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A portly white whippet, content to be in his golden years.    I met him live, and some time later we sat for a remote pet reading.

Not a typical reading.  It stood out for a variety of reasons, not least because he turned down my offer of a healing.   Elderly he was, and stiff with arthritis and cancer but these things were an aside to him, a trifle.   “No, thank you”, he told me,  “I don’t need a healing.”

I’d set out to follow my basic protocol.  I start a reading by putting the animal’s energies into a rose, then looking at it.   It’s a way to look at his physical, emotional and spiritual state in the present, without jumping into his space.

Typically a whole flower comes up on the screen in my head, then I begin the reading by looking at the stem.  This time I saw a stem but there was something .  .  .  .  that’s not .  .  .  .  what the–?    There, at the end of the stem, was the dog’s head.  He was looking right at me, and he was having none of it:  “Katie, you don’t need to look at a flower”, and that was that.   I was no longer in charge; from there out he rode that horse and I scampered along, trying to keep up.

It was  a gift to me, because the whippet knew what was what and who was not living up to her potential and I soon became a subject of the reading.   At issue was creativity in my work but he was generous with his diagnoses and had no bias, so he played me against his human.  He found her wanting in her private life.

This dog and I had never met.  How did he know I was in a rut as a healer?   Because I was in a rut; I had just had a conversation with a friend who told me my protocol was very effective, but a little stiff.  “Your work was more interesting when you didn’t follow the rules,” she told me.

On the other hand, as an animal communicator I dabble daily in the impossible.  Given that, why wouldn’t the whippet know I was in a rut?

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