What I Thought Was Me Rescuing Her

Hope was more than my dog. Our soul bond changed how I understand love and trust. Our connection ultimately led me to the work I do today as an animal communicator.

Hope came into my life unexpectedly. I was in my first year of grad school, trying to balance everything. My boyfriend and I had just broken up. We had been living together in Boulder, and he was moving to the Western Slope with our dogs, Paige and Skye. Everything was shifting.

I knew I wanted a dog. Bobby reached out to the breeder where we got Paige and learned they still had one female left from her litter. She was a nine-month-old Border Collie. Ken the breeder had planned to put her on sheep but said she was not cut out for it. The irony is, I later put her on sheep, and she was amazing. It was what she was born to do and it was obvious.

Bobby and I hopped into our VW van with our dogs and went to pick up Paige’s sister. It was a cold and dark February night. The breeder met us outside. He was gruff and dismissive. Without much conversation, he led us into a shed-like structure to meet “Bess,” the name he had given her. I later named her Hope. There she was. In a cage. On a chain. There was a putrid smell—the kind that comes from neglect, from being left, not cared for. The attitude of this breeder was that a dog is just a tool—something you use. He insinuated that this sweet terrified dog was broken and would not be of any use. Her fear was palpable. I hadn’t even really seen her clearly yet, but I could feel it immediately—this poor dog had been horribly abused. In that moment, I knew she needed to be saved and I wasn’t leaving without her. What I didn’t fully understand then was what I was taking on.

When Hope first came to me, I couldn’t get close to her. She was afraid of doorways, sudden movement, and being approached. Everything was new. She had only known the abusive man and the cage. She had never experienced a soft bed or chased a ball. She had not known love or felt cared for. I would take her to Boulder Valley Ranch and let her run off leash, but I had to accept that I might be standing there waiting quietly for her to come back on her own terms. It was a challenge. I had classes and a schedule. There was no forcing her. If I got anxious, it only made things worse. Everything had to be her choice. This tested my patience, but when she ran free, something in her shifted. I could see it every time—the way her body moved and the look in her eyes. She was slowly connecting with her true nature. With time I saw more Hope and less of the trauma she came to me with. I learned to expect the wait, for her to jump into the hatchback of my black Saab, and in between the waiting and the returning, we were building something—not through control, but through trust and connection.

Loving Hope required me learning how to slow down—not just physically, but internally. I couldn’t rush her or override her fear. I had to meet her where she was. And at that time in my life, I was used to doing the opposite—pushing through and staying in motion. Hope responded to calm, presence, and consistency. If I was unsettled, even slightly, she felt it. And if I slowed down—really slowed down—she responded. There were nights I would let her out into the yard, and she would refuse to come back through the door. It was February in Colorado, freezing and often snowing. I would have to leave the door open and pretend not to care.

Over time, things continued to shift. It wasn’t dramatic but happened gradually. After a few months, we had fallen into a rhythm. She was settling in, and I began to notice small changes. I was a runner then, and we went out every day. I noticed she was reading me, anticipating every move. She knew our routes. She would stay by my side and stop at the same places without being told. Whether I was running or on my bike, she moved with me—she was my shadow.

One morning, I brought her with me to an early yoga class. I tied her up outside and went in. When I came back out, she was in the exact same spot—still, like a statue. The only difference was that she had chewed through her leash, hanging loosely around her neck like a neck tie. My friend and I laughed. She was so good—just waiting. Then I had a realization. She hadn’t run. She hadn’t pulled away. She had stayed. She trusted me and our bond.

During this time I became acutely aware of how we had grown. She stayed with me, not because she had to, but because she chose to. We had become each others safe place. Neither of us had experienced this kind of unconditional love before. Hope came everywhere with me and never needed a leash. Although I never did formal training with her, it was as if she could read my mind. She was exceptionally well behaved. Hope became my best friend. We traveled together—long cross-country drives, flights, new places. Eventually, we made our way to Hawaii. A friend once called her a unicorn dog. It felt accurate, and also she was my Hope.

She taught me that trust isn’t built by pushing something forward, but by allowing it to unfold. She showed me that connection can’t be forced. It comes from meeting someone exactly where they are.

