September 29, 2013

From "The Little Prince"

"Men have forgotten this truth. But you must not forget it. You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed."
~Antoine de Saint-Exupery

September 25, 2013

Reisa Stone: Are You A "Pet Parent"?

I read a discussion about whether it's politically correct to call yourself a "pet parent," or to call your pets "fur babies" and the like. 

Here is my response.

One of the really fun things about my job as an Animal Communicator: I get to tell people how their pets view the relationship, and what they call their human companions.

This is quite diverse.

Some animals call humans "Mom" or "Dad." They may call only one person this endearment, while calling the other human their given name. This speaks to the closeness of the relationships. 

In families where a pet is deeply bonded to one person only, they may refer to the others only as "him" or "her." Occasionally with a touch of snark. I have a professional commitment to relay a pet's words verbatim, and struggle to relay this diplomatically. 

Some animals view us as their mates, even as marriage partners, though they're clearly aware that a sexual/reproductive relationship is not possible or even desirable. 

I was stunned when a battered, very old cat I rescued asked me to marry him, "Because you're the only person who's ever really loved me." 

My acceptance of his profoundly humble affection for me redefined my idea of what true love means. I found a room in my heart I hadn't known existed. This experience also led me to explore our past life together, and how it had manifested in the present. 

The latter helped me bear my own distress over his miserable condition when found. However, I'm still experiencing Internet bullying and harassment from his abusers. That's one of the risks with animal rescue.

Some pets view us as equal companions, and call us by our given names. 

Further to this: It's intriguing when I know a person by a shortened name such as Cindy, and their pet insists it's "Cynthia." There's a dignified formality to this.

I've also run across many animals who consider humans to be their babies. It's quite dissonant to hear a person talk about their "baby," when the dog calls the same person, "my daughter."

Again, size and species are irrelevant to this discussion. A Maltese may view you as their child, while an immense draft horse may view you as a parental figure, and a guinea pig, your soul mate and life companion.

Animals experience relationships first and foremost through their hearts. Without exception, their definition of the relationship carries a beautiful dignity within.

Animals are deeply loving, but not the least bit sentimental.
I find that disclosing these names gives a much greater clarity to the relationship. I prefer calling pet owners in general, "guardians."

I've never once heard an animal call themselves, "fur baby." Without exception, animals are far too rightly proud of the glorious asset humans lack, to infantilize it and themselves with such a phrase. 

How would you feel about being called "skin mother"? That would be......eeeeeeeeek.

 Even when pets view you as Mom or Dad, they don't see themselves as eternal babies. They're describing a familial connection. Again, it's dignified.

To me, fur baby is where pet naming steps over a line and becomes less about the animal, more about what's going on for the person.

Animals deserve our respect, not our projections.

I recommend sitting quietly with your pet, breathing in rhythm, and simply asking what they'd like to be called. You may receive an enlightening reply.

Kind regards,

Raisa Stone
                                                I'm Dr. Dolittle. Questions?

Author: -Awaken the Gift of Animal Communication
                 -Sweet Kisses: Peaceful, Low Cost Dental   
                 Care for Your Pet 
                 -Heart to Heart with Animals 

September 12, 2013

Reisa Stone: Another Day, Another Animal Rescue

Ninety degrees yesterday, and I spot a little white Poodle cross panting in a car. He is frantically nosing the bare inch of cracked window.

After asking what I'm doing, a woman in the parking lot says sarcastically, "Well, why don't you call the police, then?"

No doubt I live in the animal cruelty capital of Canada, where Animal Control from another city makes the 130 mile round trip to help with our overabundance of strays and dumped dogs. I have more rescue work here in one square mile than I can handle. I'm constantly buying food for other peoples' pets.

I smile at a-holes who keep their dogs chained 24/7, so I can legally enter their properties to play and give water. I cry for the rabbits who fry, freeze and starve to death in outdoor hutches. 
I inform snarly people that no, you can't just throw a horse out in a field and expect him to thrive. Hoof trimming, worming and even supplemental feeding on a bare pasture is news to many. 

