The Place That Deepened the Work
Some places ask you to receive differently. Seattle is one of them.
I grew up knowing this landscape. My grandparents lived near Mount Rainier, and I spent summers hiking those trails, camping, going quiet in a way that children sometimes do when they sense that something larger is present. I didn't have words for it then. I just knew that the forest asked something of me — a particular quality of attention. A willingness to stop talking and simply receive.
That quality of attention — I would spend years finding my way back to it. Like all things, we sometimes need to leave in order to return.
When I came back to Seattle, I began volunteering at a local Humane Society near me — sitting with animals in transition, listening to what they were carrying, offering what I could. It was quiet work, receiving what was there. Each week I would arrive at the shelter and find Bella, a white lab mix. While I could not adopt her myself, I wondered why no one else had. Her spirit was warm, entertaining, confident — and she reminded me each week to be present, to slow down, to enjoy being outside. That is all she asked of me when I walked her. That, and to have a little more patience. And when I left her each week, I had to let go. Part of presence is impermanence. You have to release each moment as fully as you received it. I've written more about that work here.
Where I Go to Listen
There is a small lake near my home where I walk every morning. It became its own kind of practice.
Before anyone else has woken, the water birds are already performing their symphony — the water still as glass, a whole natural world moving at its own rhythm. One morning I sat quietly with two Canadian Geese, present to nothing in particular. For a good twenty minutes I simply deepened into stillness. Before I even heard it, something stirred them — they took off, and a beaver popped his head up from behind the grasses. An amusing, perfect moment.
On some days I sit with the crows near an overlook to watch the sunrise. They on a branch, me on a log, honoring the emerging colors — red, orange, pink. When the moment has gone, they ride the current of air that sits inside the curve of the hill. Once I watched them mob a hawk — eight of them, a real wildlife scene. I became worried about the hawk. But I asked, and heard it say they would soon go away. I watched him fly calmly in a loop, surprised by how steady he held despite the pressure.
Early enough, and the dew is still rising from the ground and off the lake. Magic is the only word for it.
What does this have to do with animal communication?
Everything.
People often ask how animal communication works. For me it begins here, at the lake, in the stillness. When I sit with someone's animal in a pet psychic session, I'm drawing on that same quiet.
What the Animals Remind Me
That stillness shows up in sessions too. I worked recently with a client in Seattle whose cat had been marking inside the house — anxious, unsettled, something unspoken between them. What came through was a desire for more presence — not just between them, but more presence for herself. And in another session, as we listened to what a client's dog enjoyed about their life together, she was reminded of work she was doing in her own life to find balance. What strikes me is how each animal offers something different — their own personality, desires, humor — and yet the reminder is often the same. Stay present. In your body, in your emotions, in your spirit. The animals, it seems, are as invested in that work as we are. It is these sessions that remind me why this work matters.
The next time you're outside, notice what's already happening around you. A bird landing. A dog watching something you can't see. A moment of stillness before the day begins. That noticing — that small act of paying attention — is the beginning of intuitive listening. It opens something. In yourself first, and then, naturally, with your animal.
The clients I work with in Seattle carry that same quality as the landscape. There's an openness to the more-than-human world that feels native here — a comfort with mystery, with what can't quite be explained. People arrive curious and willing, with real questions and a genuine desire to understand their animal. And often, a willingness to look at themselves in the process. As a certified animal communicator and pet psychic in Seattle, I work with clients throughout the Pacific Northwest, all online.
If you've been wondering what a pet psychic reading or animal communication session actually involves — what happens, what you might hear, whether it could help — I'd love to connect. This work is quieter and more practical than most people expect. And it often begins with the same thing that morning walk asks of me: simply paying attention to what's already there.
Ready to hear what your animal has been carrying? Book a session
You might also find this helpful: What to Expect from a Pet Psychic Reading
Lesley Ames is a certified animal communicator and psychic medium based in Seattle and the Pacific Northwest, also serving Chicago and available worldwide. She works with people and their animals — helping them hear what's already there. You can find her at lesleyames.com.