In 2008, Hope and I were living on the North Shore of Maui. The sun was setting, and I was heading home when I noticed I was feeling unusually anxious. Hope kept popping into my mind. That was the night that Hope left her physical body.

I was gutted. I had never experienced a loss that reached so deep into my being. When I found her, I collapsed to the ground and yelled “no” from somewhere deep inside me, like I wasn’t even in my body. I felt so alone in my grief. How could the world still be going on around me?

Eventually, I came to see that this loss—and the cycle of falling into my grief—was a gift. This grief was, and is, not separate from our connection, it is a reflection of it. The animals that we have the privilege to bond with are our soul friends. They see us fully and completely. I had to dig deep to inhabit the hole of loneliness her death left in me. By befriending this deep grief, I leaned into a deeper knowing of myself, which eventually led me to work with animals intuitively.

What I thought was me rescuing her became something else entirely. I experience animals differently now. I notice them. I feel them. I listen with all my senses. I began to notice the relationships others had with their animals. My story is unique to me and Hope, but there is a common thread—animals enrich our lives in ways that run deeper than we often realize.

Today I am still living on Maui’s North Shore. My relationship with Hope is still growing. She has shown me that love never dies, we simply change form. In 2015, she sent me a Border Collie named Izzy on her birthday. I now work as an intuitive medium with pets and people. If you let them in, animals can be our biggest teachers and healers. It is an honor to work so closely with people and their animals. I love this work and the way it continues to deepen my connection to animals and the people who love them.

So… Are We All Psychic?

These days people use intuitive and psychic pretty interchangeably. Sometimes I say “intuitive” because it feels easier for people to relate to.

If I tell you I’m psychic, you might picture me sitting in a dark room with candles and a crystal ball reading your palm. Honestly, I’m okay with that imagery too. But in reality, this work often feels much more natural than people expect.

Because the truth is, I think we’re all intuitive.

You think about someone you haven’t talked to in months and suddenly they text or call ten minutes later. So what happened? Did you send a telepathic message? Did they feel you thinking about them? Were you psychic? Or was it coincidence?

Most people have had experiences like this.

You’re driving home from the store and randomly decide to take a different route home. Later you find out the road you normally take was closed and traffic was completely backed up.

Or you’re busy doing chores around the house, completely focused on something else, and suddenly feel the urge to check your dog’s water bowl. You walk into the kitchen and there’s your dog standing beside an empty water bowl.

Intuition? Coincidence? Maybe either.

But I think most people have had enough moments like this that eventually you start wondering: at what point do repeated experiences stop feeling random?

Maybe intuition isn’t always dramatic. Maybe sometimes it’s subtle — a quiet nudge, a feeling, a thought that arrives out of nowhere, or a sense to pay attention.

To me, intuition is a natural human ability that many of us have simply stopped trusting.

I think some people are naturally more sensitive to it. Some people practice paying attention to it more. And some people have experiences they can’t quite explain, so they dismiss them altogether.

To me, psychic or intuitive work is really about paying attention to information beneath the obvious surface level.

An intuitive session is usually focused on you — your life, relationships, patterns, direction, or things you may already feel but haven’t fully trusted yet.

Mediumship is a little different.

Mediumship involves connection with loved ones who have passed — both people and animals. And no, it usually doesn’t happen like it does in the movies.

For me, it often comes through as impressions, emotions, personality traits, memories, images, symbols, or oddly specific little details that carry meaning for the person receiving the reading. Sometimes it’s profound. Sometimes it’s incredibly ordinary. A phrase they used to say. A favorite chair. A dog proudly showing me his favorite toy.

What surprises people most is how normal it can feel. Not frightening. Not theatrical. Not about fortune telling.

At its core, this work is really about connection — connection to yourself, connection to those you love, and maybe realizing we’re sensing far more than we’ve been taught to trust.

Maybe the more interesting question isn’t whether we’re intuitive… but how intuition naturally speaks through each of us. I’ll explore more about that — and the different ways people receive information, often called “the clairs” — in a future post.

The Last Look

I recently tried an exercise called The Last Look.

