Paranormal Underground’s March issue, featuring Ghost Hunters International investigator Brandy Green and Parachasers investigators Chris DeMent, is now online at www.paranormalunderground.net. Sign in (or register) and click on Magazine (Read Online) at the top of our home page to access this issue.

INCLUDED IN THIS ISSUE:

Investigator Spotlights
–Brandy Green Goes From Desk Jockey to Worldwide Paranormal Explorer
–Parachasers: In Search of New Discoveries

Special Report
–Living in a Haunted House as a Paranormal Investigator

Haunted Sites
–The Customs House Holds Spirits Within

Haunted History
–Germain, Count St. Germain: (With Respects to Mr. Bond)

Are We Alone?
–Now That’s What I Call a Close Encounter

Personal Experiences
–Diary From a Haunted Hotel
–Should I Call Him a Ghost or Something Else?

Paranormal Perspective: Guest Editorial
–Exorcism: Psychological or Paranormal?

Fiction: Featured Author
–“Where Memories Lie (Part I of IV)” by Lettie Prell

Nonfiction Paranormal Book Excerpt
–Avalanche of Spirits: The Ghosts of Wellington

Paranormal Fantasy Author Spotlight
–Shelli Stevens

Also
–TV Watch: Living With the Dead
–Review of the Month: The Time Traveler’s Wife
–Member Profile: Richard Lombardi (movieman)
–Paranormal News
–Calendar of Events
–Ghost Hunter comic

HAPPY READING!

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INCLUDED IN THIS ISSUE:

Investigator Spotlight
–Yvette Fielding Brings the Paranormal to the Forefront

Special Reports
–Insights From a New Paranormal Investigator
–A Review of Electronic Voice Phenomena (EVP) Basics

Haunted Sites
–The Paranormal Campus: Otherworldly Encounters at NDSU

Haunted History
–Wonder in Watseka: The Story of Lurancy Vennum

Cryptids & Mythological Creatures
–By the Light of the Full Moon

Are We Alone?
–What Are Flying Saucers and UFOs?

Personal Experiences
–Diary From a Haunted Hotel
–The Cross on the Car
–The Old Talbott Tavern

Fiction: Featured Author
–“Dancing the Condor” by Chad Wilson

Paranormal Fantasy Author Spotlight
–Cynthia Eden

Also
–TV Watch: Demons
–Reviews of the Month: Witch and Wizard, Legion, and District 9
–Member Profile: Annie (MissingK8)
–Paranormal News
–Calendar of Events
–Ghost Hunter comic

by Karen Frazier, Managing Editor
Paranormal Underground Magazine

I know that there are many people who believe in demonic entities. It’s always been a difficult one for me - this belief that there are unseen evil forces. Maybe it is because of my Pollyanna-like view of the universe that in the end, it’s all good.

I’m not suggesting that we live in a world without evil. Clearly, what we define as evil exists on the human plane. But on an entirely spiritual realm it’s difficult for me to make the leap to actual darkness and evil as a fundamental force in the universe.

For me, it’s easy to distinguish between evil in the world and evil in the universe. As human beings, we have the capacity inside each and everyone of us for tremendous acts of good and terrible acts of evil. But we’re so wrapped up in judgment and dogma that we fail to see that the duality in each of us between good and evil may be something that we create for ourselves here on a experiential level. After all, how can we experience ourselves as good if we also don’t have the experience of evil to compare it to? We can’t know cold without hot. We can’t know satiation without hunger. On a human level, we have to have the full spectrum in order to have the experience.

Still, I have to believe for my own sanity that when we leave the duality of being human, what we find is peace and love. This world, after all, can be a pretty brutal place. Maybe it is my own naivety, but it is what I choose to believe - that evil exists here and not there.

