emotionally spent, she resigned herself to the fact that her dog was dead.
A few days later, Shadow contacted me and told me that her human companion needed to learn how to let go. This was one of the lessons Shadow was here to teach her. Once she let go, Shadow would return. Shadow acknowledged that this lesson would be difficult and create intense emotional trauma, but it was necessary for the woman’s spiritual growth. Shadow again told me that she was still alive, just cold and hungry (it was November).
I felt compelled to deliver Shadow’s messages, even though the woman had told me her dog was dead. The woman said she had a ceremony the night before to say her final good-byes to her beloved Shadow. She thanked me again and said she felt better now that she had closure.
Several days later, I received an e-mail from her that said: “Shadow is alive and home!” A man saw one of the woman’s flyers and remembered he had seen Shadow hunkered down in some tall grass near a radio-controlled air strip about five miles south of her home. Shadow was shivering and extremely thin, but the vet said she was okay.
The universe had played out the events exactly as they needed to happen. Without the psychic telling the woman Shadow was dead, she might not have learned to fully let go.
Joan Fox discovered during the dying process of her dog, Bo, that it was her own pain that was unmanageable, not the dog’s pain. She explained, “Bo was mirroring to me that there were places within me that needed healing. It was my pain that needed to be ‘put down,’ not Bo.”
Sometimes animals develop life-threatening diseases and are near death, but then they make a surprising recovery. In other cases, an animal’s physical condition may be deteriorating badly, and they hold on in a debilitated state. Often, this is because their human guardians are not ready to let them go. The extra time to be with their animal friends is enough for everyone to honor the life they had together and come to terms with the release of death.
There may be profound lessons to be learned during the time before an animal departs. When animals have the opportunity to express their feelings—and humans have the opportunity to accept and face their own feelings of love, grief, pain, helplessness, and all the pleasure they have had in living with their departing animal friend—everyone can more easily come to release and peaceful closure.
It helps to look at what the animal has taught and given us before we can let go of the emotions that inhibit us from shifting into a heartfelt, open, relief-filled feeling of gratitude. This helps us let go and allows our animal friends to relax into dying with peace and love. Animal communicators, counselors, friends, animal guides, our animal companions themselves, and our own intuitive communication ability may all have a part in assisting our process of release.
LEAVING IN THEIR OWN TIME
Animals often give a clear indication they want to die or continue to live if you observe them with an open heart and mind, or just directly ask them.
Barbara Janelle tells of a thirty-year-old mare named Blue, who went down in her stall one evening. The horse’s guardian and veterinarian came. The mare looked to be at death’s door. The woman knelt down beside Blue and said, “Now, Blue, I need a clear signal. Do you want to die now?” Blue opened her eyes, looked at her guardian, and got to her feet. She lived for several more years.
Marta Guzmán learned a lot about surrendering to love from a cat she didn’t like.
I had an orange tabby cat named Petey, whom I adored. When Petey was five months old, I adopted Angela, a black and white short-haired cat. Petey loved Angela, but I felt at odds with her and kept her at a distance.
Years later, Angela was diagnosed with renal failure. I was surprised at my grief-stricken reaction to the news. I administered subcutaneous fluids for thirteen months, and Angela fared well with the treatment. Then her condition deteriorated severely. I called the vet to have her put down, but I canceled the appointment when Angela suddenly improved enormously.
I realized that Angela and I were no longer fighting each other, and I could finally open my heart and listen to what she wanted, which was to go in her own time. We had a loving three weeks together, during which she grew weaker each day. One day when I returned from a meeting, I found her at rest [near] her bed. We had made peace at the end. I realized that Angela had taught me so much about giving in to love, and I was grateful.
Doris had been advised by her friends and the vet to put her cat, Poppy, to sleep. Poppy could not function without Doris feeding her by hand and manually helping her eliminate bodily wastes. When I talked to Poppy, she told me she wanted to go in her own way and not be euthanized. She felt okay about Doris’s ministrations because Doris did not consider it a burden and treated her with dignity.
Poppy left her body peacefully one day while Doris was away. She told us afterwards that she didn’t want Doris to worry about her, so Poppy chose to die when Doris wasn’t home. Poppy described meeting other beings who had died before her, including Doris’s relatives and other animal companions, and a whole group of beings who were Poppy’s friends. Doris told me how her mother, who was long dead, had communicated in a dream that she would be there for Poppy.
These spiritual connections and revelations added a sacred perspective and much peace for Doris. You may find that similar experiences lighten your path when your animal dies, even if you have no previous belief or experience in spiritual phenomena. Being open to these possibilities can add to feeling peaceful and connected to others.
