RIP Dear Friends and Other Natural Healing

June 4, 2012


Bindi, who shared our lives from July 1997 to May 2012

We had an intense month with animals here at home.  The full moon took away the soul of our beautiful elder pony, Bindi.  Bindi came to us 15 years ago and told us “no hooning” because somebody had “hooned” on him and broken his collarbone.  During his end time,  I did a healing and found a dark entity sitting on his back – the etheric thought form of the person who had abused him.  Bindi found it hard to let go of his feelings towards this person, and in fact all of humanity who  abuse animals and use them like slaves — or toys.   I took him through a forgiveness process and he put his head on my shoulder as I sobbed with him in the middle of the night under the pine trees and a silver moon. When he let go, he was able to pass peacefully just a short time later.  He had 15 years living in peace and leaves behind three pony mares – his herd and friends.  He was 35.

We all miss him terribly and down in the stables where the ponies sleep, there is an empty stall.

Peter the Goat

Peter, who shared our lives from 2008 to May 2012

We also lost Peter the goat, who couldn’t “stomach” current farming practises. He told me early on in his brief illness that he wasn’t going to live (that is, he was choosing to die). As our daughter is very close to her goats, I begged him not to leave while she was really quite sick with a virus. He left on the first day she was up and dressed.

Peter didn’t want to die in vain, however. He said he had come to me because I was a writer and a Listener.  He wanted you all to know that non-humans are sensitive to what happens to other species at our hands.  And it makes them both angry and afraid.  He told me it was time for all species to live without fear.  He wanted you to know the truth.  Peter leaves behind a herd of friends, who all loved him, as we did. (And thank you to the wonderful Nedda Wittels of Rays of Healing Light for her support during Peter’s illness.)

Meanwhile on the same day Bindi passed, Andrew’s horse Dakota went down with a swollen leg.  So Andrew camped out with him until he was up and we could walk him to the house yard. Dakota’s leg, and the scrapes he got from being down got infected and my sense was septacemia was setting in.  I gave him  a homeopathic for this, he was treated with twice daily  herbal anti-biotics, silver colloid, herbal anti-inflammatories, vitamin C and other herbal teas for the liver  and blood purification (dandelion, clivers, fenugreek rosehips), a Young Living raindrop session daily, and oils in paw paw on the wounds themselves. Dakota is healing very well.  At no time did he get green puss, just free flowing white, very little smell and beautiful  healthy pink skin underneath.  The beauty of this approach compared to a conventional one in my experience and opinion, is that you are nourishing and treating the whole body, building health instead of simply  trying to destroy a bacteria, and thus killing all bacteria (with antibiotics) and possibly causing other problems.

This is not a teaching, and if your horse does get swelling or wounds, see an animal health care practitioner as soon as you can.  I just want people to know that there are alternatives to conventional medicine , but also, as a holistic practitioner, I also recommend using conventional medicine if it is required.  One might need conventional pain killer in the beginning until the herbal anti-inflammatories kick in, for example. However, I just find that most of the time, for the sorts of problems I come across at home,  natural therapies handle them beautifully.

Finally, we then treated our Shetland, Samantha for grief-related illness. Sam is incredibly sensitive and every time she loses a friend, she creates some health crisis and we make a huge fuss over her until she is better.  She was very close to Bindi and they often had their special meals together, away from herd so they could eat in companionable peace.   She came down with diarrhoea, which we nipped in the bud using the Young Living oils – both externally in a Raindrop and internally in juice. Peppermint  Oil is great internally. We also added slippery elm to her feed. And she also had activated charcoal to absorb any toxins in the gut.  Sam is back trotting around with her bigger pony friends and her very special stable mate, Totem the goat.

 . . . . . .