So then what of demonic manifestations? In the case of such manifestations, there is always a human element involved. It is a human who experiences the darkness. Perhaps the existence of demons confirms our experience in this human world that there is darkness and there is light. Maybe what demonic manifestations are is merely that part of the human condition that we’ve disowned. While we are all aware of the potential for both darkness and light in each of us, no one wants to believe that they are the one who will occasionally succumb to such darkness. And so we disown it. I believe that energy has to go somewhere. It does, and it manifests in our world in what we refer to as demonic.

And what of angels? I believe that is what we all are, at our very source. We come from Light. We return to Light. It is only while we journey here that we experience the duality of darkness that allows us the human experience of light.

by Karen Frazier, Managing Editor
Paranormal Underground Magazine

Tonight, my good friend Melissa Watts and I will be on the Para-X radio program, Positively Psychic with Mark Christopher Nelson at 7 Pacific (10 Eastern). We’ll be talking mostly about Melissa’s field of expertise and one of my absolute passionate fascinations, past life regression hypnotherapy. Last year, Melissa and I collaborated on her book, Lessons of Many Lives, in which she shares what she has learned through her experiences with past life regression - both as a client and a therapist.

I first met Melissa a little over a year ago, and we’ve had a great partnership ever since. We actually met on a freelance bidding website. As soon as I saw her ad to write copy for her website, I knew that I would get the job. I did. The rest, as they say, is history. The website led to a book. The book led to other projects. And all of it led to a fantastic friendship that has become a major part of my life.

My fascination with reincarnation led me to seek out a past life regression hypnotherapy session about 18 months ago. Because I’d had that experience and written about it for the magazine, Melissa was able to see in our first contact that I would be able to communicate her thoughts and ideas clearly. It was virtually a straight path from there to here.

It seems like significant things in my life are often like that. A straight path of somewhat unusual and coincidental events that lead me from one stepping stone to the next until I arrive at the place where I am supposed to be. I’ve experienced it with a few relationships in my life - where the steps to get there were unusual, the coincidences were serendipitous, and ultimately the path to the person with whom I had a significant relationship was arrow straight. The outcomes of the relationships weren’t always what I would have wanted them to be, but what I walked away from those outcomes with was always perfect in some way - whether it was because I had a better understanding of myself, I’d learned valuable lessons or for some other reason.

It’s why I believe that the universe we live in is benevolent. Because no matter how much we stumble upon our path, there is always a little nugget in there for us if we choose to find it. I have never emerged from an experience without finding that tiny little glimmer of light - even if it is often buried under layers of dirt and grime. It’s in there - that gem. Just waiting to be polished so that it shines like gold.

by Karen Frazier, Managing Editor
Paranormal Underground Magazine

I’m done reviewing my evidence from our investigation of Wellington on the 100 year anniversary of the avalanche disaster this past Sunday night/Monday morning. Wellington was as serene and peaceful as I have ever seen it - but I think the spirits knew we were there.

Gathering evidence was an interesting exercise in below freezing weather. I have some really cool video clips where mists form and move purposefully. If I didn’t know how darn cold it was, I’d be excited about them. As it is, I’d bet my eyeteeth that it is all condensation from breath - but it doesn’t make it look any less cool.

I am attaching a few interesting anomalies that I captured on my Olympus DS-40. As NWPIA discovers their audio anomalies, I am sure they will post them on their website, so check in with them - www.nwpia.com.

All of these are very subtle. You’ll need a good set of headphones to hear them. I’ve captured the voice from #4 before with an entirely different set of people with me - but in the exact same location in the snow shed.
EVP#1
EVP #2
EVP #3
EVP#4
EVP #5

As my time on the Island comes to a close I find myself not wanting to leave with the “Olde Gin House” events unresolved. I understand that not all entities are friendly. I am also aware that no amount of investigation or time spent in any place of interest will ever lead to closure. The contact at the Gin House has me puzzled in many ways though. My first question is why always a head wounding. Was the entity just that angry? Was the entity trying to convey a message to me and this is the only way that it can communicate? Both instances at the Olde Gin House always resulted in a vicious stinging and a golf ball size lump on the top rear left side of my skull.