I constantly peel animals off the road, both domestic and wild. It's clear hitting them with cars and repeating the process, is the undeclared local sport. Half the time, they're still alive. I dig through bloodied possum bodies to find if pouch pinkies survived. I gently place a blanket over a shattered but breathing baby raccoon while two little girls watch and sob.

The newspaper refuses to publish my well worded plea for motorists to stop when they've hit an animal.

I launched a campaign to find homes for two abandoned, badly matted cats who were being fed by the Nature Preserve people, and living hopefully under the bird feeders. I painfully lost the fledgling I scooped from the cats' claws.

In spring, Craigslist and bulletin boards are rife with kitten sales, and hundreds of citizens proudly parade malformed and sickly puppies clearly purchased from one of the local mills. I want to weep at the crooked skeletons, the runny eyes and painfully displaced joints. 

We could always tell when we were getting a mill pup at the vet clinic, and knew the prognosis was much poorer than for a well bred animal. Their immune systems are weak.

These same puppies are dragged along carelessly on steaming pavement, their foot pads burning. As adults, they suffer in the back of pickups, though this practice is illegal under the Motor Vehicle Act.

In a region labeled The Green Heart, a popular tourist destination, I stand outside the rows of overwhelming factory farms, sending love and reassurance to thousands of suffering animals. Black and white faces peer mournfully from a barn door. Here, even dairy cows are not permitted outdoors. They stand on concrete 24/7, in the midst of lush grass they can't touch.

I go for a Nature walk, and find an illegally dumped pile of rotten carcasses. I pray for them through nausea.

My town has the most churches per capita than any other Canadian city. Also the most Rebel flags I've seen, and the first time I've witnessed swastikas carved into an upscale neighbourhood's public picnic tables. Annually, they have a combined church service that draws thousands to the sports arena. They push evangelizing the globe.

Imagine a world that looks like this town.

If their God at all approves of their treatment of animals, I never want to meet him.


Customer service is concerned, pages the car owner. She is MAD. She is IRRATIONAL, something about, "Me and my husband always sit in the car with the dog."

Well, they weren't when I found the little guy cooking to death.

I walk with her to the car, she clearly angry that I'm doing so. "Whatcha gonna do, give the police our license plate?" she spits.

"If necessary," I say calmly, and stand by as she takes the little guy out for a walk. He is OVERJOYED. He jumps out of that car like it's a hot oven---which it is. He dives for cool grass on the boulevard. 

I drive by slowly and give the angry woman a thumbs up. She is a mass of thunderclouds. The little Poodle winks.

Raisa Stone

Expert Animal Communicator

Copyright 2013 Raisa Stone. May be shared freely using social media buttons. Reprint requests considered, in writing. Must be reprinted in whole, with links intact.

September 09, 2013

Sweet Kisses: Peaceful, Low Cost Dental Care for Your Pet

It's here! My step by step guide on the stress free, inexpensive way to clean your pet's teeth at home.

If your pet has bad breath or dirty teeth, you'll want to learn how to do this. Have your attempts at teeth cleaning been a struggle? Ease is all in how you set up your sessions. I'll teach you how to create a pleasant bonding experience, and save on dental bills.

The tools are simple and inexpensive. The guidance is priceless. As a former veterinary assistant who despaired at watching entire sets of animal teeth get pulled due to lack of regular cleaning (and inaccuracies from the pet food industry), I hope Sweet Kisses will help many, many pets and owners.

Sweet Kisses focuses on cleaning dog and cat teeth, and also discusses dental care for: equines, rabbits, guinea pigs, hedgehogs, hamsters and birds.
For just $20, you'll develop a more trusting relationship with your pet---and enjoy those sweet kisses.

Instant download on my website:

Have a wonderful week,
Raisa Stone
Expert Animal Communicator

September 07, 2013

Reisa Stone: Blog Links

 Dear Subscriber:

Below are updated Animal Nation blog links. Please pardon the inconvenience if you've already read these posts. More new articles on Animal Communication, care and training are coming!

If you enjoy Animal Nation, you'll love the Animal Soul E-News, where you'll receive not only great info, but special Subscriber-only offers. The newsletter has no cost. Sign up on my website.

