Tilly was my next, and greatest, teacher, not just of intuitive communication but about Life, Death, and Consciousness. She challenged my core beliefs throughout her life and afterwards.

Where Max was the springboard, Tilly was the ocean.

However, things are not always how they first seem. And in Tilly’s case it was just as well. Because if we had known the truth, we would never have decided to bring her and her “sister” Sally home. And all of our amazing experiences would never have happened.

This is how it came about……

On 11th August 2000 I pulled up in the car park of North Clwyd Animal Rescue (NCAR) with a whirlwind of emotions in my heart. My then husband and I had recently lost both our Westies, Barney (11) in February and Sam (15) just 6 weeks ago. We’d been going to wait 6 months after Sam died before considering having another dog, as they had both needed quite intensive care day and night, and I in particular was exhausted. But the house just felt so empty, and we missed them so much. I’d come down each morning, see a shape on the windowsill through the curtains, and just for a second my heart would lift – then I’d remember it was just a vase of flowers, and my heart would plummet again. And every time my husband saw a dog on TV, it was “Oooh, look at that one! Perhaps we could have one like that….??”

We were actually very clear about what sort of dogs we wanted. Small-to-medium; calm; quiet; young so we hopefully wouldn’t have to be focused on nursing, and dying, again too soon; not a Jack Russell because ~They’re yappy!”; preferably boys because all my animals, dogs, cats and horses, had been boys; and must get on well with other dogs. This was essential because Sam, our older Westie, had hated other dogs; and our lives, the neighbours’ lives and our window-frames, had suffered as a result.

But now I was here, I felt overcome with confusion and sadness. Was it too soon? Were we not fully honouring the memory of our special boys who had given us so many years of love, support and joy? We had no children, and they had been our family. My eyes filled with tears (again), even though I knew that in reality they would be delighted that all that love was not going to waste. The idea of other dogs in our lives and our hearts was so hard. And yet, feeling so bereft, and knowing there were so many dogs needing loving homes, it seemed selfish not to……. I took a deep breath, and went in, telling myself I was just looking, and there was no pressure.

It was a quiet day at NCAR, and the deputy manager (I’ll call him Tom) grilled me about my suitability to adopt, as he literally showed me every dog in the place (50 plus). All lovely, but no-one felt quite right. I almost felt relieved. And by the time we got to the “small dog “area, my head was spinning with so many questions and so many dogs.

The pens were in an L shape, with what looked like an empty one on the short side, but with little dogs in all the others coming forward to say Hi.

“Now, here’s someone who might be suitable for you,” Tom said, as he steered me towards a pen containing a beautiful Westie-Cairn cross. “He came in a few days ago, about 7, belonged to an older lady who can’t keep him. He’s lovely, and very well trained. There’s someone interested in him but it’s early days.” I looked at him, and really liked him, though he was older than we wanted.

But as I leaned forward and said hello to him, I suddenly became aware of two big nut-brown eyes fixed on me laser-like from the apparently empty short-side pen. Two huge ginger ears, way too big for the pointy white face, were focused forward towards me. As I turned to see more, the ears went flat back but the eyes continued to bore into my soul. She was skinny, mangy-looking with bald red patches, and her fur looked wired, as if she’d been plugged into the mains.

“Who’s that?” I asked.

“That’s Tilly,” said Tom. “She was found with the other dog, Sally, straying near Wrexham,” and as I looked further into the pen, I saw a little fat tri-colour Jack Russell sitting behind Tilly, also looking at me but not with the intensity of Tilly, just waiting….

As I moved closer, Tilly collapsed onto her back and began to tremble. “She’s very nervous,” Tom said. “That’s why we left her in with Sally, she seems to help her. They’re only just out of isolation today, came in a week ago. We think Tilly’s about three, and Sally about five. And they both seem fine with other dogs.”

I squatted down to talk to Tilly. “It’s okay, girl,” I said, “I’m not going to hurt you. You’re safe now.” She continued to shake, but her eyes never left mine.