If the entity that inhabits this area of the premises were so angry then why woudn’t everyone that fequents the establishment leave with an ice pack? I have never provoked or in any manner been disrespectful while hunting in this establishment or any other……ever. I guess one more night there could shed some light on the who or the why. So far though the recording of footsteps with no voices whatsoever is all there is to show for hours of sitting quietly waiting for a lump to recede and an explanation. I’m no quitter, so I guess, it is what it is! If I wear a helmet this time maybe I can get an EVP of the entity laughing? I guess I could mount my Sony NS to it and call it a helmet cam. Any and all suggestions are welcome for dealing with a physically negative entity.

by Karen Frazier, Managing Editor
Paranormal Underground Magazine

Warning: I have been up all night. I’m exhausted. And punchy. I’ll try to get through this with as much decorum as possible. I think some exhausted hallucinating might have taken place, because towards the end, I’m pretty sure I saw my husband in a royal blue bobsledding singlet that hugged his curves, long wool socks and hiking boots.

There are a few times in life where you do something that can either wind up as an adventure or a Darwin Award. I’m happy to report that ours wound up as an adventure. Late yesterday afternoon, eight of us set out in two jeeps and a truck to try and get down a sloppy, snowy, winding ridge into the site of the Wellington avalanche. Why? Because 1:42 a.m. this morning was the 100 year anniversary of the exact moment of the avalanche that killed 96 people and greatly affected this place that we have all grown to love.

I’d like to take you there with me now. I am an out of shape, overweight soccer mom in her mid-40s. I was dressed in enough layers that I was like the kid from A Christmas Story who is so immobilized by his snow clothes that he can’t move. Thank God I didn’t try to make a snow angel. The snow was, in places, up to five feet deep and slushy from a day in the sunshine. The jeeps and truck got stuck a few times and had to be shoveled out until, ultimately, we wound up with about a mile long hike into Wellington through three to four feet of slush.

Remember the outta shape soccer mom thing? Oh yeah - I’m feeling it today. But I’m tired, so its taken on kind of a surreal quality.

Anyway our cast of characters was diverse. Sort of. We went in with NWPIA, which included Bert and Jayme Coates (also in their 40s, but far more in shape…), my husband Jim of the blue bobsledding singlet (although that might have been a hallucination), Tim Corr of NWPIA, the lovely Bobby and Jennifer of NWPIA, and our own personal MacGyver - Joe.

When we left the vehicles by the side of the road, we had all sorts of equipment in tow on a sled and a giant rubber raft. And no - I was not part of the cargo. We brought in five medical kits, some sleeping bags, food, paranormal and filming equipment, tripods, chairs, knives, machetes, one pair of electric socks, a few guns just in case we encountered hungry cougars or box mouth beavers as well as assorted drinking straws, bubble gum, clothes hangers and paper clips for MacGyver to fashion various operational gadgets out of. We may or may not have also toted in with us a bright blue bobsledding singlet. I also had in tow a few toys for the kids of Wellington.

We arrived in the snow shed by about 8 p.m. and set up a bonfire at the eastern end. Then we waited and warmed up by the fire. I’m sure we all had our own personal reasons for wanting to be at Wellington for the 100 year anniversary of the disaster, but on one thing we all agreed. We wanted to be there for the spirits who remain at Wellington. Whether the anniversary made them active or peaceful was of secondary importance, but Wellington is important enough to all eight of us that we were willing to risk a Darwin Award to spend the night there.

This isn’t about our experiences last night. We had a few interesting ones that are currently being analyzed, and we haven’t analyzed any evidence. When we do, if we found something, I am sure it will be shared here and on NWPIA’s website. Instead, it is about eight people seizing a chance of a lifetime to take somewhat extraordinary measures to be at Wellington on the anniversary of the disaster.

Wellington was peaceful. There was a full moon that lit up the sky and made the snow sparkle. We heard owls calling to us. We shared time with others who shared a common love of Wellington. We watched Joe use his gum, drinking straws and pull tabs to fashion amazing gear that got us through the night. We talked to the spirits and told them we were there for them, and that we didn’t expect them to do any tricks for us - but just to know that we were there.

