Author: joaniemorrison

A perk of living and working in southern California, was spending most Sunday afternoons with friends at the Del Mar race track.  On this particular afternoon, I was invited to stand in the owners paddock to watch as the horses were mounted and led out onto the track. As I took in the beauty and power of each horse ready to run, I noticed a small unassuming filly in the mix. She looked half the size of the other horses, almost pony like. I turned my attention back to the rest of the field when I heard her speak up.   ” Pick me! Pick me! ” I turned toward her as she cocked her head in my direction. ” Pick Me, I WILL WIN this race! Pick Me!” She repeated adamantly. I questioned her silently,    ” Oh you’ll win will you?” ” YES! Pick me” she repeated as she was led out onto the track.

I excused myself from my friends to place a small bet. I was asked why in the world I would “waste my money” considering her size, but something told me she knew.  And do you know what? That filly won the race!

How did she know? And why was she trying so hard to get her point across? Perhaps the filly was reading the thoughts of the spectators. After all, she didn’t look the part. Was it the doubt she picked up on that drove her to win?

This story reminds me of the little engine that could. It just goes to show you how powerful your thoughts are.

Tuesday, our hound dog, loves to fetch. Let me rephrase that. She incessantly wants to fetch day and night. A ball, a toy, a stick, a rock. You name it, if this dog can get her mouth on it and bring it to you, she will. At first this game of hers seemed to be quite endearing, but four years later it has become a bit much. She eagerly waits for the words she knows … Go, Walk, Feed the horses. All these are cues to go outside and with that the opportunity to play. She also knows the routine of each day. Upon returning from taking my kids to school, I will always find her waiting for me at the back door, toy in mouth, ready to go on our daily walk.

Tuesday’s “toy” of choice over the years has became a rock. Despite the endless balls and toys to replace this rather bad choice, you’d find her digging up just the right rock and brining it to us to throw. Recently I invested in an ingenious rubberized “rock” toy that has become her favorite. She has four of them in a variety of neon colors. These gems are affectionately called her “babies.”

Since Tuesday was so good at verbal cues, I decided to take it one step further. Lets see how much she was “listening.” One day while doing the dishes, Tuesday and her other dog friends were hanging in the kitchen looking for possible hand outs. I just envisioned her neon pink rock and sent the thought, ” get your baby.” I gave her no verbal cues nor did I gesture in any direction. As a matter of fact, I didn’t even know where her “pink baby” was. I continued about my chore watching Tuesday out of the corner of my eye.  All of a sudden she jumped into action as if I had said aloud ” go find your baby!” I was amazed. She frantically ran from one end of the house to the other, nose to floor searching. She stood on her hind legs, looked on counters, ran under tables, came back to me as if to say ” do you have it?” Still not uttering a word, I let her continue to look until finally to my amazement she found it and excitedly brought it to me. Of course, I then had to go out and play with her. That was incredible.

The great part of having a menagerie is watching the dynamics between animals. During a recent walk on the farm, my horse Max inquired about this game he had witnessed so often. He watched as I repeatedly lobbed Tuesday’s neon green baby into a nearby field with interest. When the “baby” bounded into his field he decided it was time to play also. He trotted over to where the toy lay and gave it a good sniff. Tuesday, having missed which direction I threw it in, was busy trying to track it down in the opposite field. Max was quite pleased with himself for finding it first. I told Max to pick it up and when he wasn’t sure, I did it for him. But as soon as I did, he plucked it right out of my hands and proudly walked around with it for all to see. Apparently fetch isn’t just for dogs.

The unthinkable had happened, Swimmy had jumped from her tank.

Just a couple of weeks prior, our family had gone on our annual ski vacation to Utah. Our farm menagerie, usually cared for by a pet sitter was this time divvied up among several parties. Two dogs and a cat went for boarding at the vet, one dog to my parents, and someone came onto the farm to care for the horses. This left our two eight year old goldfish fending for themselves. Extensive research went into the best way to “care” for them while being away. As a kid, I remember my parents plopping in weekend feeders to our fish. This gave off a “slow release” of food whenever we needed to go away. However when exploring this option, I found that is was not feasible for goldfish as too much food may get released all at once killing them. I had spent eight years keeping these goldfish alive, I wasn’t about to lose them that easily. A ” fish expert” at the local pet store told me my best option was to feed the fish very well the day we left and the day we returned and all would be well. This seemed like the very best option as we were only going to be gone a total of four days. My well fed, very spoiled fish would only miss two meals.

