We had an unexpected visitor during the hot spell in May—a homing pigeon who got lost in a race. Larry was in front of the house when he saw a pigeon land on his car and stare at him fixedly. Then the bird tried to walk into our garage but the door was closed. Larry held him while I read the bands on his legs, and then we put him in a cage with some water while we tracked down his owner.

We found out he was from San Diego. The race started on the road to Las Vegas, and the pigeons were supposed to fly home to San Diego. This one landed in northeast Los Angeles instead. The San Diego racing team asked us to keep him a few days until the weather cooled off, feed and water him, and he’d fly home when he felt better.

Homer (yes, I named him) had a different plan.

He busted out of the cage when Larry tried to refill his water, but he didn’t fly back to San Diego. He liked our patio, where he perched and pooped on all the furniture. He went off at night to roost somewhere, but came back midmorning for breakfast. After dinner (he liked it between 5 and 6 p.m.) he’d hang out with us for a while, have a little nap, and then go off for the night. This went on for a few days. We called and e-mailed pigeon fanciers around L.A. and San Diego, asking them to take him. No one responded. So on Saturday Larry got him back in the cage—he put food in the cage and Homer walked right in—and drove him 17 miles south (toward San Diego) on the 710 freeway. He stopped at a park and set Homer free. Homer took off flying south. Larry breathed a sigh of relief.

Larry drove home, a little sad. He stopped to buy a sandwich, went out on the patio, set out his lunch, opened his magazine, settled in for a quiet lunch, and Homer strolled across the patio towards him.

Yes, he had flown home to us.

I think he was probably really happy he had trained us so well. Food, water, an invigorating flight. What more could a homing pigeon want?

Unfortunately, we are really not equipped to handle a homing pigeon. Plus, we were about to go away for two weeks, and while my assistant Karen is happy to keep our bird baths filled, I’m not sure she would have wanted to drive Homer 15 miles a day so he could have some exercise.

So Larry called the president of the Los Angeles Pigeon Society, and he came out and picked up Homer. He knows people in San Diego, and will make sure Homer gets back to his owner.

We’re sad Homer’s not here, but it’s really nice to have taken the sheets off the outdoor furniture—it is amazing how much a pigeon can poop!

As an animal communicator, I was mildly surprised at how uninterested Homer was in communicating with me in my “normal” way. I don’t have great success communicating with birds anyway—they really have a completely different view of the world to mammals, and their 360° awareness which helps them fly makes their brains (or whatever frequency they communicate on) very hard for my human brain to navigate.

Also, Homer wasn’t a pet and he wasn’t a wild animal. He was a working animal, I guess; one who is well fed and taken care of, but does not have an emotional attachment with his humans. (I assume the human didn’t have an emotional attachment, because he did not race up here—a mere 2 hours!—to get Homer back.) However, he definitely liked human company. He sat with us on the patio, walked around us and pecked at our feet, and at one point tried to sit on my shoulder—I discouraged that.

I’m still not sure what to make of the experience. It was a reminder of interconnections, and of how humans are responsible for the animals we breed to no longer be able to live by themselves in the wild. And of how even short interactions with another species can provide many entertaining memories.

A man walks his three small dogs by our house every morning. They are not leashed—they trot along a few feet in front of him, sniffing the grass and trees. But they are fully aware of him as the pack leader. They check on him every few feet, looking back to see if he’s still there, if they’re all still moving in the right direction.

Does your dog pay this kind of attention to you when you walk together?

I hear so many stories of pulled arms and scary encounters with other dogs and people that I thought I’d share a few things I’ve learned over the years of talking to dogs about their experiences while walking with their humans.

While I can’t recommend you walk your dog off-leash (cars, other dogs, etc.), I think you can have a similar experience of teamwork with your dog if you try a few things.

For dogs, going for a walk is the social highlight of their day. They check out the neighborhood, who’s been by (much sniffing, occasional barking). They visit (sometimes friendly, sometimes aggressive) with other dogs and humans.

For most dogs, it’s also a time when they can enjoy being a team with you. Once I introduce this concept to dogs, they become more interested in the person at the other end of the leash.

Of course, ideally the leash will not be used to control your dog. It will hang in a loop between you, available as a safety mechanism.

For this to work, you and your dog have to be aware of each other as you walk.

Why does your dog seem to ignore you? Maybe he’s just hyperactive after being shut in all day. Dogs need to run off their energy. How can you incorporate that need into the start of your walk?

Maybe your dog considers you dead weight at the end of the leash, something to pull in the direction of the good smells rather than as a partner in his adventure in the world.

If this is the case, first you have to get your dog’s attention. Carry treats in your pocket. Every now and then have your dog sit and give him a treat and a pet. He’ll start watching you in case it’s time for a treat. You have become interesting in the eyes of your dog.