Sherri’s old horse, Mamba, was dying of cancer despite surgeries and herbal and homeopathic treatments. It was becoming hard for her to eat or move. Sherri and Mamba had made their peace, and both agreed it was the right time for the vet to come and assist her departure.
Mamba was popular with the people at the stables and asked to say good-bye. Sherri arranged for Mamba’s friends to come to a going away party for her, and she wanted to know if Mamba desired anything special for the party. In her communication with me, Mamba pictured herself wearing a party hat and eating carrot cake. Sherri laughed, because Mamba had worn a hat and eaten carrot cake at previous birthday parties.
It was a wonderful party, with tears and warmth and joy shared for Mamba’s good life. The next day, when the vet came, Mamba was ready and lay down to accept the injection. She left with peace and dignity, in the style she had lived. Sherri felt relieved and happy for her horse, instead of guilty and burdened.
Neil Jarrell had a special love for his cat, Raku. When Raku started losing her sense of balance, the veterinarian diagnosed the cat’s illness as terminal and offered to put her down, which was devastating for Neil. He tells what happened.
I consulted animal communicator Val Heart, who assured me that Raku said it was not yet her time. The spring season was so rich, and she wanted to stay outside as long as she could. Raku didn’t understand my hectic behavior and invited me to experience some “power spots” she loved to position herself over in the backyard.
I spent time with Raku lying in the grass, trying to slow my urges to jump up and get back to work or get away from the bugs, or solve a mental problem. Raku was trying to teach me to just “be.”
During my emotional ordeal, I checked with Val a few times—one time about putting Raku to sleep. Raku’s response was to thank me for my concern, but she didn’t want to be put to sleep. She wanted the natural experience of this life transition. She said if the pain became too great, she would give a sign. Raku also told me, through Val, that she loved me very much, she was going on to a better place, and that the spirit continues. One afternoon, while out of my sight, Raku slipped away. I realized how much I had learned from my teacher, Raku, and how much humanity could learn if we would just listen to other species.
Catherine’s dachshund, Julia, was severely injured with severed spinal discs, but she didn’t want to die. She persisted with high spirits, though it took one year for her to walk again. Twice previously when she had slipped discs, the vet had advised euthanasia, but that was not Julia’s way.
Loving and affectionate, Julia pictured to me life after life in many forms, including human, where she had served others despite physical suffering, always going beyond it. The lessons she wanted to share by example were that suffering is a way of thinking and that physical pain doesn’t have to stop a being from serving and loving. What a joy to meet such a humble, beautiful, advanced being.
You may not be able to receive the full depth of communication if you are just beginning to practice animal communication. However, knowing that your animal friends have profound wisdom to share opens you to the possibility of discovering more of what they have to give.
Joan Fox tells this beautiful story of her animal friend orchestrating his departure and the amazing responses of the other animals:
Bo and Annie, our eleven-year-old littermate Lhasa-poos, were our constant companions. As family members, they were included in hikes and on camping trips. Annie continued to be forever spunky, but Bo started to slow down considerably. A vet check confirmed my telepathic scan. Bo had multiple tumors and was suffering from congestive heart failure. With great sadness, I asked Bo how I could make him more comfortable. Was he in pain? Did he want surgery or need medication? And the dreaded question: Did he want to be eased out of his misery? I told him we would do whatever he asked.
Bo, always a “man” of few words, responded gruffly, “I’m not going to the vet. I’ll take care of it.”
I continued to snuggle him on my lap every day, while retelling and reliving old memories and escapades. At that point, I could actually laugh about the time I came home from work to find that he and Annie, our two-year-old puppies, had literally unraveled an entire hallway of new carpet!
As his breathing became more and more labored, the agony of watching him gasp for breath gripped every cell of my body. When I revisited the old question, he always responded firmly, “I AM NOT going to the vet!”
A few weeks later, my former husband, Joe, and I were home from work on Friday [for] a holiday weekend. I looked at Bo and said, “Bo, I can’t take watching you suffer anymore. You are going to have to help me out. My heart is breaking. I’m calling the vet and taking you in.”
This time he didn’t respond telepathically. He just walked over and licked my leg. I knew he had resigned himself to the inevitable. True to animal conduct, he had honored my wish with unconditional love. I called the vet at 9:00 AM, but because it was a holiday, she was out of town. I was informed that the doctor on call could not see Bo until 3:00 PM.
Standing in the doorway to the patio, I crumpled in sobs. Bo gathered his strength, licked my face, and then ambled outside and lay down under the glass patio table. The next few hours would be forever burned in my memory.
Bo was under the table, and I was seated in the doorway, when Fergie, our huge gray and white cat appeared. We had always thought she was mute. She had no fear of Bo and seemingly no previous interest in him. To her, he was just an annoyance she occasionally had to chase from my lap.
