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Heart to Heart
Incredible and heartwarming stories
from the woman who talks with animals
Heart to Heart
PEA HORSLEY
Copyright
HarperElement
An Imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk
First published by HarperElement 2010
© Pea Horsley 2010
Pea Horsley asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library
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Source ISBN: 9780007326600
Ebook Edition © DECEMBER 2012 ISBN 9780007516186
Version:2015-06-22
Dedication
This book is dedicated to Morgan, a pure-bred
mutt of questionable beagle heritage.
He changed my life.
Now he may change yours.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Foreword
Introduction
1. Intuition Ignited
2. Practice, Practice, Practice
3. The Texas Ranger
4. Finding Conviction
5. Opening the Door of Opportunity
6. Synchronicity Calls Again
7. Animals Have Souls
8. Malteser Musgo
9. Empowering Animals
10. Balance Matters
11. Lucy Goosey
12. The Well-Mannered Guest
13. Spanish Explorer Joey
14. Sabre-Toothed Stewart
15. ‘The Doggie Guide to Stardom’
16. Tracking ‘Miracle’ Alfie
17. King Curtis and Big Love
18. Love
Afterword
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Author’s Note
About the Publisher
Foreword
FOR AS LONG as I can remember I have wanted to work with animals. So when I stepped out of the Royal Veterinary College, London, in the dim and distant days of 1973, a qualified veterinary surgeon, I had already realized my life’s ambition. I had trained for five years, I had letters after my name and I thought I could cure every pet of every disease under the sun. Little did I know that the real learning process was only just beginning.
Within a few years I had become reasonably proficient at the mechanics of being a vet. I could carry out all but the most intricate operations efficiently and speedily, I could prescribe drugs, I could diagnose as well as anybody else. But I began to feel something was missing. There were patients that simply couldn’t be diagnosed, despite exhaustive investigations, there were patients for whom drugs had more damaging side-effects than benefits and there were patients that simply refused to respond to treatment that should have worked. It struck me that pets were not little machines that all behaved in the same way to the same treatment. They were living, breathing, sentient beings that sometimes went their own way.
It was at this point that I discovered the alternative world of therapies such as acupuncture, herbal medicine and homoeopathy – a world where the feelings, emotions and character of the patient were equally as important as their physical symptoms. At last I could treat my patients as whole beings rather than as collections of body parts. Within a few years I had closed my practice and opened a centre to treat pets with natural therapies only. Joining me at the centre were other pet therapists – an osteopath, a physiotherapist and a healer.
The healer, Charles Siddle, opened my eyes to a completely new aspect of animal treatment. He just seemed to ‘know’ what was wrong with pets. When I asked him how, he said, with a twinkle in his eye, ‘Oh, they just tell me.’
Around this time I went to a lecture given by the scientist Rupert Sheldrake about a book he had just written, Dogs That Know When Their Owners Are Coming Home. Rupert had undertaken months of painstaking work on this subject and proved beyond any reasonable doubt that some dogs really are telepathic and know, amongst other things, exactly when their owners are coming home.
So, if dogs are telepathic and can read our thoughts, why not the other way round? Why shouldn’t we be able to read the thoughts of animals and communicate with them?
My own journey of discovery about the treatment of animals from ‘veterinary mechanic’ to ‘holistic therapist’ has been endlessly fascinating. Pea Horsley’s journey in becoming an animal communicator, from doubting through training to believing to success, has followed the same pattern. This book details that journey. When you have finished it, you may not believe a man can fly, but you’ll certainly believe a woman can talk to a rabbit.