Also, pay attention to where your dog likes to sniff and walk. Remember this is the social highlight of his day. Don’t firmly keep him to the middle of the sidewalk if all the good smells are on the left. That’s mean. Walk near the grass and bushes. Notice the places your dog likes to sniff around and stop with him. Allow him to enjoy his social time.

If your dog has a tendency to lunge or bark vigorously at other people or dogs, start paying attention so you notice the other beings before your dog does. Then have your dog sit, give him a treat and a pet, and wait with him until the others go by. Be a partner to your dog. Let him know you see him and will keep both of you safe and happy.

Being in the world with your dog is an exercise in teamwork and partnership. It’s worth working on developing it into an enjoyable experience for both of you.

How do you know what you look like?

Without mirrors or photographs, you might have a completely different impression of your appearance.

I enjoy hearing how animals describe themselves. A small cat described herself as a panther. A full-grown German shepherd thought himself a lap dog.

One day I talked to a cat called Charley who has cerebellar hypoplasia. He was very happy and we had a nice conversation. Then his human explained that Charley walked funny because of his disease. Charley didn’t think he walked funny. So I went to the YouTube video she had made of him, and I found that he does walk funny—skillfully and effectively, but not like an able-bodied cat.

His human had made the video to spread awareness of the disease, and she was really proud of him, and wanted him to know that he was inspiring humans to keep cats like him instead of putting them down.

So I showed him (in my head, the way I talk to animals) the video.

He was most offended. He said that was not him on the video, and that he did not walk that way.

I apologized and told him he was right, and that I had made a mistake. After all, who am I to change his self-image?

It’s a cute video, though. You can watch it here.

You know you don’t want your dog to jump up and bark at the mailman. So you tell them no. Then you hire me to tell them no.

But do you have something for them to do instead?

I find that humans are really clear on what they don’t want their pets to do—jump on the bed, pee in the house, bark at visitors—but are unable to describe the behaviors they do want in those situations.

Benny leapt and growled at the pool man—twice a week for years. His human wrestled him away from the pool man—twice a week for years.

She knew she wanted Benny not to leap and growl at the pool man. But she had not thought about what she did want him to do when the pool man came.

It’vs always important to substitute a good behavior for a bad one.

So we suggested to Benny that when the pool man comes, Benny sit by the window quietly and watch the pool man carefully. And if the pool man does anything that Benny thinks is bad, he will bark and his human will take care of the situation, and will be happy because Benny is working as a partner to keep them safe.

Needless to say, big behavior changes like this one take some work to shift, but Benny was open to it. We all agreed that the next day the pool man was scheduled to come, she would keep the dog door closed so Benny had to be inside, and when the pool man came, she would go and sit at the window with Benny, and give him treats as long as he sat quietly watching the pool man with her. She would not wrestle with him. She would ignore him if he barked. But if he sat and was quiet, he would get a treat—a reward for his new behavior.

While it might take some time for Benny to see the benefits of his new behavior, and be able to sit quietly at the window even with the dog door open, with persistence he’ll get there.

So next time you want your dog to stop doing something, think to yourself what you would like him to do instead, and cut off the bad behavior at the pass. And remember to always reward the new good behavior.

Not all feral cats want to live in a loving home.

This is what a grumpy cat told me the other day.

He had been taken into a home after being injured in the street. He was taken to a vet to be fixed up, and then welcomed into a loving home with another cat and humans who wanted to give him the opportunity to enjoy cuddling and human companionship and safety.

He preferred to stay under the bed.

They did not ask their existing cat what she thought of bringing the feral guy into the home. She was not amused. She told me he smelled funny, he was rude, and he was stinking up the house. She thought he should live outside.

He agreed.

The human and I tried to show him what it could be like if he started interacting with humans, but he did not get it.

I asked him to show me how he had lived before being injured. He showed me a big tree and grass—he really liked being outside—and he showed me food bowls being put down by human hands. But he had no connection to the humans. He just liked the food.

And he really wanted to go back to that independent life.

The human was sad to let him go. The house cat was not.

We can offer human interactions to animals, but they don’t always want to embrace it.

I talked the other day to a family who would be welcoming a newborn human into their home within the next couple of days.

The cat was uninterested.

One of the dogs thought it was interesting, and asked why the humans were bringing in a little baby. But he didn’t really see it affecting his life.

The other dog, however, was beyond excited. I had to keep showing him that a baby was not a toy. He really wanted to lick it. And possibly carry it around. The parents and I showed him that he was welcome to visit the baby when invited, but otherwise needed to keep a few feet away, giving it space.