“Let me show you the others,” said Tom, and I followed him towards the remaining pens. All the way round, I was aware of Tilly’s eyes pulling me back. I looked again at the Westie-Cairn cross, so calm and so apparently easy. And yet…… we really wanted two dogs together to keep each other company; I knew not many people will take two dogs together, and Tilly seemed to really need Sally; and although I had no specialist knowledge about fearful dogs, I knew the one thing I did have was patience, which looked like it would be needed in shedloads. And Tilly’s eyes were so insistent………

“I’ll talk to my husband,” I said to Tom. Tom said he would reserve them for us until the next day.

I went home, and we discussed the visit. “They’re not what we said we wanted, especially girls, and one being a Jack Russell,” I said. “But just come and see what you think.”

We went back the next day. Tom brought Sally and Tilly out to us. My husband said “But they’re lovely!” He picked up Tilly, who had rolled onto her back again, and snuggled her to his chest, “She’ll take any amount of this!” I was surprised at her apparent acquiescence……. little did I know…..

We took them for a walk. I had Sally who pulled like a train. I had never known a small dog have so much power. I was aware of a pang as the Westie-Cairn cross trotted past us with a potential new owner, walking impeccably. Tilly kept stopping and rolling on her back, needing persuasion with treats to get up again.

But my husband was now besotted with both girls, and raring to go. We agreed with Tom that we would take them in a few days once we had made quite sure our fencing was unbreachable and that we had everything we needed.

So, on 18^th August 2000, home they came.

It was nearly the shortest rehab story ever. Thank God my husband had reversed the Land Rover into the drive rather than driving in forwards. As I very carefully opened the back door to get them out, Tilly shot past me with the force of a hurricane, landed with a splat on the path, and ran.

Fortunately, she ran down the back path towards the heavy wooden back gate which was shut, and rather than turning tail, squashed herself as small as possible into the corner and trembled……. She let me pick her up and cuddle her as we went round to the front of the house and through the door together, her in my arms.

And the rest of my life started…….

As they began to settle in, several things became clear. Tilly did NOT like being picked up and snuggled, and would growl and wriggle to get down; she would only approach either of us for treats, and would try to get into the smallest gap to hide, including behind the coal bunker which got everyone very dirty; she screamed, literally, when taken out for a walk, out and back; she would fly at every dog she saw; and she would snarl in her sleep, having nightmares or flashbacks.

Sally didn’t really “do” walking, she would stop by the gate after one circuit of the local field and try to persuade us to go home; she was terrified of loud bangs and tried to bolt; she would look hopefully ay older men and try to pull us towards them; she would bite if her warning growls were not heeded; and she was a food-hoover, with every meal gone in nanoseconds, leaving me amazed and her saying “Where’s the rest??”

My husband was always very busy with his work, so apart from doing the night-time walk, and having a very happy Sally sleeping on his tummy every evening as they both napped in front of the TV, the rest of the management and support for our new girls was down to me. This was exactly where I wanted it.

And so the long and winding road to rehabilitation began. For all of us. I wanted to do the very best for Tilly and Sally that I could. I knew that Sam in particular had had fear and aggression issues with other dogs that I had never dealt with, and I felt bad for that. I was determined that Tilly would not go through what he had.

It was totally thanks to Sally and Tilly, and their issues, that I discovered (after several wrong turns) the power of positive dog training which put the dog front and centre rather than the humans; tapped into Emotional Freedom Technique (EFT) to relieve some of their, and my own, deep-seated issues which affected the way we each viewed the world; found the gentle but powerful magic of flower essences which can transform negative emotions to positive while making the change feel so natural that others become aware of it first.

Because of them, I became a qualified dog trainer, flower essence therapist, EFT trainer, and Reiki master. Because of them I finally accepted and developed my Intuitive Animal Communication skills to levels I would never have dreamed of.

And because of them, I (who had never had cause to doubt that I was a straight woman), met Elaine at a Flower Essence workshop, fell in love with her, left my husband after 21 years, and started a totally new life. This brought the freedom to explore who I really am, who and what animals really are, what death really is, and how everything in the Universe really is connected and eternal.

It also brought, finally, the beginning of healing from the multiple childhood losses (including my mother, my grandmother and my home, in just three weeks, when I was 10), which I had buried for over 40 years.

