I live a relatively hermitic existence. As an empath, I seem to require lots of “down time.” I have no pets, yet all of nature seems to command my love and compassion. Still, I sometimes long for animal friends in my life. This notion was affirmed upon my initiation into the realm of psychic pets.
Two years ago, my foray into pet communication began when I met Phyllis Galde, proprietress of Galde Press, Inc. Phyllis and her team produce metaphysical books, a paranormal reporting magazine FATE (www.fatemag.com), and an interspecies telepathic communication journal, Species Link (www.specieslinkjournal.com). This “First Lady of the Paranormal” maintains a magical home. Fairies and devas reside in an elemental garden. House and yard host a rollicking brood of rescue cats and dogs, six chickens named after ’50s starlets, and a slinky yellow Boa named Isis.
Then, something strange happened. I began to “hear” Ole’s thoughts. This “hearing” differed from reception of human transmissions: the dog’s ideas seemed more immediate, easier to discern. Ole “told me” to avoid the top of his head to keep his crown chakra open. Instead, I pet his ears, chest and shoulders. When I finally got the message and avoided the top of his head, he laid his head on my lap with great deliberation. Having established a link, he next invited me to do energy work on his left hip, strained earlier from stalking squirrels.
I was slightly abashed, not having recognized sooner that dogs can communicate knowingly. I reported this to Phyllis. She just smiled, already quite accustomed to interspecies communication with animals, plants and, more recently, water.
Phyllis’ partner and best friend, David Godwin, had been alive to witness my first telepathic communication with their smaller dog, Olga. One morning, Olga stared up at me through straggly honey blonde-and-silver strands of shaggy wet hair. I said to Olga, “Where have you been? You look scruffy.”
David chuckled quietly. “She likes to run through the neighbor’s sprinkler. They call her ‘Scruffy.'”
I was amazed: I realized it was Olga who had communicated her nickname and had David validate it. I wasn’t trying to be rude toward Olga — she’s so cute! This determined little dog had found a way to “explain” her bedraggled appearance.
I’m grateful for this connection with the “critters,” as Phyllis affectionately refers to her little family. Olga, I later learned, was named after Olga Prindle, Phyllis’ maternal grandmother. Ole was named after Ole Galde, Phyllis’ paternal grandfather. In classic Norsk tradition, Ole and Lena traveled together — golden retriever and black Labrador. Lena has since transitioned to the spirit world, and the entire household — animal and human — grieved.
In a more recent visit, Ole greeted me in true retriever form, shoe clenched in his teeth. He dropped his trophy, sat at my feet, leaned his head on me and began transmitting. What he told me was that he likes to sit upright, because having all four feet close together grounds him. I realized he was reminding me to ground myself. I tend to fly around in the high energy present in Phyllis’ home. When I reported Ole’s message to Phyllis, she just smiled, confirming that, “Yes, he’s a teacher.”
I’ve never taken a workshop or read books on animal communication; I’ve learned animal telepathy directly from a dog. Phyllis affirmed that, for some, that is the purest, most natural way to learn. I’ve always felt a connection to creatures and loved them, but now, I use telepathy at every opportunity. I speak to birds with my heart. I communicate with large fish in Chinese restaurant aquariums.
Thanks to Phyllis Galde’s unconditionally loving pets, I am forever changed in the way I view and relate to the different species on our beautiful Earth.
