About My Wild Connection
Hi, I'm Valorie and I'm so glad you're here!
I'm an animal communicator, an empath, an intuitive and a medium.
I can understand what animals are saying and feeling and talk to them. Our conversations are done energetically which is often difficult for people to understand. Have you ever had the experience where you just know something about someone you're really close to without them telling you? It's sort of like that - kind of like telepathic communication.
In my case, the messages I get from animals come to me in a variety of ways: I might physically feel pain where they're feeling pain; hear words, phrases, or a song; have a deep internal knowing; see images or colors and textures; be drawn to an object or a part of their body; and even feel their emotions as though they are my own.
I've been able to understand and talk to animals since I was little. My earliest memory of a conversation was with a German Shepherd puppy who ended up joining our family when I was about 3 years old. The environment I grew up in, however, disapproved of animal communication and I quickly learned to keep my abilities hidden. The older I got, the deeper I buried them - in college, I chose a career that would please my family rather than pursuing my dream of working with animals.
In my life outside of work a steady stream of animals showed up, usually coming directly to me for help. I routinely discovered chickens hiding in my back yard lavender bushes. Stray dogs would literally jump into my car when I opened the door to get out or rush into my backyard, seemingly from nowhere, when I opened the gate. For many years a succession of feral cats came to my doorstep and then stuck around, insistent that I care for them and find them homes. There was even a wild rabbit who, despite the feral cats, sat in my driveway each evening, looking up into my dining room window until I went out to say "hi." Friends were puzzled by these occurrences and I kept my deep connection to animals locked away.
But there came a point when my own pets seemed to decide it was time for me to embrace my gifts. At the time, I was working as support staff at a large veterinary specialty hospital. As I started to listen deeply and talk to my own animals at home, I began to "just know" where our patients had areas of medical concern and how they felt, both physically and emotionally. Most mystifying was that I also started to hear our patients who had recently passed away and their messages of love and concern for their grieving guardians.
I decided I needed to learn more about this Wild Connection I had with animals. I hired a mentor and took all the classes and workshops I could find to further develop my animal communication skills. I honed in on the intersection between my dream: to work with animals, and my values: authenticity, compassion, honesty, and respect. And that lands us right here - at Wildly Connected Animal Communication!
I believe that a large part of my purpose is to help the world become a kinder, more connected place. One of the ways I do this is by helping you gain a deeper understanding and connection with your beloved animals, whether they are living or in-spirit.
It is an honor and a privilege to do this work.
The Animals who Taught me the Most
Tilli (TilliMonkey) was the gentlest spirit I've ever known—stubborn, wise, accepting of all creatures, and deeply devoted. She insisted I acknowledge that she could talk to me. When I practiced our communication, she rewarded me with tail wags and snuggles; when I didn't, she gave me judgmental looks until I "pulled my head out…". Tilli absolutely called it like she saw it.
During a difficult period of healing from childhood trauma, she sat on my feet each week while I worked through a PTSD workbook. When the memories were especially hard, she turned to face me, looked me directly in the eyes, and taught me Ujjayi breath—the slow "ocean breath" used in yoga to calm anxiety and anchor the nervous system. Years later, a yoga instructor formally introduced the same technique, and I realized Tilli had taught it to me long before yoga ever did.
On her last day in body, Tilli let me know it was time. I asked whether she wanted anything before she left, and she requested fresh strawberries, a handful of specific human friends, and to choose where she would transition. Throughout her final hours, Tilli guided the process gently but firmly. When the veterinarian arrived, Tilli led us to her favorite tree, accepted strawberries and snuggles from each of her friends, then gently nudged me to say, "It's time."
After she passed, Tilli told me that someday I would meet another dog, and when I did, I would know it was time because I would want to call her Luna. Eight months later, when I first laid eyes on the dog I named Luna, I understood why. She looked just like the moon.
Tilli was, and still is, my heart and soul.
Lion arrived at my doorstep with a small group of feral and abandoned cats. It was immediately clear that humans had not been kind to him. Beneath his fear was a cat who desperately wanted connection, but he could not tolerate pressure, expectations, or attempts to make him into something he was not. The more I tried to tame Lion or entice him to trust me, the more guarded he became.