You stand in front of a mirror and imagine that this is the very last time you will ever see your physical self. Not symbolically. Not someday. This body. This face. This form that has carried your soul through a lifetime.

What I experienced was profound. I was deeply moved—even to tears. Not from sadness, but from immense gratitude and deep love. Instead of the familiar habit of scanning and judging, of casually noticing the places where time has quietly left its mark, something entirely different arose. I experienced the connection my physical body and my soul body have.

In my work, I spend a lot of time in meditation and sit with my soul self frequently. But on this occasion, I experienced the integration of my soul and my physical body in a truly beautiful way. What I felt was immense gratitude and deep love—for the body that has carried me, adapted, endured, and stayed.

The Last Look reveals something we rarely slow down enough to recognize: how sacred it is to be embodied at all. To have a physical form that senses, remembers, moves, holds experience, and carries us through this world. We often forget how extraordinary that is—until we pause long enough to truly see it.

In that moment, there was no separation between body and soul.

There was partnership. Not something to fix. Not something to improve. Just something to honor.

This experience opens a quiet but powerful question:

If this were the last time you would ever see your physical self—

What would you say?

Would you thank your body for staying with you? For carrying your soul through this lifetime? For everything it has held and moved through? Most of us have never spoken to ourselves this way. Yet when we imagine not having the chance again, the words come easily.

Before the year turns, I invite you to try the last look.

Stand in front of a mirror. Look at yourself and take yourself in. Imagine this is the very last time you will ever see your physical self.

Notice what arises.

And then ask yourself: What do I want to carry forward from this moment?

Let that, and a deep respect for the body and soul walking together through this life, be what stays with you.

How Animals Communicate — and How They Reawaken Our Intuition

Dec 16

Animals move through the world in a way that’s simple, honest, and deeply intuitive. They don’t filter, analyze, or talk themselves out of what they feel. They just feel it — and respond. Connecting with animals continues to teach me about presence, honesty, and pure love.

Animals don’t overthink the world the way humans do. They feel it first. They navigate life through energy and sensation — not in a mystical way, but as something completely natural to them.

Over time, I’ve come to realize that our pets don’t show up in our lives by accident. Each one brings something — a lesson, a mirror, a shift. Even the challenging ones with big emotions or quirky behaviors often turn out to be our clearest teachers.

Here are some of the ways animals communicate and how they quietly guide us back to our own intuition.

Animals Feel Energy First

Before words or behavior, animals feel your energy.

A dog senses your anxiety before you speak.

A horse picks up hesitation before your foot even lifts.

A cat feels the emotional temperature of a room before anyone says a word.

It’s not magic — it’s awareness.

Humans feel this too; we’ve just been trained to override it. Think about walking into a room that looks fine but feels off — the tension is obvious, even if you can’t pinpoint why. Or meeting someone new and instantly feeling drawn to them… or uneasy for no logical reason.

That is energy. Animals trust it immediately. We often talk ourselves out of it.

Animals Mirror Our Emotional State

If you want to understand what’s happening inside you, watch your animal.

They reflect stress, grief, excitement, tension, calmness — not because they’re copying you, but because they’re attuned to you.

When you soften, they soften.

When your heart is heavy, they stay close.

When your energy shifts, they respond before you even realize it.

You’ve probably had a day where you were holding everything together, only to find your dog glued to your side… or your cat watching you closely… or your horse becoming more gentle. They’re not reacting to your behavior — they’re responding to your inner world, the one you may not have even acknowledged yet.

Animals notice what we try to hide.

Animals Trust Their Inner Signals Instantly

While animals read the energy around them, they also do something humans struggle with — they trust their inner signals right away.

If something feels right, they move toward it.

If something feels wrong, they step back.

No overthinking. No doubt. No permission needed.

You can probably think of a moment when you instantly felt comfortable with someone — your body relaxed, your breath softened, something inside said, “I’m safe here.” We’ve all had the opposite too: a subtle pullback around someone for no obvious reason, only to later learn our instincts were right.

Animals live by these inner cues. Humans get them just as often — we just tend to ignore them.