Have a wonderful weekend,
Reisa Stone
Expert Animal Communicator

September 02, 2013

Reisa Stone: Could You Be An Animal Communicator?

Here is a reprint of my recent article, published by Yahoo!:

Everyone talks to their pets. I hear them reply. I've had this gift from childhood, and you probably did too. In North American society, it's not considered "normal" to feel such extreme empathy with non-human species, that we can hear them. The good news is, anyone can re-learn the intuitive skills to understand what animals think, feel and want.

I love my job. I help animals make themselves understood. Sometimes, a session makes the difference between a pet owner deciding to really work on an issue, and getting rid of the animal. It's very gratifying to hear that my work helped a person and their companion achieve harmony.

Here are five amazing things about being an Animal Communicator:

1. Pets are eager to speak.

They're constantly trying to communicate with their loved ones. The smallest effort on your part to acknowledge their messages, will result in clearer communication. They usually only vocalize when a message is short and urgent. Most of their conversations are silent, and conveyed through telepathy.

If an animal is exhibiting distressing behavior, there's a good reason behind it. Visit your vet first, to rule out physical causes.

Animal Communicators reveal the reasons behind such behaviors as: inappropriate soiling, aggression, fearfulness, resistance to training, anxiety, depression, destructiveness, etc. Often, the cause isn't apparent, and it's usually unique.

I've spoken with dogs who are aggressive because their owner has unresolved issues from a past assault (they're protecting her!), horses who are losing classes at shows because they're grieving a former barn mate, and cats who avoid the litter box because they hate sharing.

Like us, animals have color, odor and texture preferences. I once spoke with a dog who was peeing in the house because she hated her pink T-shirt! As I only had a plain photo of her face, her owner was astonished that her dog had conveyed such specific information.

What all these pets had in common was their eagerness to express their points of view. Just talking will start to relieve distressing symptoms. From there, I suggest further resources: training classes, a productive activity, desensitization.

In every instance, the pet has thanked me for listening to them.

2. You already have six intuitive senses. They only need practice to grow.
They are:

  • Hearing (clairaudience)
  • Seeing (clairvoyance)
  • Tasting (clairgustation)
  • Smelling (clairaliance)
  • Feeling (clairsentience)
  • Knowing (claircognizance)
These are all legitimate ways to understand animal messages. If you've ever known who is calling before picking up the phone, or known something "in your gut," then you're already in touch with strong intuitive messages.

Evaluate which of your senses are strongest, and focus on strengthening them. As you do, the others will also grow. I have tools on my website for developing your intuition.

I have use of all six. Two are uncommon, but often provide me with valuable information: smelling and tasting. With these, I've been able to tell clients what food their pet eats (and what they'd like to), and even sometimes identify specific brands of household products that are irritating animals and causing allergic symptoms.

The ability to be this specific also establishes confidence in the client that I'm actually communicating with their pet.

3. Animal consciousness is in the special "zone" we achieve through meditation.

You need a regular meditation practice. It doesn't have to be boring.You need to still your mind and suspend judgments in order to hear animal messages. Meditation can be still, or consist of movement such as yoga or walking in Nature. Some people find sports practice to be meditative. Music and dance can also serve as meditative tools.

4. Animal Communication has its basis in both ancient spiritual wisdom and in quantum physics.

Physicists are now finding the explanation for telepathy in the energetic emissions present in all objects and life forms. Animal Communicators read these energetic messages.

Former Apollo 14 astronaut Dr. Edgar Mitchell writes about this extensively. Dr. Bernie Siegel, renowned author of "Love, Medicine and Miracles," has gone public with his skill of Animal Communication.

Don't worry. You don't need a PhD or MD in order to be an Animal Communicator. I do find it useful to have the scientific facts at hand for curious inquirers.

In my own Ukrainian culture, we honor this gift to the extent we all acknowledge it on Christmas Eve.

Humanity would not have been able to survive, evolve or domesticate animals without being able to communicate. In conversations with a man from Ghana, I learned his surprise that most North Americans can't hear animals.

Animal Communication is our proud human heritage.

