Welcome to the Articulate Animals Newsletter, October 2007
Comments from Kelly
The
leaves are changing color in the mountains of Colorado, and it won't be long before
snow flies. I love fall and winter and look forward to the change in seasons. I hope you
are enjoying your autumn - wherever that may be!
The topic of this newsletter's feature article is an emotional one, but one all of us will face at some point. The passing of our beloved companions is inevitable and heartbreaking. Many clients with aging and/or ailing pets struggle with all the considerations - should I assist, or let nature take it course? Is he in pain? Is she waiting for permission from me to let go? How can I help the other animals in our household cope with the loss of their companion?
There is no one, right way - there is only your way. Every circumstance is different. Let your animals and your relationship with them guide you. And remember, while you are honoring your beloved companions and considering their wishes, you have the right to make requests as well. My own Pugsley heard my request that, if at all possible, I would like to be with her in her final hours. She honored that request - she passed less than 12 hours after I returned from being out of the country. Her caregiver reported that she was alert and active the entire day prior to my return; her brief and rapid decline started only after she was back home and knew I would be with her. Her transition was peaceful and without interference, which was her request of me.
My long-time friend, Alyson Stanfield (about Alyson), faced all these difficult questions a little over a year ago and captured her journey in writing. Alyson agreed to let me share her words with you, unedited, in the hope that her story may bring support for you and your loved ones. If you are prone to "moist-eye syndrome" you may want to pause here and grab a tissue. Read "The Day Miki's Spirit Left Her Body" below.
I join you in remembrance of our animal friends who are no longer with us in the physical, but will always be with us in spirit.
Blessings,
Kelly
Gift Certificates
This Holiday season, give your friends and loved ones the gift of an animal communication session. Gift Certificates available for 30, 45, and 60 minute telephone sessions with Kelly. An attractive certificate will be mailed to you for presentation to your family member or colleague at the next special occasion. Email for more information.
The Day Miki's Spirit Left Her Body
by Alyson B. Stanfield, Tuesday, July 11, 2006
I don’t ever want to forget this amazing experience, so I had to
take the time to write it down. I hope that when your pet passes, you are as
fortunate as I was.
Miki (Mee'-kee) was the Siamese cat Mom bought me when I was 24.
Coincidentally, I was the same age as Mom the year she gave birth to me.
Mom named Miki after a Siamese cat who had been lost in the Himalaya and somehow managed to find her way home. She was a fiercely loyal companion for over 19 years and lived with me in Washington, Austin, Oklahoma City, Wichita, Denver, and Golden. (Yep, that makes me 43.) She was as independent and as stubborn as I.
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For the last two years I have been hydrating her (with a needle and lactated
ringers) every few days. Her kidneys were failing. Her medication for arthritis
had increased and we gave her a human formula to help with constipation. Boy,
she really wanted to stick around because she took it all like a trooper. The
younger Miki would have never stood for such treatment. She didn't really like
to be fussed over or for me to interfere with her lifestyle.
Miki's favorite resting place was a basket equipped with a heating pad and an afghan Mom had knitted. And, boy, was she thrilled with our new house, which has a great deck in the back and patio on the front! She had a whole month to recline all day, every day, in the sun. As Rob said, she was like a sundial, following the earth's star as it moved across the sky. It's like the greatest gift we could have given her—like she was waiting for just the right space . . . heaven.
The past week, Miki’s health deteriorated rapidly. Sure, she hadn’t been feeling great and we had taken to calling her “wobbly” because her hips just didn’t want to follow her commands. But she had never stopped eating. Until last Wednesday. Suddenly food didn't sound good. We tried about seven different kinds of canned food, real turkey, tuna, and chicken, along with cheese, yogurt and milk. As we would learn, nausea is a symptom of renal failure.
Miki and I had a long talk and I told her I’d give her until Monday to shape up, but then I’d have to help her. I couldn’t bear to see her like that. I enlisted the help of my friend, Kelly, who is studying to be a pet communicator. Her sensitivity was invaluable and she helped me find Dr. Ann Brandenburg-Schroeder. Ann has this amazing service to help when your pet is dying: http://besidestillwater.net/
I made an appointment with Dr. Ann for 4 p.m. on Monday, July 10, 2006.
All weekend long, I told Miki it was okay to
leave us. That she could just close her eyes and sleep peacefully forever. Miki
is just as big a control freak as I. I was sure she would prefer controlling her
own passing. Stubborn to the end, Miki stuck around.
Monday morning, Miki was even
worse. She could barely stand on her own. She got out of the basket once,
hobbled a couple of steps, and fell on her side. I was certain I was doing the
right thing.
Ann arrived promptly at 4 p.m. She was in a denim dress with soft pink shirt and
pink straw hat. She had a silver brooch on in the shape of a dog with angel
wings. She had the air of Roma Downy in Touched by an Angel. She was
holding a lovely, small bouquet of wildflowers with daisies (she intuited that
they were my favorite).
Rob, Ann and I sat on the floor around Miki’s basket.