Richard Allport,
BVetMed, VetMFHom, MRCVS,
author of Natural Healthcare for Pets, Heal Your Dog theNatural Way and Heal Your Cat the Natural Way
Introduction
LET’S IMAGINE a world where we are born pure and innocent. A world where we are open to anything and everything. A world that is an adventure of discovery from the moment of waking to the moment of sleeping. This world is our world, the only difference is our age – we are babies. For us, everything is possible and the only limitations are those set by those around us, for our imagination is free and wild and we go wherever it takes us. As babies we are naturally telepathic, because we are communicating with life through our senses. How many times have you noticed a baby look wide-mouthed and smiling at a dog walking by wagging his tail? The baby can feel the dog’s happiness. If we smile at a baby, she smiles back. If we are upset, she looks concerned. If we are angry and shout, she cries. We don’t need to tell her verbally how we are feeling; she is using her senses to receive this information. We continue to use all our senses to understand our interactions until around about the age of seven. Animals continue to use their senses for non-verbal communication all their life.
I discovered animal communication existed for the first time in 2004. I also discovered it’s not a gift: everyone can communicate with animals. The only reason the entire human race isn’t doing it is because we have been conditioned not to. As we grow up we are taught to ignore our intuition about situations and people. We develop a belief system that is not our own. Our parents, grandparents, teachers and society condition us to trust in their beliefs, until finally we lose touch with our own intuition and rely on everyone else’s for guidance.
By tuning back into our own intuition, into our senses, we can open the doorway to inter-species communication. John Wheeler, the physicist, once said, ‘Everything must be based on a simple idea. Once we have finally discovered it, it will be so compelling, so beautiful, that we will say to one another, “Yes, how could it have been any different?”’ That’s how it is with animal communication – it’s a simple idea that is so compelling, so beautiful, that once discovered you’ll wonder how life could have been like anything other than this.
We’re not humanizing animals by listening to their thoughts, we’re enabling them to have a voice in a world where they struggle to be heard. We communicate with animals to understand them and to bring them comfort. As we do this, we continue to respect all species and their own laws of nature. This is essential to animals’ health and well-being.
Communication with animals is a deep, tender, intuitive and heartfelt method which can bring joy and end suffering. It can be a step towards a world where animals are seen as equals and treated with respect.
This is my gentle introduction to the subject of animal communication, told with the help of the animals with whom I shared my journey. It is my hope that you, too, will step out on this path and find that life is as surprising and exciting as it was when you were younger.
Empower yourself by venturing beyond the boundary of your own current experience, of what you have always believed to be true in your life, and prepare to join everyone who has contributed to placing this book in your hands on a wondrous journey of seeing animals in all their glory.
CHAPTER 1
Intuition Ignited
SITTING BOLT upright on my uncomfortable plastic chair, arms folded over my chest, legs crossed and no doubt a scowl on my face, I was wondering what on Earth was happening here. I didn’t believe a word of it. A rather dubious-looking man in casual jeans and a sweater was trying to tell me we could talk to animals!
At the time I was working as company stage manager at the Comedy Theatre in London’s West End on a play called The Old Masters directed by Harold Pinter. Working for 15 years in the theatre, sourcing props, calculating wages, organizing schedules, running dress rehearsals, looking after the company and making sure everything went smoothly, especially on press night, I considered myself a practical and sensible person, not airy-fairy like. Yet here I was sitting listening to Doctor Doolittle-type stories.
So how did I get here? Let me take you back to where it all started and I’ll explain. In the very beginning my journey began with cats.
All my life I have been a huge cat fanatic. As a young child I grew up with a cat called Pixie, a no-nonsense minute dynamo. Her beautiful swirls of caramel, coffee and chocolate fooled the unwary to believing she was gooey and soft, but in reality she was more Joanna Lumley in spurs. Her original owners, our neighbours, often left her alone whilst they went on holiday without arranging for her meals and care, and Pixie checked out my family while they were away and decided to adopt us. I remember my parents and the neighbours having a bit of a heated argument about it until finally my dad said, ‘Pixie should be allowed to make up her own mind where she wants to live.’ And she did. She immediately packed her bags and moved in with us. Not long after, her old family moved away. They didn’t even come by to say goodbye to her.
Pixie’s favourite sunbathing spot became the bed my mum made out of an old veggie box and some soft towels, positioned on the top shelf in the greenhouse. Years later, just before we buried her in our garden, my mum cut off a small piece of her fur, which I sellotaped into my ‘Favourite Things’ notebook, along with one of her whiskers. I was upset, but not distraught. Through her independent spirit and her fierce protection of her personal space, Pixie helped me to learn these qualities, and also, I feel, subconsciously, she taught me that we all have the right to be cared for and loved.