Upon entering the house fresh from our vacation, the smell is what hit us first. As I approached the fish tank to eagerly feed my aquatic friends, I noticed only Swimmy circling wildly. Where was Bobby? I dashed to the other side of the counter and quickly found the source of the smell. Bobby lay motionless, stuck to the floor. My first thought was that our cat Oscar had scooped him out of the tank until I remembered that he was a the vet. Bobby had apparently jumped. I was heartbroken. The kids, well, considering, this was THEIR fish, took the news in stride.

Swimmy had lived her entire life with Bobby and now you could see the obvious sadness his absence brought. She no longer chose to swim around happily, but instead hung in a corner. This went on for a couple of weeks. One day when returning from a morning ride I found her tank empty. I ran to the other side of  counter where there lay Swimmy motionless. I cried out loud. I picked up her limp body. She showed no signs of life. The fall would have been over four feet with an impact to a tile floor.  Her eyes were sunken in and there was no sign of breath. Through tears I started chest compressions begging her to come back! Nothing. I placed her back into the tank and watched her lifeless body float to the top. I reached into the tank and worked her body back and forth, trying to get water through her gills. I felt her squirm in my hand! And then in true miracle fashion she swam away.

Swimmy will celebrate her 10th birthday with us in July.  ( And yes, her tank now sports a top )

There is no doubt I was meant to be the mother of boys. This was never so apparent as when my youngest son Luke came running in, tears streaming down his face, pleading with me to help him save a snake. Through broken sobs Luke explained that a black snake had found it’s way into one of my husbands fishing nets at our barn and had gotten trapped. Luke had “tried” to free it, but the more the snake tried to wriggle free, the more it got stuck.

Not one to shy away from these things, luckily for this snake, off I went to investigate. Sure enough I found a rather large black snake stuck in a fine mesh fishing net. As I picked up the net, the snake fell limp. Luke cried harder wailing ” I killed it!” Upon further inspection it looked as if the snake was taking a few agonal breaths. There was still a chance to save him! Instructing Luke to go to the house to get a pair of scissors I quickly hashed out a plan.

The net was indeed imbedded into the skin of the snake making it near impossible to cut, so I started off slowly. I meticulously cut each strand, freeing each layer piece by piece. The snake continued to lay limp in the net and more than once I considered our rescue mission too late. Twenty minutes into my procedure, a flip of his tail encouraged me to keep going. Soon I had the lower half of his body free and I could see that there was indeed life to our slithery friend.

Thirty minutes into my operation, I was able to free his head enough for him to flip over from his “dead position” to one of looking right at me.  Throughout our time together, I had continued to tell him to “hang on” that I was going to save him.  He now looked at me with so much gratitude. Never indicating fear or distrust, but only one of understanding as he continued to watch as I went about freeing the middle part of his body.

FINALLY, he was free! His body bore scars from where the net was deeply imbedded, but he otherwise looked fine. After I pulled him free I allowed him to slither to the wall in the barn to recover. Luke and I sat admiring at how beautiful he was and we were both filled with so much gratitude for being able to save him. He then allowed us to pick him up and just hold him. He never offered to strike or to get away, but instead responded to our touch as if he was our pet. We then allowed him to slide back into his habitat sans the net.

A day later I found my snake friend waiting for me outside our pool deck. The scars easily recognizable on his back. He had come back to show me he was just fine and to thank me one last time.

“Mom! HELP!” the cries of my teenage son Sam came lofting down from his upstairs bedroom. Busily trying to get three boys out the door for school, I stop, call back up to him and ask what was wrong. “Quick, I NEED you!” he replies. At age 15, the only time Sam “needs” his Mom is when he is really sick or he is hungry, so I stop what I am doing to check it out.  Upon first inspection I see no visible signs of distress. Sam is dressed for school, there is no blood, and all his limbs seem to be in working order.
“There!” he points with shaky fingers as he jumps behind me. I squint into his mood lit teenage bedroom. “Uh, what am I looking at?” A huge sigh is released from his lips as he dances nervously around me. “That GIGANTIC spider!” “Kill it!” I hear my husband and oldest son yell in unison.