She stepped out of the open door, planted herself next to me, threw her head back, and yowled for thirty minutes without interruption. Hearing Fergie’s voice for the first time, all five of our other animal companions quickly gathered. Each one knew Bo’s hours were numbered, and Fergie was clearly delivering his eulogy. She performed royally, naming all of the things that she admired about Bo. She started with how amazed she was that in the 110-degree heat of Phoenix, Arizona, he would stumble out of the dog door and lie in the hottest part of the yard to soak up the sun. She said he was handsome and that she especially liked his coloring (the same as hers). Fergie voiced her appreciation to Bo for the respect he displayed, always leaving her to her own space and never chasing her. More than anything, she was happy he had never attempted to sit in my lap while I was at the computer. That space was reserved for her. When she had gleaned every last attribute of Bo’s from her memory, she quietly curled up on my lap.
With this opening, Grandmother Squeaker, our orange tabby, leaped onto the patio table and peered at Bo through the heavy glass. Ever the “Being of Compassion,” she thanked him for his years of loyal service to the family and surrounded him in loving light, blessing him on his journey.
Cheeto and Twiggy, our two feral kittens, inched through the doorway side by side, securely attached to each other at the hip, keeping a safe distance from Bo. He had terrorized them from the moment they were first brought into our family. Because of their highly sensitive feral wiring, they had been easy targets to intimidate. Cheeto and Twiggy sat silently for a couple of minutes, until Twiggy said, “If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.” They paid their respects with their presence and then darted back to the bedroom to hide.
Annie, Bo’s littermate, sat speechless, gazing at him lovingly with huge, sad eyes.
We spent the next few hours telling Bo how much he was loved and treasured. Whenever I got up to move, Bo would struggle to his feet and follow me. Then a glance at the clock informed me it was time. As I combed my hair, I watched the reflection in the mirror and saw that Bo had turned around and left the bedroom. I knew it was the last time I would see him walk away. I dropped the brush and followed him. He lay on his side in the hallway. I called to Joe, and we lay down next to him on the floor. Annie lay with her head on her paws nearby. Bo gazed lovingly into our eyes, took three deep breaths, and passed. Annie immediately stood up and with resolve walked over, licked his face, turned and left. Without looking back she said, “Wow! Way to go, Bo!”
I now understand that Bo chose that particular day to leave because he knew we would be home. He let go of his tired, old body with his family around him. At the time, we were devastated by the loss of his physical presence, but we felt incredibly blessed that we had all been together to say good-bye. Bo’s transition was his final gift to us.
WHEN THE BODY HANGS ON
Life on Earth can be seen as a huge recycling center. Species help each other live and die, and then live again in a continuous cycle of exchanging energy through our bodies. The same holds true on the spiritual level. We take on a form and live the life purpose we have chosen with varying degrees of consciousness, hopefully to the fullest. We let go and leave, spend time in other realms for varying intervals, and often return to the physical again in one form or another.
Some beings are ready for death, but their bodies won’t let them go. The message “survive” is encoded in every cell. Bodies may not break down enough to let the residing spirit go peacefully. Sometimes, when the spirit has left the body or the veterinarian has delivered the fatal injection, even with the animal’s permission, the body jerks and struggles to carry on cellular functioning. This can be disconcerting for people to watch, especially when they feel uncertain about assisting an animal in departing the Earth.
George, a senior cat, requested that he be given no more medication or forced feeding when he was too weak to eat. He wanted to be with his human companions for the last few days of his life. He asked me to assure them he was okay and that he had no pain as long as he didn’t have to move much. He wanted to go on his own, which he felt would be soon.
His human companions spent much time with George, and both of them felt willing to let him go after telling him how much they loved and appreciated him. Four days later, he was much weaker but still alive. Everyone was amazed, but bodies sometimes work that way. His human companions asked him if the doctor could help ease his transition. George thought it over and said that as long as he didn’t have to be moved, it would be okay. The veterinarian came to the house, and George had a peaceful departure.
Pamela called me when her aged horse, Chaco, was in extreme pain and scheduled for euthanasia. She wanted to make sure Chaco was okay about it. Chaco communicated that her body was no longer useful. She could not move because the pain in her feet was so intense, and she wanted assistance in departing. Pamela wrote to me:
Chaco was put down within fifteen minutes of our call. This morning, as my dog and I were walking on the beach, I felt her presence. We were riding in the wind, once again—she snorting and with me petting her neck as her mane blew in my face. It was good.
MYSTICAL PREPARATION
We may also have precognitive dreams, visions, or mystical experiences that help us prepare for and move through the death of our animals. Animal communicator Cathy Malkin-Currea had an uncanny experience that prevented her dog’s “accidental” death and helped her prepare for his later departure.