None of this would have happened without Tilly. From that first moment in NCAR, we had a connection unlike any other I had ever known. She put me through pain, anguish, embarrassment at her wild behaviour – yet I could forgive her anything. I had adored Sam and Barney, my horses had been my life, and I loved Sally to bits. But with Tilly, it was as if she could read my soul. And she had no compunction, ever, in pushing my development to its highest level. We had found unconditional love and total understanding. And when her end-of-life journey began, in May 2013, the connection reached an undreamed-of level of teaching, healing, support and wonder, with so many “Wow!” moments, which are still continuing thirteen years after her passing……

Our connection is truly eternal. And I am beyond grateful to her. She literally showed us Sophie, the Westie who joined our family in 2014 as my next Great Teacher. Sophie brought so much pain with her that she attempted suicide (there is no other explanation for what happened) – yet she has seen us through so much growth, heavily disguised as our own trauma and pain, with her deep love, determination and stoicism. Her story is next……

Until one evening in June 1996, I didn’t believe it was possible to communicate telepathically with animals.

Then, out of the blue, my horse Max did something - and, in doing so, completely changed both the course of my life and the person I was.

Thirty years later, I’m still exploring the extraordinary questions that began that evening. I’ve now been a professional Intuitive Animal Communicator for 20 years, and have been privileged to help many hundreds of animals and their human families create even deeper bonds through some of their most challenging and heart-breaking times. And through this work, and all the animals throughout my life, I found my way back to myself too.

This is the story of where that journey began.

Max had literally been a gift to me, totally unexpectedly, just under two years earlier. This very placid-looking photograph does not do him or his personality justice - he was willing to cooperate if asked respectfully, but to take him for granted was to ask for trouble! He was 14, my very first “own” horse after ten years of dreaming and living horses, and riding whenever I could. I was 41 when he arrived (I was always a late developer!), but felt like a 12 year old who’d had all her birthdays and Christmases come at once.

My then husband was deeply unimpressed, but I wasn’t for shifting - Max was joining our family, no matter what.

My dreams of transforming into a competition dressage rider soon melted like snow in summer, as Max turned out to have a penchant for “pushing other horses’ buttons”, combined with a sensitivity to practically every drug and herb known to man. I did however become an almost-world-class nurse and bandager, and did a deep dive into homeopathy and energy therapies as just about the only things he didn’t react badly to. I also had a word-perfect apology script, adapted over time to cover every one of his multiple misdemeanours.

But even though the rosette board and the bank account were both empty - I adored him. And we spent so much time together through his care needs, that he learned to trust me. We really were a Dream Team, even though definitely not the one I’d thought I wanted……

On Monday 17th June 1996, we were, yet again, standing on the yard in front of a vet.

6 months earlier, Max had managed to split his left foreleg open, while turned out in a field with a quiet companion, to recuperate from a fractured jaw (presumably a retaliation from a horse he’d pushed too far). We tried literally everything available that Max could tolerate. But the leg would not fully heal. And the amount of time he had to spend in the stable had severely accelerated the arthritic condition he came with.

But I was determined to stay positive, and was gabbling to the vet about what might come available in the future. The vet looked me straight in the eyes and said, sympathetically but firmly “My dear….. he doesn’t have a future.”

My heart went cold. But I stood my ground.

“No!” I said, equally firmly. “He can at least have the summer! I’ll look after him, it doesn’t matter if he’s never ridden again. I’ll take care of him! This is not over! It doesn’t have to be….”

The vet drove away, leaving me in pieces….

For the next four days, Max’s routine went on, with me utterly determined that we could, and would, give him more time.

Friday 21st June came. I was due to be going out to a Solstice Sleepover Party in a tent in a friend’s garden, and truthfully was thinking about that more than Max, as I turned him out that evening for his overnight grass-fest after a day resting in his stable. I took his head collar off, gave him a kiss on his nose, and headed for the gate.

Never one to waste valuable grazing time, he would usually just put his head down straightaway. But I realised that this time he was following me. I stopped, puzzled, to see what he was going to do.