5. Practice makes (nearly) perfect.

In order to become reliable, you need to speak with many animals and verify basic facts.

I recommend practicing with animals you don't know, but with whom you have permission to speak. Starting with your own pets lacks objectivity. If their issues reflect your own, it will be much harder to hear them. It's always easier to look at someone else.

Your Internet friends are a valuable asset. Ask people you've never met to send you clear photos of their pets, along with a few questions. Request that the photos show the open eyes, and don't have any environmental clues such as toys, tack, beds, harnesses, etc. You'll find yourself flooded with practice materials!

After speaking with someone's pet, verify your information. Don't become discouraged by your misses. No one in the world is 100% accurate in their profession. An Animal Communicator pulls information from "thin air," which is reason enough to be proud of your successes. 70% accuracy is an acceptable standard for professional intuitives.

Animal Communication is a rewarding profession that can help countless animals and people to develop harmonious relationships. I feel grateful to both have and to teach these skills.


Enjoy Awaken the Gift of Animal Communication and Heart to Heart, guided journeys that will zoom you into the "animal zone" of consciousness. If you have any difficulty tuning out distracting thoughts in order to meditate: these learning tools engage the part of your brain that needs to be entertained :-D

To access my instructional materials, click here.

I hope you enjoyed the long weekend. Have a lovely week!
Yours in the love of animals,
Raisa Stone

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Copyright 2013 Raisa Stone. All rights reserved. If you wish to reprint material from this blog, contact Raisa Stone. Must be reprinted in entirety with all links and credit intact. By their terms, this Yahoo! article may be linked to, but not reprinted.



Raisa Stone: Natural Horse Wisdom

When we are young and thought foolish, we sometimes have the greatest wisdom. Forty years ago, long before "natural" horsemanship became a trend, I'd arrive at the barn at 5 am so I could use the arena or head off for the trails unseen. 

I was a kid when I started leaving saddle and bridle in the bushes, and enjoyed the forest in harmony with the horse. Or completed a jump course in the silent arena.

No one saw me, and I told no one. I grew up in British Horse Society Pony Club protocol community, and to ride without tack was not only grounds for grounding or firing, but severely declasse. 

If you rode without, it meant you were too poor to afford it, or too uneducated to know how to use it. At least that's what my Dad said. I got my first pro horse job at 12 and had big dreams, so I listened.

Once I earned my driver's license, I made trips to small towns where cowboys held bareback horsemanship competitions. It was so much fun compared to the more traditional classes at home. I hid my ribbons. 

My sisters are timid riders, and gave me grief for racing on the dirt access roads between Manitoba grain fields. One burst into tears while accompanying me. To them, riding is for rings. I'll give them credit for achieving Lifeguard status, while I stalled at Intermediate.

My riding role models were two young neighbourhood women who didn't give a damn about the unspoken rules. One rode her sweet albino mare Sheba all over creation, bareback. I was so enthralled, one day I followed them for an hour. 

Our unique suburb had rows of houses and basic shopping amenities among acreages that held horse facilities---from humble backyard pastures to competition barns---gentle clay paths rather than sidewalks, and expansive green space. 

In summer, we used the outdoor hockey rink as a central practice ring, and played with our horses in each others' yards. Galloping your horse around the school track guaranteed the mean girls and other bullies backed off. Horses have that magic. Plus I rode better than the chief mean girl, and had the arrogance to wear English boots and dirty breeks to class. 

Our back alley 
Photo: Dan McKay

Just another day in my neighbourhood
Photo: Ken Howell

My first "real" boyfriend at 14, told me he'd fallen in love at first sight because of the way I look riding a Palomino bareback.

My friends and I rode to 7-11 without crossing a main road. Charleswood was a lot like Mr. Ed's neigh-bourhood.

My poor mother drove around frantically looking for her eight year old child. I was over a mile from home, my gaze fixed alternately on Sheba's snowy tail and her magical hoof prints on the damp path as I strolled behind her. Why her rider didn't mind me, I don't know. It was part of her Centaur mystique.

"Brat!" my seven and eight years senior sisters said when they finally pulled me into the car. They'd thought the shenanigans were over after I persuaded Mom to drag a washtub out to the curb, and posted a sign: Free Horse Water. 