Then Winston, my second cat, entered my teenage life and promptly took it over. The first night he arrived home he draped his large butterscotch body over my lap and we fell madly and deeply in love. I was about 13 at the time and he was my first boyfriend. He was adopted from a rescue centre in Warwickshire, but he didn’t carry the marks of a mistreated cat, he was a laid-back kinda guy who gave off an air of Italian Romeo entwined with Mafia boss. I saw him a bit like a lion who was very comfortable in his own skin.
The hardest part about leaving home to attend Bristol Old Vic Theatre School was leaving Winston behind. He always knew when I was upset and would find me to offer affection and just be with me during my sadness. He’d also meet me from school, having an uncanny ability to know when to sit and wait for me at the top of the road. We developed a friendship where he was my comforter, my rock, and we grew so close, we had an unspoken understanding of one another, like an inner knowing.
As often as I could, I went home especially to see him and I thought about him all the time. When he began to lose weight and became sick, those trips back home were heartbreaking, for I never knew whether I would see him again. Then one day I received a call and my parents told me it was time to put him to sleep. Once I’d put the phone down I cried out loud in agonizing pain. It felt as if my stomach was being ripped out. When Winston passed over I was utterly heartbroken and it took a long time for the pain to subside. I was 29 before I was in a position to welcome a new cat into my life.
I never thought for a minute another cat would be able to touch my heart like Winston, but at that time I hadn’t met Texas. He captured my heart the moment he bolted out of his wired-fronted cage at London’s Battersea Dogs’ and Cats’ Home and rubbed his tiny six-month body slam-dunk against my legs. He was a miniature tiger with mellow gold, ginger and cream stripes, a soft pink nose, yellow-green eyes and gleaming ivory-white whiskers. He was stunning, really friendly and the sexiest cat I’d ever met – it was a done deal.
I now feel these cats were grooming me, teaching me and preparing me all my life for the moment when I would consciously realize humans and animals could communicate with one another using an intuitive language. But, to my surprise, it took a dog to make me understand inter-species communication was possible and that I could learn to talk to animals.
It all began for me when I adopted my first dog from the Mayhew Animal Home: an eight-year old scruffy mutt of questionable beagle heritage whom I named Morgan.
Morgan looks like an older version of one of the best-known trademarks in the world, ‘His Master’s Voice’ – a terrier with a cocked head listening intently to his master’s voice coming from a gramophone horn. He has a broken coat of both rough and smooth grungy white hair with velvet soft beagle chestnut ears that invite you to stroke them and a smooth chestnut facemask streaked with a terrier flash up between his eyes. His almond-shaped eyes with heavy black eyeliner, black playdough nose and thick black lips give him an almost clown-like appearance. Underneath his tummy hair he has Parson Russell terrier brown splodges and he has a thick mane of hair over his shoulders.
He was lying on the floor of the admin. offices when I first met him, cushioned by a thick duvet. I knelt down and he welcomed me by rolling onto his back and lifting up his paw, inviting me to stroke his chest. My partner Jo and I jointly decided he was ‘the one’ because he had such a gentle face. When I looked at him there was also another quality I couldn’t put my finger on, which seemed to melt my heart, making me feel safe to be in his company. Initially we were looking for a female springer spaniel, but when we spotted Morgan we fell in love with his face and felt it would be easier for an older dog to fit in with our work commitments and for us to meet his needs.
The truth is I was concerned about getting a dog. It was Jo’s idea, not mine. I was madly and deeply in love with Texas and concerned he’d be scared or angry if we brought another animal into the home. Texas liked being the centre of attention and my biggest fear was that he’d rehome himself. I also had a childhood fear. When I was a young girl, around nine or ten, I was chased off a farm by a pack of Jack Russells. I was terrified as they barked and ran after me, biting down on my ankles. This fear was multiplied when someone’s stocky Labrador was let off the lead and came charging over to me, barking aggressively.