Billie Dean is an internationally recognised interspecies telepath, animal and peace advocate and award-winning creative artist.  She  is the author of Secret Animal Business, and  c0-director of Wild Pure Heart Productions which makes inspiring and heart-warming films about animals and peace.  Billie runs a transformational on-line school Rainbow Fianna, teaching animal communication with ethics and an eclectic blend of native  and visionary wisdom to help people evolve into the human angels animals need them to be. With her husband and daughter, Billie runs A Place of Peace at her home, where over 40 rescued horses run free, and is the founder of The Billie Dean International Deep Peace Organisation, a not-for-profit organsiation to promote peace and freedom for all animals through the arts, education and compassionate action.  Copyright ©  Billie Dean, 2012.  You are welcome to share  this article but only in its complete form with author, author blurb, and website attached.  Thank you!

R.I.P. Clea, the Beautiful German Shephard, and Mari, the Goose

Clea with Billie

Clea, with Billie

September 23, 2011

Clea’s shade is in the bedroom, next to the bed, urging me out for a walk.  “Come on, my dear,” she says enthusiastically.  “Let’s go and experience the day.”

When I agree, she swishes her elegant sweeping tail and glides out of the house, a huge smile on her face – just as she did in life.

Later, her shade is in the kitchen, where I am at the computer in the wee hours trying to finish some work.

“Come to bed, my dear,” she says.  “You need your rest.”

I can’t help the tears when I look up and she isn’t there.  She always waited for me to go to bed.

Clea was a 13-year-old German Shepherd who came to us for hospice care.  She needed a home and we loved her and swore to make every day a jewel.  We believe in the healing ability of the joy factor.  And Clea’s time with us was pure joy.

“Do you want dinner, Clea?”  Her eyes would light up and she would run again, to her spot on the verandah where we put her bowl on a table for her to eat – her nasal cancer made it difficult for her to eat anything at ground level.  She never complained.  She loved miso soup.  She had liver cancer, too, so miso soup was healing and well-tolerated.

We gave her homeopathy three times a day, herbs two and three times a day, daily oils and lots of fun.  It was so rewarding to have a dog who was so grateful for car rides and walks.

She never left my side.

She was a teacher in every sense of the word.  Immediately accepted as the pack elder, she made all the other dogs seem so young.  She taught them how to behave at the beach, grinning in her gracious way as she paddled at the water’s edge.

Despite all the healings from various modalities, Clea refused to heal.  I  wondered what was in the way.  But deep down I knew she wanted to be reunited with the man who had been her main carer, an elder man who had dementia and passed when his beloved dog had finally found a home.  Clea knew he had passed, and her health took a dive from then, even as she made herself more at home with us.

She loved people and would greet everyone who came.  She adored my students and loved to sit in circle with them.   She wove her essence deep into our hearts.

In healing, we talk about healing and  cure.  Ultimately you want both a healing and a cure.  You can cure the symptoms and not heal the soul.  You can heal a soul without curing the body.  And the latter is what happened with Clea.

She made her peace.

She loved Raffi and died, briefly, an hour after he did.  But she came back from the other side.  My red heeler in spirit Cedar had told me it wasn’t Clea’s time, so we stood her up and she took a breath.  She gave us two more blissful weeks to pace our grief.

Mari, the Goose

Mari, the Goose

In that time, we also lost Mari, the precious goose who had had surgery on her beak.  It was healing so well, and then she broke it again.  She had a night in the vet hospital, beautiful surgery again – and died just as the vet was finishing.   We were all heartbroken – even though the signs were there.  I knew, even though I didn’t want to know, that she probably wouldn’t come back from the vet alive even though we had to try and give her our best.

Later, she told me she had a tumour.  Her soul was done.

Hard lessons from the animals.

Clea went for a walk on her last day on earth.  With her usual smile on her face.  Her nasal tumour had shrunk and was healing.   She had breakfast.  And then she died in our arms at sunset.  Peacefully.  We were left in shock.   She left such a giant hole, and even though we knew she wasn’t going to stay forever, you always hope they will.