At 1:42 a.m., we all stood in the snow shed and no doubt reflected on what happened at that exact moment, 100 years ago. After 1:42 a.m., I saw flashes in my mind of the aftermath of the avalanche - residents running down into the ravine in the frigid cold, diving head first into banks of snow to remove survivors and dead alike. Bodies were strapped onto sleds to be removed from the wreckage. In the pictures I’ve seen, they looked a lot like the gear we had strapped to sleds that we hauled in with us. As we sat in front of our fire and warded off the below freezing temperatures, I couldn’t help but think how cold those people who were buried in the snow were, and how cold their rescuers were as they worked in frigid and icy conditions to save lives and recover those who were lost.

There we sat until first light, sharing space and hearts with our friends from Wellington. As the sun rose on the eastern horizon, we once again strapped our gear to sleds and pulled them back up the hill to our waiting vehicles. By 9 a.m., we were out on the main road and on our way with an experience under our belts that only seven other people shared. And I’m glad we did. I wouldn’t have traded the experience (including the singlet, exhaustion and sore muscles) for anything in the world.

Karen’s Note: Please do not attempt this on your own. It was rough going!

by Karen Frazier, Managing Editor
Paranormal Underground Magazine

Tonight (well tomorrow morning really) at 1:42 am (Pacific Time) is the 100th anniversary of the avalanche disaster at Wellington. For those of you who have experienced Wellington with me via my blogs here, my articles in the magazine and my posts in the forum, you know how much Wellington has come to mean to me. I think maybe it has come to mean a lot to many of you, as well.

After nine days stuck on two trains in the mountain town of Wellington, passengers were growing increasingly desperate to get home. Meanwhile, the railway employees were waging a valiant battle to free the trains before disaster struck. They were unable to do so.

At 1:42 a.m. on March 1, 1910, a lightning strike released the snow on a slope above the two trains, which were perched on tracks above a ravine. A half mile long avalanche descended on the trains, sweeping them into the ravine. At least 96 people died in what remains, to this day, the worst avalanche disaster in the history of the United States.

Many remain at Wellington - ghosts of passengers and townspeople alike. Whether they were killed in the avalanche or witnessed the slow death of their town following that tragedy, in spirit they are drawn to the site. I know. I have seen them. I have heard them. I have felt them. I have interacted with them.

I am not a praying person, but I know that at 1:42 a.m. late tonight (early tomorrow morning), I will be with them. If you have come to love them as I have and you happen to be awake in that moment, please say a prayer, think a thought - whatever it is that you do to connect.

100 years later they remain, forgotten by many. I have not forgotten and I know many of you haven’t as well. Please hold them in your hearts and honor their memories if you are so inclined. Perhaps if you do, they will feel you and be comforted. Perhaps they will know that they are not forgotten.

A sun drenched, mild mid February afternoon brought me back to the Maylake/Peabody Estate to complete the Friary edition of the site update…on a day with highs in the upper 30’s it seemed like a comparably temperate climate as I flashed back to the frost bitten, sunrise sojourn through the fields and sparsely wooded east side of the property to bypass the locked front gates of Maylake Hall…one wonders if the frigid cold winter and excessive snow fall of 2010 will be attributed to “global warming” or if now our carbon footprints will be the catalyst for the next ice age…either way I suspect the unpredictability of Chicago winters will defy any or all regulatory efforts to stave off the inevitable cataclysmic consequences of our evil, imperialistic ways…the direct sun was a welcomed warmth as the dampening depth of the snow crunched underfoot when I departed the well traversed path that circles the outer parameter the lake…I have had little luck pinpointing the original location where Mr Peabody expired while participating in a a fox hunt on the south side of the lake and the subsequent original site where the replica of the Portiuncula Chapel was constructed in memoriam, but I shall endeavor to continue research on that in the future …