Animals Communicate Through Feeling, Imagery & Telepathy

Animals don’t use words. They communicate through emotion, imagery, sensation, and energetic impressions. They see, feel, and know — and yes, this is telepathy.

Most people have experienced this without realizing it: you suddenly know what your animal needs, or you get a mental picture of them, or you feel their emotion before you see any outward sign.

This isn’t dramatic or unusual. It’s simply how animals communicate.

Think of your animal across the room — and you suddenly feel their worry, their excitement, their “come here” energy. Or the way they tune into your emotional state before you even drop your bag at the door.

Humans receive this information all the time — we just don’t trust it the way animals do.

Animals Bring Us Back to Ourselves

The more time you spend with an animal, the more you naturally shift out of thinking and into feeling. Your breath slows. Your body softens. You land back in the moment.

Animals show us what it feels like to trust ourselves again — our instincts, our impressions, our quiet knowing. They reconnect us to a way of being that feels less forced and more aligned.

They don’t try to teach us anything.

They simply remind us of what we already know.

If You Want to Explore Your Own Intuition With Animals…

Here are two simple practices you can try:

1. Noticing Energy

Throughout your day, notice any moment when you feel something — a shift, a pull, a softness, a heaviness.

You don’t need to react to it or explain it.

Just observe it.

This alone strengthens intuitive awareness.

2. Checking In With Your Animal

Before interacting with your animal, take one breath and notice your own state.

Then spend a minute with them.

Notice what changes in you — your breath, mood, or body.

Their presence often brings us back to our natural intuition without any effort at all.

Animals have a way of bringing us back to ourselves — to what we feel, what we sense, and what we already know deep down. The more time you spend truly observing them, the more you start to recognize those same intuitive abilities in yourself.

✨And if you’ve ever wondered how this works or wanted to try it for yourself, I’m offering intro animal communication classes this spring. Nothing complicated — just practical ways to tune into what you’re already sensing.

A typical class includes:

• grounding to get out of your head and into your senses

• practicing telepathic connection with an animal

• working with photos of animals — here or in spirit

• learning how to receive information without forcing it

• sharing what you picked up (and noticing how accurate it often is)

• understanding animal emotions, personalities, and perspectives

• learning the ethics of working with animals

There’s no pressure, no performance, and no “getting it right.”

It’s simply learning to listen in a way most of us were never taught.

And here’s what surprises people the most:

By the end of the first session, almost everyone has a moment where they stop and say,

“Wait… how did I know that?”

Because animal communication isn’t about becoming something new —

it’s about realizing that this connection has been there all along.

A Frog in the Night : A sign from Charolette

Nov 29

How a simple request for a sign became a powerful moment of connection

I’m sharing part of a reading I did because it’s such a beautiful reminder that even when our loved ones—human or animal—are in the spirit world, they remain close. We can talk with them. The communication simply becomes more subtle.

During a session with Lisa Jayne, she wanted to know where her beloved dog, Charlotte, was and who she was with. Aside from the sweet and playful evidence Charlotte brought forward, I invited Lisa Jayne to do something simple but powerful:

Get quiet, and ask Charlotte directly for a sign that she was near.

The next morning, I received this message from Lisa Jayne:

Hey Wendy… I did what you said last night. I sat and meditated for a few minutes and asked Charlotte what our sign would be. The first thing that came to me was a frog. I immediately tried to reject it because I don’t see frogs very often. I remembered what you said about just going with the first thing, whatever it was, so I let it be.

A little while later I went to let Desmond out before we went to bed. I walked out on the front porch and looked up at all the stars and could hear 1000 frogs out in the distance. Every time I think about it I cry. Thank you.❤️🐶🐸

These are the moments that make me smile
Not because the sign was loud — but because it was perfectly, impossibly timed.

Animals in Spirit communicate in ways that match our openness, our memories, and the symbols they know we’ll recognize. Charlotte didn’t choose something dramatic; she chose something meaningful.

And once Lisa softened and allowed the first intuitive nudge to stand…
the universe responded in chorus.

We all have the ability to be silent and listen.
The signs are there.
Our animals want to connect with us — we just need to create the space to receive.

Thank you, Charlotte.
Thank you, Lisa Jayne.
✨💫💗