Meanwhile, Willow was stressed by all the leavings and seizured on an off from the morning of Raffi’s death, to now.  I  began diffiusing Peace and Calming for her as she slept, rubbing Joy on her heart chakra and Valor on her paws, and jasmine on her head.    She appreciated that.

We were also treating an alpaca with an injury and diarrohea  And the day after we buried Clea, one of our thoroughbreds, Tessa, who happened to be in the house paddock for extra TLC with Dakota and Hedgerose, came to the kitchen side of the house and showed me she was dying.  She lay down pathetically and closed her eyes.

Hedgerose asked me if I could do anything.  “No,” I said, too numb for words.  But I did.   Her gums were pale so I gave her Rescue Remedy, and the  homeopathic Aconite for shock.  And in case she was experiencing colic, I treated her with Nux Vom, and then intensively with Carbo Veg and  Ars Alb.  I could hear gut noises and I remembered that Tessa had done this dramatic thing several years ago, standing up as if nothing had happened when the vet was at the front gate.

I  had also anointed her with the oils Valor, Joy and Aroma Life ( on the heart chakra) and despite the drama I could sense a shift.  She was no longer “dying”.

Andrew had long gone to bed and I was on night duty with Tessa.  I told her she was going to be fine and gave her a dose of Peace and Calming, with Peppermint and Di-Gize in apple juice.  The look on her face was comical.  I went off to get some hay, and when I returned she trotted towards me., hungry and alive.

And she still is.


I think the “letting go” period is over now.

Andrew and Tamsin and I are feeling a little shell-shocked, because even though it is the nature of life in the third dimension to lose those who are frail and elderly, loss still hurts.  Even as we see shades and talk to spirits and all of that, you still miss their amazing presence.

It just makes you love even more every day.  Because you never know how much time a soul has got.

I would encourage everyone to have the honour and privilege of taking an older animal on, because, simply, they rock.  Clea said to me, “You got to experience my essence”.

I did.  And her essence, and the experiences we shared, linger.  There is nothing in life more precious than that.

. . . . .

Billie Dean

Copyright ©  Billie Dean, 2011.  Please share this article in its entirety with author’s name and web site. 

Photo credits: Andrew Einspruch, Billie Dean.

Dealing with Death, and R.I.P Raffi, the Movie Star Dog

Raffi, August 2011

Raffi, from August 2011, taken about two weeks before his passing.

Death is one of those mysteries that informs our life, but is never really discussed in our society.  We are not taught to grieve.  And especially not over the loss of an animal companion.  Death and dying is, however, one of the things we discuss in detail during my animal shamanism classes because you want an animal professional to be clear about an animal’s last journey.

In our society, it is common practise by the veterinary profession and others to suggest an animal be “put out of his misery”, not understanding that there is a soul journey involved and a sentient being inside a furry coat with desires of their own.  Death is a natural process, like birth.  It’s only sometimes that help is needed.  And as I teach, sometimes all that is in the way of them leaving naturally, is telling us one final message, or  making one final request.

Having assisted the natural deaths of many, many animals, I am always amazed at the impeccable timing of the animal’s chosen time.  And so it was with our beloved Raffi – a passing so great that it has left all of us feeling delicate.  Having been  emotionally strong when Raffi was passing, I recognised the symptoms of my heart unravelling when Andrew and Tamsin left me alone on the normal homeschool group activity day in Canberra a few days afterwards.

Normally I love my “me” days.  I write.  I hang out with the animals.  I listen to the music and stuff I want to listen to without a teenager rolling her eyes.  But the day began with the brumbies having broken a fence, and there were cuts and loose stools and mares lying down.  The only way I could treat these wild ones was with energetic medicine, colloidal silver, and homeopathics in the drinking water.