What happened next blew my mind, and changed my life forever.

He walked straight up to me, and put his head close to my right shoulder. I could feel him breathing in my ear. By this time he had my full attention. I was riveted! This had never, ever, happened before.

Then, at the back of my head, just below and to the side of my right ear, I “heard” three words arrive in my head. I say “heard”, but there was no-one else there.

Those three words were “Sort me out.”

I knew immediately that I’d been communicated with, even though ten seconds before I would have denied it was even possible. It was as if I’d always known…. And I knew exactly what he meant. We knew we’d tried everything. There was only one choice left.

I spoke out loud straight back to him.

“I hear you, son. I know what you want. I’ll sort it, I promise.”

He took his head off my shoulder, strolled back up the field and started eating the grass, leaving me mentally and emotionally blasted and in floods of tears…… “WTF just happened?? Did it really happen??”

But I knew….. and I knew what I had to do.

Four days later, on 25th June (my beloved Dad’s first Heavenly Birthday), Max had the perfect vet-assisted passing, with everything exactly as I knew he would have wanted, because I knew him inside out. The only thing I hadn’t known, was that he was not only willing, but actually wanted, to go. And thanks to him, I now knew that too. It really, really helped.

I was still heartbroken because he’d gone - but all the guilt, the second-guessing about “Is it time? Am I doing the right thing?” Simply not there. Just clean, uncomplicated grief.

A truly priceless gift.

Did I tell anyone what had happened? No. Everyone at the yard already thought I was crazy, because of my “weird” therapies.

And Life had already taught me that openness and honesty were not safe.

So I waited…. until 4 years later, Tilly “The Tilster” Foxy Terrier and her Jack Russell “sister” Sally burst into my life to create total transformation disguised as shame, embarrassment and utter despair. More next time…..

This story is to honour Max, my Gift Horse at so many levels. He was the springboard for every incredible event that followed.

I had always wished it was possible to talk to animals and understand their responses, but I “knew” it wasn’t. I was wrong (not for the first or last time!)

Max didn’t simply change the way I experienced his death.

He changed the way I experienced life.

Since then I’ve spent my life exploring the extraordinary relationships we share with animals, and the remarkable abilities we have to communicate deeply and clearly with them, and even more so them with us.

This Substack is an invitation to explore those relationships, and those abilities, with me.

Some of the stories may surprise you.

Some may challenge you.

Some may simply remind you of something you’ve quietly known all along.

Wherever this journey leads, I’m delighted you’re here.

Welcome - it’s good to see you here!

If you’ve arrived at Growing Through Life, Guided by Animals, there’s a good chance that animals have touched your life in ways that are difficult to put into words.

For over twenty years I’ve had the privilege of exploring the extraordinary depth of relationships between humans and animals, as an intuitive animal communicator, teacher and lifelong learner. This has been underpinned by my 30 year background in social work with seriously ill adults and their families.

These two apparently diverse paths have shown me so many differences, yet so many similarities, in the challenges faced by carers of humans and animals, with regard to change, trauma, grief and loss.

Yet the more I’ve experienced, the more new doors seem to open, and unexpected paths to healing appear…

This publication is a place for us to explore these paths together. And a place for me to finally write the book that’s been bubbling for so many years…..

We’ll reflect on what animals can teach us about love, loss, healing, resilience, consciousness and the extraordinary ways they shape our lives—through life, death and way beyond.

Sometimes I’ll tell stories.

Sometimes I’ll ask questions.

Sometimes I’ll post research that challenges or deepens my own understanding.

And sometimes I’ll just share a moment with an animal that has made me stop, smile, or see the world a little differently.

You don’t need to hold my beliefs to be welcome here. Curiosity, kindness and a willingness to explore are all that’s required.

I hope you’ll feel at home here. Tell me what you enjoy, what you don’t, and what you’d like to see more of. New developments and other tiers will follow as we get to know each other better.

And I hope you’ll share your experiences with, and thoughts about, your own animals too, however unusual or unexpected you may have found them. We’re all here to learn and grow together…… led from the heart, by the animals we love.