The history of this property is certainly not restricted to the relatively contemporary Eurocentric
cultural heritage, but as early archival records and archaeological evidence indicates; there where as many as 50 Potawatomi villages in the area between the mid 1700’s and mid 1800’s and one is described as “near Mayslake in Oak Brook” …these homogenous, interwoven Native Americans
managed to maintain a relatively peaceful and symbiotic coexistence as fur traders
with the early settlers, many of which intermarried with the migrant French, English, Scotch and Irish while the primarily ”purebred” tribes consisting of Potawatomi, Chippewa and Ottawa were forcibly relocated to reservations west of the Mississippi by way of Andrew Jackson’s “Indian Removal Act” …the decedent lineage of the “Metis” families (French for “mixed blood”) became the sole remaining Native Americans in the area by that late 1800’s…

The future of the enigmatic red bricked building at southern most end of the Mayslake property remains uncertain …following the Franciscans vacating the premises in late 1991, and following it’s acquisition by the Du Page County Forrest Preserve, it has been at the epicenter of litigation…at present a morass of legal wrangling has stymied all proposals including those
pursuant to the ambitious 12 Million dollar renovation plans to convert the facility into a 93 unit assisted living center by the Du Page Housing Authority… a project that remains contingent on the resolution of a quagmire of zoning restrictions, revamped regulatory commissions and the continued exorbitant expense of heating, grounds maintenance and vandalism prevention measures…the adjusted cost of which is estimated to be well over $60,000 a year, plus it has already been the recipient of several preservation oriented grants, bonds and provisional incentives to reinvigorate the aging, dilapidation besieged behemoth of a building …there has even been proposals for low income, studio style apartments but that was quickly squelched by local zoning commissioners in the wake of a torrent of protests from the adjacent wealthy subdivisions …little has been reported in the way of recent updates …
The building was built entirely by hand by the industrious Brothers of the Franciscan Order over the course of 17 years between 1950-1967 …following the purchase of the entire estate by The Franciscan Order of the Sacred Heart for $450,000 in the wake of Mr Peabody’s death in 1925,
the original seminary was built on the west side of the property between 1925-27 and was demolished in 1992 …

Incidentally one of the most recent documented cases of stigmata was that of Franciscan; Saint
Padre Pio …and as members of this order have been alleged to have the most reported instances of visions and stigmata, the highest concentration of Padre Pio’s exhibition of this occurred during the time frame of the Franciscans acquiring the Peabody property…

The St Paschal Friary is an almost symbolic edification of the changing ecclesiastically institutionalized secularism that sub denominated Catholicism in favor of more archdiocese
concentric ordination …the blue tarp that is draped precariously over a large portion of the southeast wing’s roof is as unlikely to prevent water saturation as efforts to cling to antiquated theosophies will prevent the ebb and flow of religious modernization …this building is the is the ultimate iconoclastic religious relic ….

The tracks of a big wheeled, off road vehicle systematically compacted the snow in circular, concentric patterns on the friary’s north lawn…the efforts to meticulously flatten and compact the snow on the stately, hickory and oak dotted stretch of land that overlooked the lake to the north struck me as bizarre …I thought back to my pervious trip and to the multitude of inexplicable and almost identical in diameter bonfire remains that I encountered as I plodded through the fresh powder padded fields en rout to Mayslake manor as the sun rise pursued me from the east…

My annoyance at the prospect of having my photos tainted by the tread marked landscape was quickly replaced by relief after a mere hundred or so yards of quicksand-like deep snow suddenly transformed into an easily traversable hike across the tractor flattened winter landscape…I elected to make an approach from the northwest as the past summer visits denied me exploration of the overgrowth that strangled the western portion of the property beyond the flight of stairs and Stonehenge like monolithic benches that lined the edge of the western driveway and terminated at a rather steep decline into the thicket below …
As anticipated; the winter stripped underbrush was now visibly accessible save for assorted burr hitchhikers and thorn pricks…the bottom of the staircase revealed a concrete wall and what proved to be a boarded up doorway next to a long inoperative water fountain and PA speakers …

