Can an Animal Communicator Help With Behavior Problems?

Sometimes people come to animal communication because their animal is doing something they desperately want to understand.

Barking.

Hiding.

Peeing somewhere they shouldn't.

Refusing to go somewhere.

Reacting to another animal.

Suddenly acting completely unlike themselves.

And often the question underneath all of it is:

Can animal communication make this stop?

Sometimes communication can help.

But I think the better question is:

Can communication help us understand what the behavior is trying to tell us?

Because those are not quite the same thing.

Meet Jubee, My Loveable Couch Hippo

Jubee is an American Bully.

A pit bull.

A sweet, affectionate, ridiculous couch hippo who lives a very cushy life as the princess of our house.

She is also dog aggressive.

And when I say dog aggressive, I do not mean:

Oh, she gets a little uncomfortable around other dogs.

No.

Jubee can spot what appears to be three molecules of dog approximately a quarter mile down the beach and immediately issue a full security alert.

Hackles up.

Barking hysterically.

Pulling like a Mack truck.

DOG. DANGER. DOG. EVERYONE PANIC.

Tiny Chihuahua?

Threat.

Dog through a truck window?

Threat.

Dog outside the RV?

Threat.

Dog on a trail?

Threat.

A tiny speck in the distance that might eventually turn out to be a dog?

Better sound the alarm just in case.

Jubee doesn't merely react to other dogs.

She overreacts.

Every time.

So of course I wanted to know:

Why?

Then You Look at Her History

Jubee lived on the streets before she came to live with us.

I don't know everything that happened to her there.

I probably never will.

Who knows what this sweet girl went through before she became the princess of our house?

But I do know one heartbreaking piece of her history.

Jubee had a litter of puppies.

And a group of dogs attacked and killed them.

When I later communicated with her about that experience, I learned something that broke my heart.

Jubee believed she had failed them.

She thought she had been a bad mother.

Imagine carrying that.

And then imagine what another dog might represent to her.

To us:

There's a dog.

To Jubee:

Danger.

Attack.

Something terrible could happen.

Suddenly her behavior wasn't so mysterious.

Extreme?

Absolutely.

But meaningless?

Not at all.

Understanding Her Didn't Magically Fix Her

This is where I think we need to be very honest about animal communication.

I talked with Jubee about her puppies.

I told her what happened wasn't her fault.

I reassured her.

I listened.

And afterward...

Jubee was still dog aggressive.

There was no magical moment where the clouds parted and Jubee announced:

Thank you, Mother. I have processed my trauma. Shall we visit the dog park?

Absolutely not.

She still reacted.

Because understanding the source of a behavior doesn't necessarily make the fear disappear.

Communication is not a magic wand.

Fear can run deep.

So can trauma.

So can habits that once helped an animal survive.

And I don't think respecting an animal means expecting them to undo all of that because we've had one conversation.

Then Along Came Chonkie

Later, we decided to bring home a puppy.

I talked with Jubee about it beforehand.

I explained that a puppy was coming.

A four-month-old puppy.

That puppy was Chonkie.

Now, you might think a ten-week-old puppy would be about as non-threatening as another dog can possibly get.

Jubee disagreed.

It took us about ten days before we could safely and comfortably get little Chonkie anywhere near her.

Ten days of going slowly.

Giving her space.

Watching everyone carefully.

Letting Jubee process what was happening.

And yes, there were moments when it was scary for all of us.

But eventually something shifted.

Chonkie wasn't there to hurt her.

He wasn't one of the dogs from her past.

He was this goofy little puppy who was now part of her family.

Jubee learned she could have a relationship with this dog.

That was huge.

It did not mean she suddenly trusted every dog.

She didn't.

But Chonkie gave her a new experience to add alongside the old ones.

Not every dog brings danger.

At least one dog can become family.

And Then Came Oso

Oso came later.

Another dog.

Another opportunity for Jubee's world to get a little bigger.

Oso lives out in the pasture now, and he is most definitely not a tiny ten-week-old puppy.

And here's something I love.

Jubee can walk past the pasture while Oso is standing at the fence.

She sees him.

She knows he's there.

And she does not lose her mind.

For Jubee, that's enormous.

Sometimes I swear I see her give him a little head nod as she walks by.

Just a tiny:

Hey.

You're not going to kill me.

Hi, friend?

Almost.

I'm not saying we're taking Jubee to the dog park.