The energy medicine worked, the mares got to their feet and the rest of the day was uneventful until I completed the evening chores with my heart suddenly pounding in my chest.  I took a deep breath and tuned into my higher guidance.  A hot water bottle was suggested.  So I lit the fire, got a hot bottle, dowsed my heart chakra in Aroma Life essential oil, and sat with my unravelling wrapped in a blanket with a hot water bottle on my chest.

It felt like my skin was raw.  The thought of the mundane, gross and shrill TV, or even movies, was horror to me.  I needed quiet and stillness.  I needed to grieve.  My chest was burning.   I thought it would burst open if I let it.   I took deep, calming breaths.  Raw and traumatised. I realised that I was holding grief for so many beloveds.  During recent ceremonies, all the killed farm animals – the so called “stock” of the meat industry –had come in for healing and release.  The heaviness in the room afterwards was palpable and it took a while to clear.  Grief was up in the animal world, and I was carrying that, as well as my own for Raffi.

It was time to let it go.

After about an hour, I had recovered enough to make dog dinners and hold the fort until Andrew got home to take over and I gratefully sunk into a deep and healing sleep.

I’m still feeling the fragility that comes with the loss of a loved one even though my head is clear, and I feel integrated and grounded again. To lose Raffi was like losing the heartbeat of our home, because he touched so many through his films and teaching.  He was officially Tamsin’s dog.  She named him the moment she saw him, exhausted, hungry and begging a place to live.  They adored each other.

Years later, his lifeless form lay on the dog bed under a yellow blanket – the colour of sunshine – which is what he was to us, to his fans, and to his animal communication students.

His passing to the world of spirit was very Raffi: charming, peaceful – and his way.  He gave orders right to the end, while we held space and offered remedies and Transition essence.

There is nothing like a life well lived, and a peaceful natural crossing to the other side.  It was an honour to sit in silence with him – and then behold his last breath and his joyful freedom.  He was thrilled to be able to see again, (he’d had cataracts) and said he would be back very soon.

I still feel his presence all around me.   Especially when it hits me that another precious beloved has left us and my heart starts to shake.  Raffi is like an angel then, a comforting blanket of unconditional love.

Raffi knew he was leaving and he knew when.  When I held him crying, and singing a song that had come through in a dream the night before, he waited patiently and gave me a little lick.  He let me grieve and I let him know how much he was loved.

I knew he was leaving, because I was crying and singing – and also because Cedar, our red heeler in spirit, left me a strong sign.

I was down at the stables and picked up a dog tag.  As soon as I read the name “Cedar”, I knew something was up.  Cedar had been gone for over a year.  She appeared in spirit and said she would look after Raffi.  And she did.  She was there at the end, waiting for him in the light.

Raffi rallied for about three weeks after that – and as often happens, looked healthier on the day he died, than he had on that day I mourned him with a song.

He was eating and enjoying life in the gentle spring sun.  He sat in his last circle of animal shamanism students, and was grateful for all the healing we did late in the night.  I kidded myself that he had changed his mind and would stay.  But he hadn’t.  He just changed his date.

Raffi came into our lives in the winter of 1999.  He turned up  on our doorstep as I was writing Finding Joy and turned out to be the perfect star.  Our telepathic connection meant that he was never trained, but he could “hit his mark” for the camera, look depressed on cue, and ad-libbed to make our film even better. Here is the song I wrote and sang for him in Finding Joy.

He was a bit annoyed he wasn’t the star of 7 Days with 7 Dogs – and had to share the lime light with the others.  But in typical Raffi form, he made sure he stole the show more than once.  He knew how to work the camera.

He hasn’t told me when he will be back or what form he will take.  He just said we would recognise him.  Our gentle, cheeky movie star, leaves a huge hole in the tapestry of our sacred weaving here at home.  A lively thread is missing — of brilliant colour.

He left me with a message to give others: “Be happy and love lots.”

And in these times of intense transition, make sure you make every day a jewel.

. . . . . .

Billie Dean

Copyright ©  Billie Dean, 2011.  Please share this article in its entirety with author’s name. 

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