Before Lion, I didn't fully understand the extent to which animals can feel the energetic weight of our agendas. Lion desperately wanted connection. He spent hours watching me, making eye contact, lingering nearby, and returning again and again. Yet the moment I tried to tame him or pushed for more than he was ready to give, he became wary and withdrawn. Everything shifted when I stopped trying to change him. To connect with Lion, I had to learn to hold only love—not my urgency, expectations, or need for him to change. The more fully I accepted him exactly as he was, the more he began to open up and trust me in return.
Eventually, Lion began coming inside for meals, allowing me to pet him as he ate. In the evenings, we sat side-by-side on the front porch steps watching the neighborhood go by, content simply to be near one another.
Lion eventually met a tragic end at the hands of a neighbor who harmed animals, and for a long time I carried deep guilt over not being able to tame him in time to keep him safe. But over the years, I've come to understand that Lion did not need me to tame him. He needed to be accepted exactly as he was. I was able to give him that and the connection he longed for. Lion taught me one of the most important lessons of my life: to love without agenda or expectation.
PJ (Mr Mustache) had a larger-than-life personality and absolutely no understanding that he was a cat. He appeared as a stray kitten on a relative's doorstep in Walla Walla and immediately decided that my male golden retriever was his mother. From that moment on, he acted like a dog. He greeted me at the door after work, rode in the car perched proudly on the center console, rolled over to greet confused dogs, and happily sniffed their butts while they tried to figure out what was wrong with him. At the vet, he refused to arrive in a carrier, insisting on walking in on a leash, calmly greeting the dogs in the lobby before his appointment.
PJ was bossy, opinionated, and endlessly nosy. He snooped through purses, adored women's shoes, stared through neighbors' sliding glass doors while they ate dinner, and filled the house with nonstop dialogue, even though none of it was spoken aloud. He was the only animal I've ever had full arguments with—complete conversations where we both talked back. Living with PJ felt less like living with a cat and more like living with a nosy younger sibling who offered constant unsolicited commentary about my life choices. For nearly 18 years, PJ insisted on being the little spoon while he purred me to sleep every night.
Through PJ, I learned to recognize what heart disease, high blood pressure, GI disease, and resorptive lesions felt like inside the body because he allowed me to experience those sensations alongside him. He also taught me that animals can communicate through music. During his final hours in body, when I was grieving so hard that I couldn't hear his words, PJ showed me that songs could carry his messages to me. Since then, music has become part of my pre-reading meditation, often opening the door to connection before a reading even begins.
After PJ passed, I reached out to two friends who had been close to him. Each told me that before hearing the news, PJ had suddenly and unmistakably entered their thoughts to say goodbye, leaving them smiling and wondering why he had appeared so clearly in their minds.
Every now and then, I still feel him curl against me at night, purring me back to sleep. The rest of the time, I imagine he's off peering into someone's window, making unsolicited commentary about their life choices.
While walking through Chiang Mai, Thailand on my way to a cooking class, something suddenly collided with the backs of my legs, raced around in front of me, and launched itself into my arms. It was a small street dog whining, yipping, licking my face, radiating pure joy. I had never seen her before but the moment I looked into her eyes, it felt like unexpectedly running into an old friend I had known forever.
At the time, I still doubted myself and my ability to truly communicate with animals, but I knew with absolute certainty that we had known each other before. I tried to continue on to class, but she threw herself across my feet, insisting that I stop and spend time with her. So I did. I knelt on the sidewalk beside her, spoke with her for a while, and eventually explained that I needed to leave or I would be late.
Though she wore no leash, she walked the entire mile to class beside me as though we had done it a thousand times before. At busy intersections, I told her we needed to wait, and she sat patiently at my side until it was time to cross. When we arrived, my instructor and classmates assumed she was my dog. She happily greeted everyone, then settled onto the patio outside the classroom while I went in to cook. Partway through class, I looked up and realized she was gone. I never saw her again—at least not in that form.
It was an incredible experience to realize that I could recognize a soul I knew deeply, even inside a body I had never met before. The encounter has stayed with me ever since, reminding me to remain open to finding familiar souls in unexpected forms.