Let's not get ridiculous.

But she's making progress.

Maybe She's Learning One Dog at a Time

I don't think Jubee has suddenly decided:

Dogs are safe.

Her life taught her something very different.

Maybe what she is learning instead is:

Chonkie is safe.

And later:

Oso is safe.

That's enough.

She doesn't have to rewrite her entire history overnight.

Chonkie gave her one safe experience.

Oso is giving her another.

And slowly, she is gathering new information.

Maybe every dog isn't coming to hurt her.

Maybe seeing a dog doesn't always mean something terrible is about to happen.

Maybe she doesn't have to go from zero to DEFCON ONE every single time.

That's a tremendous change for her.

And she gets to make it at her own pace.

Sometimes Progress Is Much Smaller Than We Expect

Humans love dramatic transformations.

Before.

After.

Problem.

Solved.

Animals don't owe us that.

Sometimes progress looks like:

One less bark.

Recovering a little faster.

Being able to stand closer than last time.

Seeing the trigger without immediately reacting.

Taking a breath.

Choosing to walk away.

Or, in Jubee's case, walking past Oso at the pasture fence and giving him what I am choosing to interpret as a tiny pit-bull head nod.

I'll take it.

Animal Communication Is One Piece of the Puzzle

If an animal is showing aggression, extreme fear, sudden behavioral changes, or anything that could put them or someone else at risk, animal communication should not be the only tool being used.

Veterinary care matters.

Training and qualified behavioral support matter.

Safe management matters.

Leashes, fences, distance, slow introductions, and common sense matter.

Animal communication can add another piece:

What might this experience feel like from the animal's perspective?

What are they afraid of?

What do they think is happening?

What happened before this behavior began?

What helps them feel safe?

Sometimes understanding that changes how we approach everything else.

Not because we stop using practical tools.

Because we use them with more compassion and more information.

Behavior Is Often Communication Before We Ever Speak Telepathically

I learned this long before I called myself an animal communicator.

My pug Cuda peed in my suitcase whenever I traveled for work.

When I made the suitcase inaccessible, she escalated.

She peed on my head while I was sleeping.

Apparently Cuda's communication philosophy was:

I HAVE A CONCERN AND YOU WILL BE HEARING ABOUT IT.

Once I started telling her several days before a trip that I was leaving, explaining why, and telling her how many night-times I would be gone, the behavior stopped.

Her problem wasn't really the suitcase.

It was what the suitcase meant.

Mom disappears.

Once she understood what was happening and knew I was coming back, she no longer needed to communicate quite so... enthusiastically.

Jubee is different.

Her fear runs much deeper.

And so does the time she needs.

Different animal.

Different history.

Different answer.

Maybe the Goal Isn't “Fix My Animal”

This is one of the biggest shifts animal communication has given me.

Instead of asking:

How do I fix this animal?

I want to ask:

What is this animal experiencing?

There may still be behavior that needs to change.

There may be firm boundaries.

There may be serious safety concerns.

There may be things we simply cannot allow.

Understanding doesn't mean abandoning common sense.

But it changes the relationship.

The animal stops being a problem we're trying to solve.

They become a being we're trying to understand.

That's very different.

This Is What I Learned

Jubee may always have feelings about other dogs.

I don't know.

What I do know is that I no longer watch her react and think:

What is wrong with you?

I know something happened to this girl.

I know she lived on the streets.

I know she lost her puppies in a horrific way.

I know she carried the belief that she had failed them.

And somewhere along the way, her world taught her:

See dog. Protect yourself. Now.

Then Chonkie came along.

A ten-week-old puppy she couldn't even tolerate near her at first.

Slowly, she learned:

This dog is safe.

Later came Oso.

And now she can walk past that pasture fence, see him standing there, and keep going.

Maybe even give him a little:

Hey, buddy.

She's learning.

Not on my schedule.

On hers.

As she feels safe.

As I explain the world to her.

As she has experiences that show her there might be another possibility.

I'm not asking Jubee to become the mayor of the dog park.

I'm asking her to keep discovering that the world she lives in now is different from the one she had to survive before.

And she is.

One dog.

One experience.

One little head nod at a time.

Maybe that's what animal communication can sometimes offer when behavior is difficult.

Not an instant cure.

Something quieter.

Understanding, safety, and room to change.

May you see the world through the eyes of love, remembering that we are all part of one living, sacred whole.