But my family knows better. I am a spider whisperer. I quickly retrieve two cups and round up the palm sized spider and carefully release him on our farm. My husband starts in on the lecture on how it will just find it’s way back in the house and bite us in the night, but I just smile, thankful, that I saved another one from the wrath of my family.

Our horse farm hosts quite a variety of spiders. Two beautiful banana spiders the size of a mans hand ( now That’s big! ) had taken up residence at our front gate along with it’s egg sack. The female resided on the left side of the gate, the male on the right. Their beautiful webs, Several feet long with their complex zigzag patterns, had occupied the ever growing weeds at our farm’s front entrance for close to two months. Each day as I entered the farm I would stop to appreciate the spiders, knowing that soon, I was to weed the area around them and was concerned about pulling down their webs.

Finally the day arrived to tackle the weeds. Although the task at hand was daunting, I was more concerned about pulling down webs, especially since there was an egg sack involved. However, to my surprise I found that not one, but both spiders had moved their webs in the night to the far right side of the gate, just out of reach of my impending work. NO WAY. I had communicated my intentions and these spiders had picked up on it to insure their safety. I spent the better part of two hours, weeding, raking and cleaning the planters as my eight legged friends watched on. The left side of the male’s web was interconnected to one weed that had to go. Now what. I pulled the weed gently and watched the web fold and billow in the wind. Never moving the spider kept his eyes, all eight of them, on me. I then carefully replanted the weed deep into the dirt to help regain the tension in the web. Satisfied with the reconstruction, the spider turned his attention to more important things, like the lunch that had just arrived. What makes this story even MORE remarkable … a day after the spiders had moved their webs for me to clean, they moved them right back to where they had been living for two months prior.

Finally, a few moments to call my own, or so I thought. The plan started off simple enough. Drop the kids off for school, scoot home, grab up the horses, enjoy a quick ride and then back to town by noon to juggle an afternoon of impossible chores.

Of course, my horses had other plans. Purposely waiting to feed them until I got home, I found them standing hungrily at the gate. I knew this to be a sure fire strategy in catching them on our large 43 acre farm. I also knew these two horses “always” read my mind. Trying to clear my “thoughts” of happily riding, I pretended to go through the motions of feeding. I was greeted with happy nickers until they caught sight of the lead ropes dangling over my shoulder. Max looked at Boston, Boston looked at Max and off they thundered. My audible sigh cut the air as I marched across our farm to another pasture in which they now resided. Now trudging through knee high grass, my thoughts turned to watching for snakes. “Oh great!” I JUST realized my thoughts most likely summoned a slithery friend. Scratch that, no snakes.

The two outlaws stood huddled beneath trees on the 43rd acre of the farm. As I reached them, they dropped their heads in shame. As I began to navigate over fallen branches and taller grass, now thinking  I had even less time to “enjoy” my rides, the boys turned on their heals once again and off they went. You have got to be kidding me. So easily I could have called it a day, but I was determined to catch them. Frustrated, I set off in the tall grass, my jeans and shoes soaked from the morning dew. After what seemed like an infinite amount of time, the horses finally “gave up” sheepishly nudging each other over their antics. Glancing at the time I realize the horses breakfast will now have to wait until after the rides. I quickly groom. tack up Max and head out to a nearby field to ride. I am exhausted and by the looks of Max’s sweaty coat, he is too.

And then something amazing happens. Everything falls away as the two of us become one. I relax and so does he. I take in the beauty of day, the endless butterflies playing in the field, my corgi Banjo supervising in the shade of a nearby oak, and the encouraging whinnies coming from the barn. It’s no longer about what can be accomplished in our ride, but just enjoying the moment. The stark contrast from just moments before seemed to lull Max into a gentler state, not one of defiance. He eagerly goes about his job, happy to receive my praises. Our ride ends with pats and horses cookies, two of his favorites. My other horse Boston now looking on with new enthusiasm as the mind he is now “reading” is a different one.

Many years ago, my husband Chris and I would acquire the occasional horse through a neighbor who would take thoroughbred’s off the track to give them a second chance at a new career. We were always on the lookout for our next hunter/jumper prospect, so this gave us a nice pool of horses to pick from. Having been called to see a new arrival, we excitedly set out to see a new possible prospect.

