We cherish the years we spend with our animal companions who have served us a guides, teachers, friends, teaching us the meaning of unconditional love, showing us how to live through the heart. Our most difficult moments arise when the time nears to bid them farewell in this life, and all too often, it is left to us to decide the most humane way to ease them into the next plane. Animals are fully aware that the earthly journey is temporary, and communication sessions with them as they enter their last phase of physical life will help a human being come to ts with the loss and act in the best interest of the one who has loved them with such extreme devotion. Lisa is able to discover your animal's wishes through telepathic communication....and after a few days have passed, she can connect with your animal in spirit and find reassuring information and convey loving messages from your animal. This helps assuage unnecessary guilt and ease your sorrow. Our animals are ALWAYS with us in Spirit. ALWAYS.
In addition to being a clairvoyant/animal medium, Lisa has an M.A. in Pastoral Ministries with a concentration in Loss and Healing. She has trained and served as a hospice chaplain in a hospital unit.
All winter your brute shoulders strained against collars, padding
and steerhide over the ash hames, to haul
sledges of cordwood for drying through spring and summer,
for the Glenwood stove next winter, and for the simmering range.
In April you pulled cartloads of manure to spread on the fields,
dark manure of Holsteins, and knobs of your own clustered with oats.
All summer you mowed the grass in meadow and hayfield, the mowing machine
clacketing beside you, while the sun walked high in the morning
and after noon's heat, you pulled a clawed rake through the same acres,
gathering stacks, and dragged the wagon from stack to stack,
and the built hayrack back, uphill to the chaffy barn,
three loads of hay a day from standing grass in the morning.
Sundays you trotted the two miles to church with the light load
a leather quartertop buggy, and grazed in the sound of hymns.
Generation on generation, your neck rubbed the windowsill
of the stall, smoothing the wood as the sea smooths glass.
When you were old and lame, when your shoulders hurt bending to graze,
one October the man, who fed you and kept you, and harnessed you every morning,
led you through corn stubble to sandy ground above Eagle Pond,
and dug a hole beside you where you stood shuddering in your skin,
and lay the shotgun's muzzle in the boneless hollow behind your ear,
and fired the slug into your brain, and felled you into your grave,
shoveling sand to cover you, setting goldenrod upright above you,
where by next summer a dent in the ground made your monument.
For a hundred and fifty years, in the Pasture of dead horses,
roots of pine trees pushed through the pale curves of your ribs,
yellow blossoms flourished above you in autumn, and in winter
frost heaved your bones in the ground - old toilers, soil makers:
O Roger, Mackerel, Riley, Ned, Nellie, Chester, Lady Ghost. https://www.poemhunter.com/poem/name-of-horses/