A square hole in the concrete slab under the staircase almost mocked me with the darkness it exuded …the flash of the camera exposed a small room with what appeared to be tightly sealed off doorways…one leading south in a probable tunnel to the garage and one to the left, that likely intersected with the boarded up outer entry and back under the pavement overhead to the main building in what I in visualized as an elaborate network of underground catacombs and secret passages… my imagination requires little in the way of provocation to construct such elaborations ( no really) …when I walked up to the square foot opening in the wall, an almost paralyzing apprehension built up inside of me as my arm crossed over the concrete threshold separating the inside from the out…I felt a gust of putrescent air rush past my shoulder with an almost audible moan…the flash from the camera lit up the black void long enough to confirm the narrow space beyond was also subject to a concerted effort to seal off all of the interconnecting passage ways as described above…the nail secured inner doors and spot weld fortified connecting door leading to the south in the general direction of the parking garages, left me a quandary as to where the stale, crypt like air could have originated but the view I had was limited and a good portion of the room was obscured by this limitation…I actually stumbled back away from the gaping hole as I remembered that I experienced the same fetid, inexplicable groan of exhalation when I crouched down to get a shot of the basement in the courtyard from a small circular hole in a boarded window last summer ( now patched ) …I followed the outer lower level wall along the entanglement of vines overgrowth until a snow caked ramp led me to street level in between the garage and the main building …further exploration of the rear of the garage and some careful circumnavigation of spike tipped bushes unveiled a two story chimney incinerator that I was unable to open for inspection because the cross bar latch seemed to be pounded in to immobility by a hammer flattened iron sleeve thus locking the free end of the latch bar in place

As I skirted the evergreens that were once decorative adornments to the rear of the garage but now struggled for distinction among the reclamation efforts of the prairie vegetation, I discovered a short but steep flight of powdered steps along the side of the incinerator structure… stairs that spilled out into an open patch of grassland to the rear and opened bottom portion of the chimney stack …the scorched, blackened brick interior retained the carnal stench of countless refuge infernos, but even the burned remnants of the last incendiary cinders that once smoldered were now symbolically doused by the squared mound of snow that flaked it’s way down the open flue …

As I coursed my way back along the back of the rear if the evergreen lined garage, I noticed that every possible window, door, hatch and vent had been effectively barricaded…as I rounded the southeast end of the virgin snow depth that rudely packed my ankle length, side zip business-man style boots, I longed for my snowmobile footgear that I wore last time around …and while those boots resemble an Ace Frehley costume accessory, they were well insulated and water tight…

Almost all of the lower level door windows were boarded up and while there were some signs of recent vandalism by way of broken windows on the first floor, many of those that remained un shattered were plywood plated from the inside …contrary to common sense; I found myself wondering if this was intended to circumvent something from escaping from within as much as it was a preventive measure against an illicit entry as I proceeded under the arched passage leading into the courtyard in the center of the main building …the last time I was here was a night visit and the pervasive darkness of the courtyard and intermittent interior lighting created an eerie, shadow shifting translucent effect when intermixed with the headlights streaking down Rt 83 that bled through from the north facing windows to the 4 stories of narrow windows facing the south end of the courtyard …

The howling winds of that summer night provided a cacophony of creaking, cracking, whistling, moaning and tarp flapping sounds ….the stillness and light drenched afternoon of this visit did little to help diminish the growing unease or abate the closed in sensation that the outer walls incurred …sensations that were already welling up inside me as soon as I passed under the arched buttress that seemed like a line of demarcation that separated the relative security of the exterior from the dark oppression dwelling within …the acoustically isolated quiet was instantly shattered by a concussive thump when a huge slab of sun dampened snow slid from the steeply slanted roof and landing at my heals …an insidious, cackling laughter echoed from a gaping hole in a fiberglass ceilinged basement addition that extended into the ground at about waste level…I continued to shoot off the camera in defiance until I was beset by a sudden loss of equilibrium and nausea…the vexing snicker followed me past the arch as I hastened a my unsteady retreat ….

