Do Animals Understand What We Say?

Aug 12

I think a lot of people who live with animals already have a sneaking suspicion that the answer is yes.

Because we talk to them.

All. The. Time.

We explain where we’re going.

We tell them what we’re making for dinner.

We apologize when we accidentally step on a paw.

We give lengthy explanations about why they cannot possibly have another treat when everyone involved knows perfectly well that they are eventually getting another treat.

We speak to our animals as though they understand us.

And maybe that’s because, on some level, we already know they do.

These days, I talk out loud to all of my animals. Constantly.

So constantly, in fact, that my husband will sometimes call from another room:

“Are you talking to me or the cat?”

Almost always the cat.

Sorry, honey.

At this point, the animals and I have an ongoing conversation that pretty much never ends.

But I wasn’t always an animal communicator.

Long before I understood animal communication the way I do today, one very opinionated little pug taught me just how much our animals may understand.

Cuda Had Some Feedback About My Travel Schedule

Years ago, before I became an animal communicator, I traveled a lot for work.

And I mean a lot.

Out came the suitcase.

Pack.

Leave.

Come home.

Unpack.

Do it all over again.

My sweet pug, Cuda, did not appreciate this arrangement.

At first, she expressed her feelings by peeing in my suitcase.

Sometimes before I had even removed my clothes.

Subtle.

Very subtle.

Eventually I caught on and started putting the suitcase somewhere she couldn’t get to it.

Problem solved.

Or so I thought.

Cuda apparently interpreted this as:

Fine. We escalate.

And one night while I was sleeping…

she peed on my head.

Good Lord.

There are moments in life when one must admit that perhaps the message is no longer unclear.

I Wasn't an Animal Communicator Yet

At the time, I knew nothing about animal communication as a profession.

But like so many animal people, I talked to my animals constantly.

I spoke to them like they were my children.

I told them what was happening.

I asked them questions.

I complained about my day.

They heard things no therapist should ever have to hear.

And after the head-peeing incident, I decided Cuda and I needed to have a conversation.

A real one.

I explained to her that I wasn't leaving because I wanted to leave her.

I had to travel for work.

And frankly, all those toys and all that yummy food weren't going to pay for themselves.

Someone had to earn the money.

That someone was me.

I told her I would always come back.

Then I started doing something different.

Instead of simply pulling out the suitcase and disappearing, I gave her notice.

“Mommy is leaving in three days.”

Then two days.

Then tomorrow.

And I told her how long I would be gone in a way I thought she could understand.

“I'll be back in four night-times.”

And you know what happened?

No more peeing in my suitcase.

No more peeing on my head.

Cuda didn't need me to stop traveling.

She needed to know what was happening.

And she needed to know I was coming back.

Animals Live Inside Our Plans Too

Think about how strange human life must sometimes look from an animal's perspective.

One day everything is normal.

Then suddenly suitcases appear.

Furniture gets moved.

Boxes show up.

Someone starts crying.

The car gets loaded.

A new animal arrives.

A familiar person disappears.

We know there is a vacation coming.

Or a move.

Or a divorce.

Or a vet appointment.

Or someone is going away for work.

Our animals may only know that something has changed.

And sometimes we forget to tell them.

We assume they won't understand.

But what if they understand far more than we think?

Do They Understand Every Word?

I don't necessarily believe animals are sitting there diagramming our sentences.

Cuda probably wasn't thinking:

Ah yes, excellent use of the future tense.

Communication is bigger than vocabulary.

Animals may receive our words along with our intention, emotion, images, energy, tone, and the feeling behind what we are saying.

When I told Cuda I would be gone for four night-times, I wasn't concerned about whether she understood the exact definition of the word four.

I was giving her a picture.

Mom leaves.

There are several nights.

Mom comes back.

And apparently that was enough information to prevent further urinary protests.

Thank you, Cuda.

Tell Them What's Going to Happen

This is something I encourage people to do now.

If something is changing, tell your animal.

Going on vacation?

Tell them.

Moving?

Tell them.

Bringing home a new baby?

Definitely tell them.

A new animal is joining the family?

Tell them about that too.

Going to the veterinarian tomorrow?

Explain it.

Someone they love is going away?

Talk about it.

You don't have to know animal communication.

You don't have to sit cross-legged beneath a full moon.

You don't need special music.

You don't even have to know whether they understand every word.

Just talk to them.

Give them the dignity of being included in something that affects their life too.

And Be Specific

One thing Cuda taught me was that “I'll be back” and “I'll be back after four night-times” can feel very different.

Animals experience routines.

Morning.

Dinner.

Walks.

Bedtime.

Darkness.

Light.

Instead of explaining time the way we might to another human, you can connect it to experiences they know.

“I'll be home after three sleeps.”

“Tomorrow we're going in the car to see the veterinarian.”

“Your friend is staying with you while I'm gone.”

“We are putting things in boxes because we're going to live in a new house together.”

“You are coming with us.”

That last one might be particularly important.

Imagine watching your entire home disappear into cardboard boxes and nobody bothers to mention whether you've made the guest list.

I'd have questions too.

What If My Words Say One Thing and I Feel Another?

Animals are incredibly perceptive.

So if you're telling your dog:

“Everything is FINE!”

while internally broadcasting:

EVERYTHING IS ABSOLUTELY NOT FINE AND WE ARE ALL GOING TO DIE,

your dog may notice.

This doesn't mean you need to pretend not to have emotions.

Quite the opposite.

You can be honest.

“I'm nervous about tomorrow too.”

“I'm sad.”

“I don't know exactly what's going to happen, but I'm here with you.”

“I love you, and we're going through this together.”

Communication doesn't require pretending.

Sometimes truth is the most reassuring thing we can offer.

What About Behavior Problems?

Cuda taught me another lesson too.

When an animal's behavior changes, we humans tend to start with:

How do I get them to stop doing this?

And sometimes that's necessary.

But there's another question worth asking first:

What are they trying to communicate?

Cuda wasn't randomly peeing in my suitcase because she had suddenly developed a deep philosophical objection to luggage.

She was upset.

She didn't understand why I kept leaving.

She had no idea when I was coming back.

The behavior was communication.

Once the underlying concern was addressed, the behavior disappeared.

That doesn't mean every behavior issue can be solved with a heartfelt conversation.

Please do not tell your veterinarian or trainer that Leia said you could simply talk your way out of everything.

I did not.

But communication can give us another piece of the puzzle.

And sometimes it is a very important one.

You Don't Have to Be an Animal Communicator to Communicate With Your Animal

I love this part.

I wasn't an animal communicator when Cuda taught me this.

I was simply her person.

And that relationship was enough.

Professional animal communication can help when you want support understanding something deeper, exploring a specific concern, or hearing what your animal companion wants to share.

But the everyday conversation?

That belongs to you and your animal.

Talk to them.

Tell them what's happening.

Ask how they're doing.

Explain changes.

Say the ridiculous things you already say when nobody else is listening.

And if your spouse occasionally has to ask whether you're talking to them or the cat...

Well.

They'll adjust.

You may be surprised by how much your animals seem to understand.

This Is What I Learned

Cuda didn't need a perfect explanation.

She didn't need me to stop traveling.

She didn't even need me to become an animal communicator.

She needed information.

She needed inclusion.

And she needed reassurance that when that suitcase appeared, it didn't mean I was disappearing forever.

Once she understood what was happening, the behavior stopped.

No more suitcase incidents.

No more waking up to an extremely personal protest.

Which I appreciated.

Deeply.

Cuda taught me something I still carry into my work today:

Talk to your animals as though they understand you.