Ann looked over Miki and concurred that she was, indeed, very bad off. Miki knew we were talking about her and tried to perk up. She had taken to doing this . . . trying to fool us and herself into thinking she was alert. Her head would nod to one side and then she'd jerk it back upright until it fell again. Her energy level was declining rapidly. It was harder and harder to hold her head up. It was even difficult to close her eyes, so she slept with them partially open.
Anyway, as the three of us were sitting with her, Miki started to climb out of her basket and I knew by the urgency in her face that she needed to go to the litter box. As I had for two days, I carried her to the litter box so she could tinkle. She did her job and then jumped out of the litter box, pretending to be youthful again. I carried her back into her basket with the heating pad.
Lying down in the basket wasn't easy for Miki over the past few weeks.
Her hips wouldn't cooperate and curl up as they used to. So, she would lean up against the back of the basket and use her tail as a prop to kind of slide down into the basket. Other times, she'd just kind of fall to the side. For the last time, Miki went through the motions of nestling in.Ann spoke with a calm, reassuring voice. She told us about Miki’s conditions and what was happening with her renal failure and arthritis. Then she proceeded to tell us how she was going to help Miki die. She would inject sodium pentobarbital into the abdominal cavity. Soon, Miki would start relaxing her tense body. She would enter a deep sleep, then coma, and then eventually die. Some cats can go through the process in ten minutes. Others take longer. They have their own, individual ways of doing things.
 Miki on our front porch around July 4, 2006. |
After Ann had been there about 45 minutes, she filled her needle and looked for the right place beside Miki's protruding ribs. She had become so thin that they were easy to find. Once a hefty 14 pounds, she was probably six pounds or less at the time of her death.
Miki didn't appreciate the injection and tried to bite me as I was stroking her head. Miki never liked to be touched below her head, ears, and neck and didn't think Ann had any business being down there. But she soon gave in to the relief that the medicine brought. Rob and I were constantly petting her and talking to you. Yes, we were crying, but not weeping.
About 25 minutes after the shot, Ann gave her another injection. Some of the medicine had leaked during the first injection and it was apparent that Miki was going to need more help. This time, Miki didn't even feel the needle go in.
Ann said that if a cat were to die on her own, she would probably stretch her entire body out and lie on her side. So, we took Miki out of the basket and lay her on a plastic mat covered with a towel. This was for protection in case she lost her bowels or other fluids, which didn't happen. I wonder if it was because Miki really hadn't eaten in five days and had just gone to the bathroom.
I couldn't believe this was happening in our living room in the very spot where Miki spent most of her time. And I couldn't believe I wasn't absolutely bawling. But I couldn't. Miki looked so much more at peace than she had in weeks. And Ann was absolutely amazing.
Soon after the second injection, Miki let a few breaths out and her spirit left her body. I understand these last breaths are common for both humans and animals. They looked like involuntary reflexes.
Miki was dead. We were still stroking her head and talking to her, but her spirit was no longer there.
Ann and I lifted Miki's body and returned her to the basket she called home. We curled her up in a ball, a position that her aging body hadn't allowed. She looked much more like the Miki I had loved for so long. She had the familiar afghan around her and was finally free from pain.
Ann thought Rob and I should take Miki's body into the closet where Frida, our other Siamese, usually hides. It would be good for Frida to see and smell the body and to realize she had passed. Frida obeyed, pranced around the closet a bit without acting interested. She had surely known this was coming and that something had been wrong with Miki for a very long time.
We brought Miki's body back out. Ann would take her to the pet crematorium for us. I carried the basket out to Ann's Subaru station wagon. It was backed in the driveway like a hearse. She opened the trunk and there was an environment of pillows—one of which was inscribed with comforting words—and an arrangement of dried flowers on a ledge. It was more than suitable to take Miki's body.
That was yesterday.
We're now waiting for Miki's remains to be returned to us. I've been told that when it's time to pick them up, I am not to go alone, as it is too emotional. Ann was enormously helpful in all of her instructions. Having never had to go through anything like this before, I can't imagine doing it any other way. It was, quite honestly, one of the most amazingly good experiences I've ever had. I would never have imagined the process of dying could be so comforting.
We plan to climb to the top of Mt. Oklahoma and scatter Miki's remains on the Colorado mountain that was named after her birth state.
I hope you will pass this on to those who have aging pets or who might benefit from any of this experience.
Does my animal have to have a
behavioral problem or illness to do a consult with Kelly?
No – in fact many clients schedule
a consultation to
check in on the animal’s well-being, to learn about what the animal may want or
need, and to see if they have any words of wisdom for the benefit of the family
members. Some clients' primary topic for a consultation is simply to convey to
their companion animal their love and appreciation for bringing joy to their
lives.
More Frequently Asked
Questions can be found at
http://articulateanimals.com/faq.asp
Thank you for sharing your animal companions with me, and thank you for referring your friends and family. It is a pleasure working with you.
Watch for the next Articulate Animals e-newsletter in January. Please feel free to forward this newsletter in its entirety. For permission to use portions of the newsletter, please email Kelly directly.
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Kelly
Krueger, Animal Communicator
Articulate Animals, LLC
P.O. Box 3732
Evergreen, CO 80437
303-670-0292
email:
Kelly@ArticulateAnimals.com