Here are the unedited (compressed) photos from my mid February 2010 visit (181 total) ….b
Peabody Update II photos

——————————–

Be sure to check the PUG forum thread on this topic for photo updates….b
PUG forum thread of this topic

by Karen Frazier, Managing Editor
Paranormal Underground Magazine

Way back in June, I wrote a rather tongue-in-cheek blog about pet psychics. It was actually one of the areas of the paranormal that I thought I had a pretty good handle on, and that handle was that it was pure rubbish.

In response to that blog, I was contacted by a pet psychic named Heidi Wright. Since I’d always prided myself on my open-mindedness, I decided to set aside my doubts and interview Heidi for an issue of the magazine. I have to say, if my mind wasn’t open to the possibilities before I talked to Heidi, certainly it was afterwards.

Since then, I’ve run across a few people with animal communications abilities. As a matter of fact, I was emailing with one just this morning, which is what sparked this blog. His name is Brian, and the way he feels he communicates with animals may seem a bit unconventional. On his website, Animals Speak Out, he has a number of recordings of various animals. He believes that in these recordings, there is some element of animal communication taking place. Visit his site and see for yourselves.

I have to admit - when I listened to his recordings, I had trouble hearing what Brian was hearing, but asked him if maybe the reason he heard what he did was because he has clairaudient abilities that allow this type of animal communication for him. He admitted it was a possibility.

Many people - including people who pride themselves on being open-minded like me - seem to sort of shut down when they hear about animal communications (aka Pet Psychics). I was speculating today as to why this would be.

Say that animal communications are a real thing. What would it entail for us to shift our belief system to know and understand that our animals can communicate very real things with us - like preferences, memories, emotions like sadness, fears like abandonment. How would that shift our onus of responsibility as “pet owners?”

Many of us assume some level of dominance over our pets. We feel we have to or they would overrun the house. To accept the fact that when we decide to spay/neuter, they mourn; when we decide to board them, they lie there and worry that we may never come back; when we argue with our spouses, they fear that we might get a divorce; when we call them “bad dog” they understand and feel shame…all of these things could shift how we partnered and interacted with our pets in our daily lives if we believed that animals could truly communicate through animal communicators. It would have to, because as loving and responsible human beings, we would have no other choice but to place much more consideration in how our pets felt as we went about our daily self-centered lives.

Once, we thought that primates like gorillas were mere animals without anything approaching the level of consciousness that we humans had. And then along came Koko, the gorilla who learned sign language. When she could communicate, she asked for a kitten. She named the kitten All Ball. When All Ball died, Koko cried.

Apparently gorillas are capable of far more consciousness than we once believed.

Is it such a leap, then, to believe that our pets do have consciousness that includes guilt, shame, joy, fear, hurt feelings and so much more? And if they have that consciousness, what kind of leap is it to make to believe that there is a way to communicate with them?

Maybe it is our egos that won’t allow us to believe that our pets are so much more than eating, sleeping, pooping fur balls that inhabit our homes.

Aside from interviewing Heidi and talking with Brian, I’ve never had experience with pet communicators. I haven’t had anyone “read” my dogs. Not because I don’t want to know - but because the opportunity hasn’t arisen. And yet I wonder - if I did have such an experience, how would my relationship with them change? Would they now be allowed on the good couch? Would I stop dressing the girls up in silly dresses? Would the dog purse become a thing of the past, or would it come out even more and get bigger so that all of the dogs could go on every outing, every time? In other words, would my pets become more human to me so that I would have to show them even more consideration than I already do?

I love my dogs. This is apparent to anyone who sees me with them. Right now I have one curled up on my chest, sound asleep while one lies at my feet and two sit on the couch next to me. They are wonderful creatures who bring joy and light into my life. And yet, at the same time, the communication is rudimentary. I have to guess at what they want and feel. What if I knew for sure? Would I change how I treated them? Maybe someday, I’ll have an answer.