Beside the zinc tub, I hopefully refreshed a stack of grass on a daily basis. Once, I emptied a sack of Quaker Oats, after which Mom went back to bed with a cold cloth on her forehead. 

Santa's reindeer required a bale of hay in the house (plus the washtub), so I don't know why she was surprised. 

"Eight flakes in a bale, and nine reindeer. Okay, everyone has to share a bit with Rudolph." Strategies like this kept my mind going for days.

Mom was raising us single, and it took time to accumulate quarters for pony lessons from our Metis neighbours every few days. I felt like I couldn't breathe without daily horse contact. 

My crafty lure occasionally drew an offer of a thrilling ride up our driveway on horses who seemed immense and infinitely patient. I suspect the cheerful riders were my sisters' acquaintances, but they aren't saying.

The other local rebel, I couldn't follow. She rode a wavy-tailed, fiery tri-coloured Paint (I think) mustang. She was an Amazon. Bareback, she sat easily while her horse reared and pawed the air. They jumped formidable drainage ditches and angered lawn owners with hoof gouges. They possibly floated through walls and walked on water. 

I remember this girl with her long dark hair as wild as her mustang's black and chestnut mane, her mouth wide open with laughter. People called her a bad name, though the only male I can recall seeing her with was her horse. Females who belong fully to ourselves, well, we suffer penalties.

People have commented I had a "girl crush," which leaves me incredulous at the base thoughts of the non-horsey. I lusted after the Paint. After the girl's style, her careless freedom and primal spirituality. 

I'm the great granddaughter of Ukrainian Cossacks. 5000 years ago, we tamed the horse. We grew intimate with its wild heart, subsisted on mare's milk turned to cheese and potent liquor. I can think of nothing better than living a nomadic life on horseback, evenings spent singing by firelight while our mounts breathe and graze nearby.

Riding horses without bridle or saddle have been some of the best times of my life, and created some of my closest relationships. 

Unfortunately, my current impeded balance from a spinal crush injury (not horse related, thank goodness) meant that last time I did it---at 50---I slid off. I pride myself on it being "very slowly," and only after the horse bucked. 

Unwilling to face the realities of disability and weight gain, I even briefly managed a Cossack-style underneck hang.

This gorgeous animal was lying in the pasture, sorrel coat gleaming in the sun. Who wouldn't throw a leg over? Long gone are the days I could hop up on 16 hands without a stirrup. Opportunity met regression to teenagerhood.

His bucking was my fault. I didn't fully obtain his permission. I neglected to determine that he was ticklish. My desire overrode my animal communication skills.

Buddy stopped quickly once I lay sprawled by his back feet. He turned a sardonic gaze and said, "I was sunbathing, a$$h##e!"

Despite my excitement that I only tore up my knee, my doctor sighed heavily and made me promise to use a saddle. However, she didn't mention a bridle.

Raisa Stone
Expert Animal Communicator 

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Copyright 2013 Raisa Stone. All rights reserved. If you wish to reprint material from this blog, contact Raisa Stone. Must be reprinted in entirety with all links and credit intact. 

Raisa Stone: Rescue Is A Lifestyle

Weekend plans WERE: alternating between horse show and lake. Oh, God laughed. 

I'm cheerfully humming along on the highway, when I see a terrified dog on the centre line. I pull over, put on my blinkers and start flagging cars.

Doggie doesn't give a darn about my gracious offer of beef jerky and true love. He keeps barking and cringing.

The genius in the first car leans on her horn, sending him into the next lane. Jeepers.

Focus focus focus. Visualize a positive outcome. Send calming thoughts. Don't imagine what happens if you fail.

I finally get him off the road, and find out where he lives. They clearly don't give a rat's patinksy that he was nearly roadkill.

Some days I wish I was the person who could keep driving. How peaceful some peoples' lives must be. I just can't.

~Raisa Stone
Expert Animal Communicator

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Copyright 2013 Raisa Stone. All rights reserved. If you wish to reprint material from this blog, contact Raisa Stone. Must be reprinted in entirety with all links and credit intact.