This fear of dogs made it impossible for me to walk anywhere that dogs were free to roam. Where I lived in Stratford-on-Avon there was a short cut into town down a disused tramline. It was right next to the ‘rec’ and some people would walk their dogs along there. If I saw a dog coming towards me off the lead, fear would rise from my belly, my chest would feel as if it was caving in, making it hard to breathe, and tears would try to spring from my eyes. Of course, the dogs would sense my fear and that would make the whole situation worse because then they’d start to bark at me or raise their hackles and growl. I’d have no choice: I’d have to return the way I’d come then go the long route, my legs weak and quivering. Inviting a dog into the safety of my home was quite a large step for me.
Morgan arrived and the ceiling didn’t fall in. Though Texas was not impressed by our new choice of companion and ran away whenever he came close. And in the first few days of getting to know Morgan, he bit my nose. Well, that’s what I thought, and I burst into tears as the moment triggered all the years I had held on to my fear of dogs attacking me. It was a shock having a dog’s face and teeth right in my face. For a moment I thought, He’s going to have to go back. This isn’t going to work. Later, when I knew Morgan better, I realized he was just being affectionate. He hadn’t bit me, he’d just given me a friendly nibble. To this day Morgan has remembered that moment and occasionally, when he spontaneously goes to give my nose a nibble, he’ll suddenly stop himself and lower his head in shame. I still feel bad about this and say sorry for the way I reacted to him.
In those early days Morgan would lie in his bed and I would sit on the floor next to him giving him a gentle stroke. I didn’t know him and he didn’t know me, yet intuitively this felt the right thing to do. I wanted to comfort him. I had a hunch that he was sad but I put this down to the obvious reasons: he was in a strange place, with people he didn’t know, and he had no idea whether he was staying or whether this was just another temporary arrangement and he’d soon be carted off somewhere else.
But after the initial settling-in period rescued animals need, I became aware that Morgan’s sadness was not going away. He looked miserable lying in his brand-new luxury fleece bed and when we were out walking he’d bark obsessively at old men with walking sticks, whether they were near or far. I thought maybe I was doing something wrong. I knew cats, but I wasn’t an experienced dog owner. Or dog guardian, as I prefer to be called now.
When the Mayhew Animal Home e-mailed to say they were holding an animal communication workshop which would help me to get to know my animal even better, I knew I had to go along. I can’t really explain logically why I went; it was just a gut feeling. I had to go, even though I hadn’t looked into other ways of helping Morgan – I hadn’t called in a behaviourist and I would never have considered an animal healer in those days. I just didn’t think of or follow any other options.
So that is what brought me across a cold blue London, in the autumn of 2004, to sit in an uncomfortable plastic chair listening to Doctor Doolittle stories. When I imagined everyone else was having lazy Sunday lie-ins and croissants and getting their fix of The Archers.
Twenty people, mostly women, were sitting round in a large circle, with the teacher at the front of the room. He began to tell us how he’d found he could talk to animals. He said he’d realized he’d had this amazing magical power since he was a child, and as a teenager he’d often speak to horses and have conversations with them. What have I got myself into? I thought. He can talk to animals? No, that’s not right: no one can talk to animals, except Doctor Doolittle of course. Then he shared an emotional story of how his miraculous gift had helped a distraught animal and it wasn’t long before 19 people were crying.
And then there was me. Forgive me if I’m wrong, but isn’t this man telling us he actually speaks to animals, and, er, hears what they say back to him? It took all my will-power to stop myself from walking out. I was astonished, soaked head to foot in disbelief, yet everyone else seemed taken in. They must have been bewitched when they came in. Was I the only one who didn’t believe this con man?
By the time we’d reached lunchtime I was hungry and grumpy. I was even more sceptical than when I’d walked in at nine o’clock. The morning had been dominated by animal stories and a couple of ‘getting in touch with your senses’ exercises, but we hadn’t even glimpsed a cat or a dog, let alone talked to one.