I first noticed the red streaks in her eye during the Great Snow Day of 2025 as Cayenne, our six-year-old Goldendoodle, looked at me from her perch.

That night, I ruminated on potential causes and, against my better judgment, began Googling. The potential answers were horrifying: a gas leak in our home, exposure to pesticides, a detached optic nerve, maybe even a brain tumor.

Then, during our visit to the vet, her veterinarian noticed that her pupils weren’t dilating. “It could be nothing,” he said, turning off the flashlight as Cayenne glared at me from the table. He began running through a list of questions: Is she running into things? Having a hard time seeing? I paused when he asked about neurotic behaviors. “Any new neurotic behaviors?” he clarified. No to everything.

The vet assured me it was probably nothing, just some optic irritation that should clear up on its own, but he would consult with a canine ophthalmologist and call me back with their insights.

As the almighty algorithm does, TikTok put the right video in front of me later that evening. A tearful woman recounted the details of her experience talking with Pet’s Eye View, an animal communicator named Kara. An energy reader, Kara focuses on health problems and helping pets communicate their wants and needs. She has testimonies from previous clients who say she detected tumors. You can call me easily influenced; that’s only fair.

Her booking page was full months out, which proved to me that she’s the real deal. So I uploaded three recent solo photos of Cayenne and booked the first available 40-minute Zoom call.

The Life of Pets

The day finally came two months later, and Cayenne’s eye problem had completely cleared up just as her vet had predicted. But there’s no harm in double-checking, and I had already paid for the session. I also had other concerns, mainly about how Cayenne felt about being a big sister and our upcoming move.

For five years, Cayenne was the proud beneficiary of our DINKWAD household (double-income, no kids with a dog). Admittedly, we spoiled her rotten. She was living large with an extensive mealtime and treat routine, her own room, daily walks, regular new renditions of sweet serenades and, of course, frequent trips to the groomer. Now, we had added a baby to the mix and were moving from the only house and neighborhood she had ever known. We replaced peaceful afternoons with the soundscape of naptime tribulations and added a stroller to our daily walks, sometimes clipping her paw when she gets too carried away by her nose. I felt sure I had ruined her life, even though her mealtime, treats, frequent grooming appointments and daily walks remained.

Cayenne says…

“She’s not jealous of him at all. She loves him in her own way. And she said you can stop apologizing,” Kara said with a matter-of-fact tone as tears welled in my eyes. “She just wants more to think about.” Food puzzles and more walks, to be exact.

“She’s showing me a dark house, early in the morning, when it’s just the two of you. She likes that time a lot,” Kara continued. Then came her list of requests—more breakfast foods, compliments on her nobility, new blankets for her beanbag (preferably velvet), and a seat at the dinner table.

Was I shocked? Not in the slightest. Then it dawned on me that Kara did not know Cayenne aside from the three photos I attached to my booking request and her fleeting appearances in our Zoom call. I had carefully monitored the information I provided her when she asked about my concerns. While I find Cayenne’s alleged requests totally on brand, how would a stranger know about her affinity for bacon and eggs? Or our early mornings together? Or her penchant for finding the softest blankets and fluffiest pillows? I can feel your eyes narrowing. Stay with me.

“She feels important when she walks next to the stroller, but she’s very protective—I’m seeing her baring her teeth while you’re walking,” Kara said. “She’s saying, ‘I don’t think I can protect us, and neither can she.'”

While I want to laugh off her lack of confidence in my combat skills, I know exactly what she’s talking about and grimace instead. While trying to walk myself into labor at 39 weeks, an unleashed dog ran at us, snarling and baring teeth. My instincts kicked in, and I made myself as big and loud as possible. I screamed, waved my arms and kicked my legs to scare the dog off. Fellow park-goers came running, while others quickly scooped up their own dogs. Eventually, the angry dog trotted back to its owner, who was also screaming. I hoped Cayenne had long forgotten about that. No dice.

As for the eye problem, Kara saw Cayenne bumping into something. “She hit her head while you guys weren’t around,” Kara explained. She checked for tumors by placing her hand near the screen and turning her head, as if trying to hear better. “I don’t see a tumor, and it’s not bothering her anymore,” she said after a long pause.

But something else was bothering her. Kara said Cayenne’s root chakra—tied to safety and grounding—was off, which made perfect sense. This can cause feelings of anxiety and even constipation (TMI?).

“She’s living in her head,” Kara explained. Then, she walked me through a somatic massage technique to help Cayenne feel safer, “put her back in her body,” and, well, get things moving. Kara also suggested returning Cayenne to classes to help her build confidence and enjoy her walks more.

Whether or not Kara is the real deal is up to you to decide.

I don’t feel any closer to “the truth” about animal communicators, but I do feel more at ease and better equipped to navigate this new chapter with Cayenne. Even if, as my grandmother insists, it’s a crock of bologna, it’s comforting to hear that Cayenne likes being a big sister. Her life may be louder and different now, but she doesn’t think it’s ruined—and that’s enough for me.

Cayenne got the new blankets she requested in jewel-toned crushed velvet and is complimented on her nobility very often, but eating at the dinner table with us is still under consideration.