He was a dog with good intentions. He wanted to do what the humans asked, but he was sure he would forget in the moment of excitement of smelling this tiny baby. (To our knowledge he hadn’t seen a baby before, so we’re not sure why it was so amazing to him.) He asked the humans to remind him if he got overexcited, because he might forget.

It’s always a good idea to have a conversation before bringing a new family member into the home. The existing family members usually want to know why the new one is coming, and who chose him/her, and what everyone’s roles and expectations will be. Laying it all out ahead of time eases tension, and helps the humans clarify in their own minds what the rules will be. (Most problems with animal companions come from fuzzy-minded humans.)

The Bach flower remedy Walnut is a good adjunct to any shift in family dynamics. For the animals, you can put a drop in their water every time you change it (make sure they still drink it), or you can put a drop on your hand and rub it into their coat from the head down to the tail. For humans, put a drop in water or under your tongue a couple of times a day. For babies, put a drop on their tummy or the back of their neck twice a day.

I talked to a turtle called Lucky today.

He is a very happy turtle. He told me he was eating lettuce, which he really likes.

His only complaint was that the water in his tank was not quite the right consistency.

Consistency? Lucky said that was not quite the right word. But I found that in the same way the Inuit have hundreds of names for snow based on its texture etc., so do turtles have many ways of describing water that my human brain just can’t translate.

So I used the word consistency. Fortunately Lucky’s human knew exactly what he meant—she’s been changing the filters in his tank and hasn’t got it quite right yet.

He was very impressed that she knew there was a problem and was working to fix it. He told me she was a very good human.

I talked to a cat today who I had never met before. I knew she was sick, but not how bad it was.

She was really angry when I tuned into her. She said “I don’t feel good, and I’m really upset, and I want to know what’s going on.”

Her human started the list of physical ailments: kidney failure, sarcoma on her side (“I’m trying to heal that,” she butted in. “I’ve been able to heal other things on my skin, but this one isn’t getting better.”) The human told her it was incurable, which was a relief to her, because she had been doing her best to make it better and was frustrated at the lack of results. She had various tumors, a leg problem (“that’s getting better,” she said, and her human agreed).

She had been a feisty cat before she got sick, and she was still that way now. I asked her human to outline the treatment options: change her food to support her kidneys (she didn’t like that), have surgery that probably wouldn’t do anything (she rolled her eyes and asked what was the point of that?), let her keep living as she was (intolerable), or have the vet come to their home and put her to sleep.

As soon as she heard the option of assisted death, she smiled for the first time in our conversation. “That would be great,” she said. “Here’s what I want to have happen.”

And she outlined her wishes: she would be on the floor on a piece of her human’s clothing, everybody would gather around, and they would each tell a story about her when she was strong. And then the vet would put her to sleep, and she would leap out of her body rising on the strength of all the stories told about her.

“It’s going to be a great death,” she said.

Usually animals are happy with whatever names their humans use for them. They don’t have social references to the name—it’s a series of sounds their human makes when talking to them.

Occasionally, however, I’ll have an animal express an opinion.

A little dog had been rescued and was being fostered. The rescuer asked me to find out (among other things) if she liked her name. The dog did not. She said she did not like names ending with -eee, and she did not like the sound T.

It’s a little weird to discuss names with a dog, because they have different words and syllables than us. I started by asking her how many syllables she wanted in her name. One, she said. Then she pulled the name Bob out of my head. She liked that name. I explained that Bob was a boy’s name, and she was a girl dog, so this could not be her name.

She did not care that Bob was a boy’s name. She liked it. It sounded strong to her.

And she was a nervous rescue dog. She wanted a name that made her feel strong.

The moral of the story is—be aware that if you ask your animal friend what name they want, the answer might be outside of your comfort zone.

P.S. The humans are calling her Bob. And she is very happy.

I talked to a rescue dog today who was really confused about human interaction.

It seems the previous owners (who she’d been rescued from) were inconsistent in their praise or punishment. To hear her tell it, she never knew if they were going to pet her or pin her to the ground à la Cesar Milan.

It’s a common complaint I hear from dogs—their owners are inconsistent.

Dogs love hierarchy, routine and structure. They need to know what is expected of them, and they need rules to be consistently applied.

I talked to a dog a couple of weeks ago who had started acting out. She said the house was so inconsistent she could do whatever she wanted. It turns out that although she did great at obedience school, the humans had since slacked off in their training and allowed her to run wild in the house—barking incessantly, jumping on people, yanking on the leash.

I told the humans that they had to return to taking control. The dog needed to know that the humans were in charge of behaviors, that they cared what she did, and that they praised her for acting like a good member of the pack.

The humans committed to using the training techniques that they know, like making her sit when she tries to chase another dog on their walks.

It’s a matter of consistency.

Dogs really appreciate it.