Animals as Spiritual Teachers Radio Show with host Lynn Serafinn

Posted by Barbara Techel


Lynn Serafinn radio host and author of The Garden of the Soul

Author, Transformation Coach and Spiritual Marketing Coach Lynn Serafinn hosts Barbara Techel and Ingrid King, two authors who have written books on the amazing power of animals. Barbara is the author of the multi-award winning book, Frankie, the Walk ‘N Roll Dog.When her dachshund, Frankie, suffered a spinal injury, Barbara had her custom-fitted for a wheelchair. Frankie persevered, and Barbara realized the beautiful opportunity she had to share Frankie and give others hope and inspiration to be the best they can be. Along with sharing Frankie’s story with children, Barbara and Frankie routinely volunteer as a therapy dog team at local hospitals, nursing homes, and hospice centers, spreading joy wherever they go. Ingrid King is a former veterinary hospital manager turned writer, and is author of Buckley’s Story – Lessons from a Feline Master Teacher. Her online magazine News for You and Your Pet goes out to subscribers around the world. Her blog, The Conscious Cat, has been called “educational cat nip for the cat lover” and is a comprehensive resource for conscious living, health and happiness for pets and their people.

This show is for anyone who is an animal lover, or who is looking for a bit of healing and inspiration. We’ll be looking at the important lessons we mere humans can learn from the inner strength, healing power, unconditional love and spiritual wisdom of our pets and the animal kingdom in general. Tune in and be prepared to have your heart melted!

Wednedsay, March 17, 2010 at 1:00pm CST/11:00am PST/2:00pm EST

Listeners can listen LIVE or “on demand” any time at
https://www.blogtalkradio.com/lynn-serafinn/2010/03/17/ep-57-animals-as-spiritual-teachers

The Healing Work of Therapy Dogs

Posted by Barbara Techel

One of the people Frankie and I talk about in our new book is Lyla, and she is one of our favorite residents.  As I say that, all the residents really are all our favorites…  They each have something unique and special about them that is so endearing.

Lyla just turned 96 years old and every time I see her, I just want to hug her.  At our recent book launch I did find out that Lyla’s heritage is German.  She never married or had children.  My husband met her for the first time at the book launch and said, “She looks like Aunt Clara from Bewitched.”  She especially did when she put on this darling mustard wool hat to make her way back to her room.

I laughed and said, “Oh my gosh, you are right!  She does!”  Bewitched is my all time favorite shows and I have all the shows on DVD.  As hard of a time as my husband likes to give me about watching the episodes over and over again, he picked up on the Aunt Clara in Lyla that I didn’t even see.  This has made Lyla even more endearing in my eyes.

You cannot understand when Lyla talks and it sort of sounds gibberish with no rhyme or reason.  But one day as Frankie was licking and licking her hand, clear as a bell she said, “Kisses.”  I looked at Lyla, as my hand flew to my heart and said, “Lyla you just said kisses!”  She smiled and went back to her gibberish.

So you see, even though her communication is different than what we are used to, her spirit is alive and well- the healing nature of a therapy dog, like Frankie, brought out the best in her.  And the fact she said kisses really warmed my heart.  I love it when moments like this happen.

The name of Lyla is not her real name, but changed to protect her privacy.

Understanding Death

Posted by Barbara Techel

I suppose that sounds like a heavy topic, huh?  At a recent therapy dog meeting which Frankie and I attend once a month at Sharon S Richardson Hospice Community a poem was shared with us on a way to understand dying.  I thought it was such a beautiful poem that I just had to share.

By Henry Van Dyke

I am standing upon the seashore.  A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean.  She is an object of beauty and strength.  I stand and watch her until at length she hangs like a speck of white cloud just where the sea and sky come to mingle with each other.

Then someone at my side says:  "There, she is gone!"

"Gone where?"

Gone from my sight.  That is all.  She is just as large in mast and hull and spar as she was when she left my side and she is just as able to bear her load of living freight to her destined port.

Her diminished size is in me, not in her.  And just at the moment when someone at my side says, "There, she is gone!" there are other eyes watching her coming, and other voices ready to take up the glad shout:  "Here she comes!"

And that is dying.