How can Terri help?
• Solve pet behavior challenges
• Good starts with new puppies
• Learn to communicate with pets
• Long-distance communication
• Learn symptoms and health issues
• Reiki healing for you and your pets
• Dignified farewells for passing pets
• Connect with deceased pets
• Pet emergency preparedness
• Post-trauma work with rescued pets
• Search-and-rescue training
• Public speaking
• Books to help pet owners
Email Terri Steuben or call 714-875-7194.
To those who didn’t know her that well, she was out there, somewhere. To her closest friends, she was gifted. She called herself “The Animal Communicator.” She was good. She stood five feet tall, with long curly hair. She was bubbly, couldn’t sit still for a minute, occasionally sweeping her hands ever so gently and moving the energy surrounding her. She listened to voices that no one else heard, and saw visions. She would proclaim things that were so abstruse, but fit so well, anyone would wonder, “How could she know?” She was a Reiki Master, a healer of people. Some thought that she practiced boog-a-boo. She could see the unseen world and tell the humans what they longed to hear, even when those same humans were surprised with her findings. Yes, she was good. She had a kind heart, an honest insight, and the ability to actually chat with the animals.
On this day, she visited the animal shelter several hours before the doors opened to the public. She came to visit the cats. Many cats needed a vehicle to make the human volunteers understand their cares, concerns and fears. Those beautiful cats so deserved a good home, but found themselves inside a cage at the shelter. They were just waiting for someone to listen to their pleas. She had arrived. She scurried in through the front doors and made her way down the aisles to the cats. They seemed to be waiting for her, knowing that she would listen. Suddenly, she changed. Her aura transformed to a soothing calm, in tune with the vibrations of nature and the animal kingdom. She would approach the cats, one by one, nod in understanding, hesitate, shake her head as if to say “no” and get more clarification. Then again, nod her head up and down, and tell the volunteer what she was hearing. “She wants a blue food dish, not the brown. And she likes classical music. Check her kidneys. She says she has pain in that area.” Down the row she would go, from one cat to another, chatting, listening, gently waving her hands in understanding, and taking time to explain to them the workings of the shelter and how each cat ended up there. “Buster would rather be in the main room with the other cats. He likes to socialize. That’s why he’s depressed.” She moved to the next cage. “Sissy isn’t used to all the street noise, and she would rather be in a quiet place.” Butch was FIV positive; he didn’t know what that meant, but he wondered why the volunteer who cares for him tells visitors that he is contaminated.
On occasion, she would pull a healing stone from her pocket—the same healing stone that she used with people. She never lost the connection that she experienced with both people and animals. She would hold that healing stone against that cat and what seemed like a miracle would occur. That cat would settle in, accept its existence and where it had landed, and lick her hand. She chatted with the cats that had gone to a prospective home, but had been brought back to the shelter because they weren’t perfect for them. She also chatted with cats that landed at the shelter via good-doers and couldn’t understand why they were there. She would listen intently, then tell them how the shelter worked and to search the minds of prospective adopters and pick the home that they wanted to go to. Yes, she was good. She was good for the cats—and good for the volunteers who worked so hard to make those cats loveable enough to be adopted.
Suddenly, she found him. The shelter had called her specifically to meet the latest challenge. They had named him Chester Boy. He was gorgeous—long, lean, tall and golden orange with spectacular markings on his forehead. He was curled in the corner of a cage, isolated, and hadn’t eaten since he’d been brought in three days earlier. She slowly approached him, and held out her hand. She stayed very still and just as quiet for about 30 minutes. The volunteer waited, patiently, then anxiously, wondering what could take this long? Suddenly, Chester Boy stood up in his cage, began to eat, then gave her a loving and thankful glance. She told the volunteer his story: Chester Boy was a mere six months, a “little” big guy. His Momma had told him, “Never trust humans.” His Momma told him when to eat, when to nap, when to hunt, and when to do just about everything. Now, he was scared to death, and so very lonely.
The Animal Communicator painted pictures, in her mind, of the workings of the shelter and a life with humans. Chester Boy saw those pictures. At first, he was in disbelief. But then, he felt her unconditional love and assurances that it was all true. She told the volunteer exactly what to do.
Later that evening, she called the shelter director to check on the new challenge. “As you suggested, we moved him in with the elder Senator. The Senator has so much patience. They are both curled up in the corner. They ate together. It seems that all is peaceful with Chester Boy and The Senator.”
Yes, Terri Steuben was good.
Copyright 2016 Terri Steuben • Site credits