One afternoon, my keeshond KC (short for Kite Chaser) was eager to get across the street to play with his dog friend, Dakota. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a white car circling the neighborhood. The driver appeared to be looking at houses for sale.
As KC moved towards the road, a “movie” began to play out in my mind’s eye: I saw the white car drive by and hit KC. Then I saw KC lying dead in the road, and I gave a blood curdling scream.
At that moment, KC was actually in the road. When I screamed, he turned instantly and ran back towards me. Only the tips of his hair had touched the car. Both relieved and upset, I felt that if I hadn’t seen the imagined “movie” and screamed, KC would have died right before my eyes.
Later that afternoon, after returning from a neighbor’s house, I found a large, dead dragonfly on my front doorstep in remarkably perfect condition. I felt the dragonfly was an omen, and I gently picked up its body and took it inside. I sensed the dragonfly held some deep significance related to the day’s events, but I didn’t understand how until weeks later.
I told Penelope about the vision that had foreshadowed KC’s death and the appearance of the dragonfly, which I felt was more than a coincidence. Penelope explained it further to me.
“The apparent solidity of the physical reality we live in is an illusion. We actually live within a grid of multiple realities, which are happening simultaneously. Many times we are not aware of the different realities or dimensions until they intersect with one another. How a person reacts to the events going on in the moment influences how things will play out. Your scream shifted reality in that split instant, and KC was able to stay in physical reality. The dragonfly volunteered to die for KC so he could live longer.”
Months later KC began showing signs of not feeling well. The vet proclaimed, “Your dog has a tumor wrapped around his aorta. He has cancer. There’s a good chance he’s dying.” The vet said KC could undergo an operation but his chances were not good because of the location of the tumor. Chemotherapy and radiation were not an option for the same reason. In the meantime, because the tumor was cutting off the blood circulation from his heart, his lungs quickly filled up with fluid.
The thought of losing my animal friend horrified me. We had KC’s lungs tapped to remove the excess fluid. The vet predicted the fluid would return, and warned me that the faster it returned, the worse it would be for KC. My husband, George, and I scrambled to find out what alternative therapies were available that could help. KC’s time on Earth was running out.
We spent as much time with KC as possible, taking quiet walks and being with him in his favorite places. The day we decided to euthanize him, because he was drowning from the fluid in his lungs, was the saddest, hardest day of my life. KC resisted and tried to run out of the room. I held him tightly in my arms and told him I loved him, and then his spirit released from his body.
Despite the time to prepare, the emotional loss was devastating. For three months I couldn’t tell people about KC’s passing because I was in shock and it hurt so much not having him by my side. KC and I had been so intertwined for nine years that I had to figure out who I was without him.
A few months after his crossing, KC sent us two adorable kittens. I was grateful they were able to help me with my grief. A year later, Kobe Bear, another keeshond, came to us. I felt that Kobe was also a special gift from KC.
I kept the dragonfly, grateful that he had given me a few more months to prepare for KC’s departure.
The circumstances surrounding an animal’s death can be complex, filled with meaning and offering much to learn. By cultivating our intuitive sensing, we can learn how to glean rich realizations about the journey with our animal friends that can assist us in our evolution, even unto death. Ask your animal friends for signs of connection and be open to signs that come in surprising ways, as illustrated in the next story.
Another animal, who was also named KC, gave her human companions, Morgine and Jerry Jurdan, a sign and a spiritual gift as she left the Earth. Her departure was filled with bliss for Morgine and Jerry. Morgine tells the story:
We took our nineteen-year-old cat, KC, to the vet’s office when she was ready to pass and asked for assistance. A year and a half previous to this, we had been told her thyroid needed radiation and her kidneys were failing. KC told us she wanted no veterinary treatment. We did gentle healing work, and she continued to live a happy and peaceful life during that time.
At Donna’s veterinary office, we laid out a big red towel, lit red heart candles, and put out some red berries and a big red bow from a Christmas wreath, making an altar just as KC had requested. We played the songs she wanted. Donna found KC’s thyroid enlarged and her kidneys extremely tender. KC was beginning to experience severe pain, and she wanted help in leaving.
First, Donna gave KC an anesthetic to help her relax. Jerry stepped outside to be in nature for a moment. I held KC in my arms. As Donna was giving the anesthetic, we began to hear KC shout for joy as she left her body. “I’m free! I feel so good!” She kept communicating how good it felt to be out of her body. Donna and I smiled.
As KC was leaving her body, Jerry saw a circular rainbow in the sky. A moment later, a long-haired black cat named Aisha came out of the bushes meowing and ushered Jerry back inside. With the final injection, I felt that KC was no longer in her body, but the room was filled with her spirit. I did not miss KC in that moment because I felt her presence all around me and knew she would be with us always.