Now upon first inspection of this thoroughbred, not much attracted us to him. Although he fit our first prerequisite of height, his body was very slight in size. Being a plain brown chestnut with not an ounce of white didn’t help either. To make matters worse, he was already 7 years old with only a small amount of race horse training to his name.
We were about to say no, when we decided to see how he moved and we were floored by what we saw. This horse moved straight from his shoulder in a perfect daisy cutter trot every bit as good as the VERY top hunters in the country. Thinking that his canter couldn’t have possibly been as good as the trot, we watched in amazement as this horse continued to impress us.
Chris and I decided that we could overcome the rest of the obstacles and bought him immediately. Because we had so much vision for this horse, he earned the name  Hollywood and became our next new project.
Hollywood learned quickly. His movement was to die for and once we became comfortable with his flat work, we quickly moved on to jumping.
This turned out to be Hollywood’s forte. He was extremely athletic and very willing. His training went swiftly and before we knew it, he was jumping 3’9. Now it was time to market him.
Hollywood, who became happy as our horse and wanted apparently only our home, took to pushing perspective buyers away.
I had seen this often with horses. If they didn’t like you, they would find a way, anyway, not to be bought. I’ve seen horses that are one hundred percent sound, fake their way into lameness for vet checks, or horses that were already vetted and paid for, purposely hurting themselves the day before they were to leave.
Don’t be fooled. Horses ALWAYS pick their owners.
We would watch, as Hollywood would instantly “read” the person coming to look at him and then adjust himself in a way to insure his home with us.
The first time he did this was when a young girl and her mother showed up to try him. The mother could only be described as annoying, doing all the talking for her daughter and never letting anyone have a word in edge wise. Her daughter, was apparently a “very skilled” rider according to her mother and was looking for just the right show mount. Money seemed to be no object.
Hollywood, however had other plans for this girl. The minute she mounted him, he “all of a sudden” forgot how to steer or respond to leg. I immediately blamed all this on the “skilled rider.” I coached her to get him moving and after much fumbling she got him to move at least sideways, only for him to plant his feet and resist every request afterward. When the girl decided enough was enough and went to get after him, Hollywood took off to the barn, dumping the girl amongst the trees. That was that. These potential buyers left and we were left knowing that Hollywood wanted to stay with us forever.
One of the next perspective buyers came to try him with their trainer. We explained where Hollywood was in his training, showed them his impressive flat work and went about showing off his jumping abilities.
Starting off with a few small fences, the group seemed to be impressed with each fence taken, as Hollywood showed perfect form and willingness.
We decided to show off his athletic ability in a gymnastic with the third and last element being a 3’9 Oxer. I trotted down to the first element, he jumped it with ease, took a stride, jumped the second, but then decided to duck out on the third element. I immediately corrected him and as he moved back into the gymnastic, we found ourselves faced with the five foot tall standard and not the 3’9 fence. Now most horses would have stopped or crashed or both. Hollywood however, patted the ground and jumped the standard with room to spare. We landed and my husband and I, floored by this ability just laughed. We look over at the trainer, his mouth was agape and he was shaking his head as he spoke “ My kid can’t stay on a horse that has that much jump”. My husband and I assured them that this was totally out of the norm, but wasn’t it nice to know that the horse had this kind of ability.
I trotted back down to the first element of the gymnastic, anxious to show them what we were talking about. Hollywood got to the last element and jumped five feet again. Another perspective buyer down the drain.
Realizing that Hollywood was going to continue to weed through buyers, we took an offer on him from a woman that lived in Virginia. She was not able to fly out to try him, but spoke to us many times on the phone, watched numerous videos, vetted him and then bought him pretty much sight unseen. Poor Hollywood, never saw it coming until we loaded him on the horse trailer. His eyes got real wide as I said my tearful good-byes and he whinnied all the way down the street until we could hear him no longer.
With each horse that we have owned or trained, I have a special relationship with. Hollywood was of course, no different. There was an unspoken bond between us. He had trusted me to train him and with that we would always have a relationship.

