"Murder, Misfits & Mutts" - Chapter 11 - Carmel Dog Tales

Chapter 11


Abby attempted an easy smile to the local talk show host seated beside her. Don Clifford returned his best 60 Minutes smile of friendly interrogation.

     “So, I’m still not clear on how you actually receive this communication from your… uh…”

     “Clients. We call them clients, Don. Horses, birds, cats, dogs. They’ve all been clients in my practice. Along with their caretakers.”


     “Isn’t that what we are? We certainly don’t own them. If anything, they tend to own us.”


     Watching a beat-up TV in a cluttered waiting room/office, Jerry enjoyed Abby’s sparing with the host. Jerry turned and looked out a grimy window where an old mechanic, Carl, was servicing Jerry’s truck.

    “So how does it actually work?” Don asked. “How do your clients talk to you? Or you talk to them?”

     “Well, first of all, I’m not Dr. Doolittle. Would be a whole lot easier if I was. The language of friendship is not words but meanings. It is an intelligence above language. Thoreau.”


     Charles Stanton was amused as he watched the interview on a big flat screen across the room from his wall of books.

     “But to your question, Don.  Generally, the way the animal and I communicate is beyond words. More like… spirit to spirit.”

     “And you do that…?”

     “Several ways. I’ve had sessions where I receive physical feelings, hear specific sounds. Even smell things the animal connects with.”

     Don offered his viewing audience a doubtful smirk.

     “I know. Sounds crazy. But we humans forget that to a dog the world of scent is at least as powerful as the world of sight to us. Sheepdog noses have over two hundred million sensory receptor sites.  Beagle noses, over three hundred million! Compared to a dog our smelling apparatus stinks. We smell almost nothing, while the fastest way information gets to a dog’s brain is through their nose.  Search and rescue, bomb sniffers, a whiff of the precursor to a seizure attack. The nose knows!  And if I can tap into that… Pretty powerful source of communication.”


     Jerry threw a K-cup into a coffee-stained Keurig machine beside the television.                                                               

     “Bottom line is that I have to remain open to however the information wants to come through. Though, usually, I receive the communication through images.”

     “You see things…”

     “I’m just a conduit for whatever wants to come through. Whatever wants to happen.”

     “Whatever wants to happen…” Jerry mused. “Yeah. Right.” 

     A door to the repair bay opened and Carl came in wiping his hands on a filthy rag.  

     “Hoses are cracked. Radiator leaks. And your transmission… When was the last time you had it serviced?”

     “You did it.”

     “I’ll look it up.”

     “No. I don’t want you to look it up. I want you to fix it. I’m getting out of here.”

     “Where to?”

     “I don’t know. Maybe Baja.”

     “You won’t get to Salinas.”

     “Is that before or after you fix it?”

     Carl grinned.

     “How long?”

     “A week. Maybe more.”

     “No. No more. I can’t wait. One week. Got any wheels I can borrow?”

     “Yeah, I got something.” Carl shot Jerry a wicked grin.


     On the television, Don Clifford said, “Don’t mean to put you on the spot, Abby… but how do you know that what the animal is communicating is the truth?”

     “I don’t. But animals are pretty honest. They don’t usually come with a hidden agenda. Unlike some of us.”  Her innocent look left no doubt which of us she was referring to.

     “Look… All we are is energy and vibration. Animals have an amazing sense of that. They sense who’s trustworthy and who’s not – who’s sad, stressed, or in pain.” Abby let that settle. “And yet… I’m always surprised there are so many people who doubt that some of us can tune into that.”

     “Well, you have to admit, it is a bit of a… leap of faith.”  

     “We take that leap all the time. How about when someone receives a message from God, or whatever spiritual presence they believe in, and they experience transformation. And we accept it. A leap of faith… whatever you want to call it. So, the question really is, does a divine presence reside in our animal friends? If you believe that animals have an intelligence, a spiritual quality… a soul, then why wouldn’t it be possible to connect with that?”

     Don glanced at his sheet of questions – examination of an animal’s soul not there.

     “Anyone who’s spent time with a dog, cat, whatever, can tell you that their animal instinctively knows who’s good, or bad. And here’s the scary part… They do it better than us. Much better. They sense who we really are. Way before we know them. And once an animal has you pegged, good luck convincing them otherwise.”

     Don related.

     “Dog or cat?” Abby asked.


     “In nine lifetimes, you’ll never know as much about your cat, as your cat knows about you.”



     Don’s nod said he didn’t have a clue.

     “Michel Montaigne. French essayist. Sixteenth century. The man loved his cat. Wrote pages and pages about her. But all that aside, any animal communicator will tell you that what we do is not perfect. The information coming through can always be misinterpreted or misleading.  In fact, sometimes I get nothing. I’m currently fostering a sweet little dog who’s quite distraught over the passing of her human companion. I know she wants to tell me something, but can’t seem to open up. We may never connect. Or, I’ll find the key and it will all just… pop out!”


     Charles Stanton stared at the big flat screen. He was no longer amused. The idea of this woman actually communicating with some dog gave him a twinge in the solar plexus.

~   ~   ~               


[contact-form-7 id="2412" title="Popup Quote form"]