The new Dr. Doolittle
This psychic communicates with animals across phone lines
The psychic tells me Milo has dysplasia in his left hip. She says Tucker is partially deaf and blind and gets tummy aches. She says Debbie wants more toys.
Terri Jay, a pet psychic, telepathically connects with my three dogs. And except for the thing with Debbie (what dog doesn’t want more toys?), I don’t know how she knows the things she claims to know.
Jay does readings for humans and animals one day a week at Carson City’s psychic hotbed and New Age bookstore, All Things Mystickal. Jay also has a Web site, www.horsewhispererlady.com. She’s received desperate e-mails from as far away as Hong Kong, New Zealand and South Africa from people who’ve lost hope of saving their sick or dying animals. They make phone contact with Jay and have psychic readings performed long distance.
I have the opportunity to have a psychic reading done for my pups in person.
As I arrange the meeting with Jay, I try to verify that I need to bring the animal I want her to read.
“Oh no,” she says. “If the animal’s in front of me, I might judge it based on its physical characteristics, and it can be distracting.”
“How about a photo?” I ask.
“You can bring a photo if you want, but it’s not necessary.”
No animal, no picture, just me—and even I’m unnecessary.
When I arrive at Jay’s house, I’m greeted by three of her four dogs. Assuming that Jay probably has extended conversations with her pets, I expect them to have more manners than your average pooch. But, dogs will be dogs.
“Communication does not necessarily always mean compliance,” Jay says later. “I can communicate with [my dogs] fine, and they’ll still tell me, ‘I don’t think so.'”
Jay has blonde hair with a trace of silver. She wears a blue shirt adorned with horses, jeans, white tennis shoes and a cowgirl’s belt. She also wears a “healing stone,” called labradorite, around her neck; except for the necklace, nothing on her person suggests “psychic.”
Jay talks about the first time she realized she had exceptional abilities. Until recently, she managed a horseback-riding program for the handicapped. One day, she was walking a boy on a horse, having a pleasant conversation with him. When the boy returned to class, Jay told his instructor, “He sure is talking good … he’s very bright.” The woman reminded Jay that the boy couldn’t speak.
“I know my eyes got that big, and the hair stood up on the back of my neck. … I had no inkling this was going to happen to me, especially talking to dead people, which I do now. Nobody goes, ‘You know, I think for my career I’m going to talk to dead people.'”
Jay realized her psychic potential in 1990 and, after talking to a supportive friend, saw that telepathic communication with animals might be a possibility.
Eight years later, Jay was helping Vicki Greer determine what was wrong with her ailing horse. Greer works in public health and is scientifically inclined, she tells me over the phone. Turning to Jay was a last-ditch effort to save her best friend.
“This was a really, completely out-of-the-ordinary thing.” Greer says. “Milo [her horse] had injured himself somehow. The symptoms he had mirrored certain viruses, so the vet treated him for that. It wasn’t helping.”
Greer says Milo went downhill from there, and finally one day he didn’t even recognize her. Greer remembered hearing about Jay from a friend and decided to make the desperate call.
“I thought, ‘I have nothing to lose and everything to gain,'” Greer says. “I called Terri and didn’t tell her much, just the symptoms.” Jay gave a reading over the phone, mentally traversing the horse’s body from nose to tail. She sensed the problem was TMJ [jaw joint disorder] and told Greer the pain was excruciating. Milo, she said, needed an equine chiropractor. The chiropractor diagnosed the injury exactly as Jay described, and the horse recovered.
“I feel without her intervention we wouldn’t have ever known what was wrong,” Greer says. “I would’ve lost him.”
Before connecting with my dogs, Jay grounds herself. Grounding involves enveloping yourself in a blossom of “God’s white light” and “earth-fire energy.”
“I believe [the connection] with the pets works with love,” she says. “The minute you start talking about them, there’s an instant connection right to the animal, whether it’s here or it’s passed away.”
Jay mentally calls the animal for which I supply the name and breed and begins giving me information.
"[Milo] has a rib out on his left side, his neck is out and his sacrum is out. He also might have a little bit of dysplasia in his left hip. … Oh, you poor thing—he thinks he’s this teeny, tiny, little lap dog. … He’s a very, very sensitive dog. When he’s bad, it’s important that he knows you’re not going to stop loving him.”
I don’t know about the neck or sacrum, but he does have mild dysplasia and thinks he can fit on my lap. He’s very sensitive, although mastiffs are an emotional breed.
Then Debbie. Debbie’s primarily my dad’s dog, although she spends a lot of time with me. All I tell Jay is she’s a 1-year-old pug.
“She’s adorable and very spoiled. Somebody needs to do obedience work with her. She’s out of control. Your dad’s a pushover with Debbie. He does not discipline her. He’s actually maudlin with her. It makes me want to vomit.”
She’s so right that my eyes widen, and my mouth gapes.
Tucker is also a pug. He’s older, but I don’t tell her that.
“He’s got some hearing loss and some vision loss. It doesn’t bother him. He also talks about his stomach being upset sometimes. Oh, check his teeth. He’s really bad, upper left. He’s actually got some pain there.”
It’s true, Tucker doesn’t hear well and he’s almost completely blind. His stomach problems cause him not to eat sometimes.
When I go home, I’m attentive to the things Jay told me. I go over “sit” with Debbie. She’s happy when she gets it right. I check Tucker’s teeth. His upper left gum is red and swollen. I make an appointment with the vet. I tell Milo he’s a good dog and that I love him, even when I get mad. He wags his tail.
“Did you guys feel Terri reading your minds?” I ask aloud. It occurs to me that she could have been reading my mind, although that’s a feat in itself. I stare at Milo’s droopy face.
“It seems there’s more going on than meets your puppy-dog eyes," I tell Milo and press my nose to his.