This was so strong that it brought me to his exact barn in Virginia, unknowingly a few months later.
Chris and I decided to take a weekend trip to Virginia and as we were driving through the mountains, I got an overwhelming sense that Hollywood was close by. We were completely unaware of where his new home was until I recognized a farm sign that was where he was supposedly stabled. The farm had a locked gate, so we traveled back up a nearby farm road to ask about another way in.
It turned out, that this barn was associated with the other and when we inquired about Hollywood, the barn help, said, “Oh, you mean this guy?”.
Hollywood was in the stall directly behind me.

I know what you are thinking. Yes, perhaps it is because I do have a stronger intuitive side than most. However, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to understand what images the title elicits. The title did serve a purpose though. It got your attention. So now on with the story.

For years I have had the pleasure of working alongside a homeopathic Veterinarian In Montana. I was originally introduced to Kim via a mutual friend in hopes that I could shed some light on a tough case she was having with her own horse. Our working relationship soon became a friendship and our daily communication spanned over the course of several weeks. Her horse King, a beautiful paint, had developed a large tumor. Over the course of a year, Kim was able to use both conventional and homeopathic medicine to keep it at bay.

King however, was not keen on taking his oral homeopathic remedies. My thoughts turned to finding something to make him really happy, so I asked. He showed me eating whip cream and loving it. I asked Kim if this made sense. It did not. She said she would inquire and get back to me. A day later, she informed me that her daughter had taken to using a spray whip cream can and spraying the whipped delight straight into King’s mouth. He loved it! Kim had no idea! I told her that King not only liked the whip cream, but was amused by the act of it spraying into his mouth. Of course, a few days later, Kim confirmed that her daughter said King loved to suck on the nozzle as the cream sprayed out.

About the same time, I got the “message” about zippers. Because most of my communication was with King, I assumed this was coming from him. Kim’s daughter also confirmed that King did try to unzip her pockets for treats, but it was his pasture mate Zeb who liked to grab her jacket zipper and play. 

As I begin to focus in on the animal I  was working on, in strides my oldest son Adam. He glances at my computer screen and sighs. ” Oh Mom” he begins ” Are you talking to animals again? ” I can already see how this conversation will go. ” You know,” He continues ” these are all just your friends telling you that you are right. They don’t want tell you the truth and hurt your feelings.” I sigh. I thought, if I had a dollar for every time I needed to address this with my own family, well, you know.  Adam takes my hand and kiddingly tries to lead me away from the computer. “Come on Mom, there are some nice men with a white coat waiting for you downstairs.” I have to laugh.

But in reality I live in a household of skeptics. I always thought that a reality show of our family would contain the antics of my three human boys, however in recent months, I could easily see how a show called ” Living with skeptics” would fit the bill.

My husband, with his scientific mind teeters between there is no evidence to support what you are doing and being dumbfounded by the cases I wish to share with him. He did, by the way, know what he was marrying into. At this point, I  will only share the cases that will truly “blow his mind.”  My youngest son Luke is on the fence. Just emerging from the age in which he finds everything magical, Luke is now embarking into his pre-teen years in which you question what life is about. By the way, I never force my beliefs on anyone, yet allow the work to speak for itself. The proof is in the pudding. Sam, my middle son may be the one leaning the most in my direction. And by that I mean, he doesn’t have an opinion either way.  I’ll take that point on my side of the score sheet.

“I believe that YOU believe you are communicating with animals,” my mom says still grappling with the concept. She continually tells me that she doesn’t “discount” anything anymore, but wrapping her head around her only daughter communicating with animals might just send her over the edge. My Dad, surprisingly enough,  may have actually instilled all the courage I needed to evolve in this direction over the years. The spooky and paranormal always seemed to be “our thing.”  In recent years, he seems to discount it more, but I’d like to think I still have time to change his mind.

And then out of left field arrives my biggest cheerleader. I never saw it coming. My brother. Born two years and two days apart, our childhood was a mixed bag of ” I love you, I hate you” sibling moments. As “grown ups” we are extremely close, although life and geography separate us. During a recent marathon phone call in which we caught up on the happenings of each others lives, I shared with him the latest developments with my animal communication. I bit my lip and waited for the other shoes to drop. Instead I was greeted with warm embrace, congratulations and true interest.

Although the acceptance was a somewhat foreign emotion  from a “family” member, I have ALWAYS received it from the clients I work with. ” HOW do you know that?” I hear more often than not. I just smile and say knowingly, ” your pet told me.”