Unabashed romantics (and yes, I’m one of them) can easily view the Story of The Red Thread in terms of two strangers from opposite sides of the world brought to the same coffee shop for a morning latte. Their eyes meet, a conversation starts and the delightful dance of love begins.

But this meant-to-be connection can occur in ways that may not be of a romantic nature. As someone who writes books for animal lovers I’ve spoken to enough “fur people” over the years to know many of us believe meeting our forever critters was written in the stars. I’ve felt that way about all my dogs and cats. When I lost my dog, Jake, in 2006, I took my sweet boy to a place where he would be cremated. This was difficult for me because it was the first time I was having a companion animal cremated. I brought the people a set of my books for their waiting room. One of them started flipping through my book For Every Cat An Angel and suddenly stopped when she saw a particular illustration.

It turned out years earlier I had donated a signed poster of that illustration to the Children’s Cancer Foundation here in Portland. It had been bought by a local veterinarian, who put it up on their office wall. When the woman from the cremation facility went to pick up a critter at the vet she saw the poster and liked it so much the vet gave it to her. It was now hanging in the room next to where I was crying over my dear Jake.

I’d created only ONE poster and somehow I’d been reunited with it.

In 2012 my world was completely changed by a BBC television show I’d only found by accident. An actor’s performance reached through time and space and literally saved my life. It was as if the script had been written just for me. Each component was crucial. Had any element been missing it might have been an enjoyable episode but it wouldn’t have been life-altering. There’s no question in my mind that one of those mystical red threads connected me to the people on the other side of the planet who brought this TV show to the screen.

When I look in the mirror I see all the red threads that have been woven into my life. Some of them have come full circle while others live in the mystery, waiting to be revealed.

May 2015 be the year you follow the red thread that is tugging at your heart.

With much love,

Chris

Comcast is not having a good week. The recording of one of their reps refusing to cancel a customer’s cable service has spread like wildfire. Apologies are being made, but are they too late?

Maybe I can lift your spirits, Comcast.

On March 29, 2014 I sent a heartfelt letter to Brian Roberts, Chairman and CEO of Comcast, thanking the company for inadvertently sending me on the odyssey of a lifetime. It was the high cost of my cable bill, relative to the small amount of time I had to watch television, that led me to grab my remote control in an effort to find a show that would captivate me.

I found that show—Merlin—on BBC America and recorded the first twenty-six episodes. It would be a scene in Episode 21 that would leave me screaming in my room, rattling the posts on my canopy bed, and ultimately collapsed on the floor. That moment on July 1, 2012 would release decades of pent-up rage I’d held from abuse suffered as a child.

Thus began my wild adventure of finding out who I am. Turns out I’m a stubborn New Yorker, with a wicked sense of humor, who would be led to leave the world of writing books for animal lovers to pen a new book, Breathing Fire, about the unimaginable joy that was waiting for me— just beyond my rage. A copy of my book accompanied my letter to Mr. Roberts. I poured out my gratitude to him, ending with these words:

I will always be profoundly grateful to Comcast. Your company changed everything about my life and, together, I think we’ll be able to help others who have walked this heartbreaking path. 

Mr. Roberts, from the bottom of my no-longer-broken heart, thank you. 

It’s not that I expected to hear from him, but somewhere in my heart of hearts I always thought maybe, someday, I might. I doubted he had ever found anything in his in-basket quite like my correspondence. But my letter went unanswered.

So, here is what I’d like to say to Brian Roberts. If this new publicity nightmare leaves you running for the nearest ledge please remember that two years ago Comcast precipitated an event so miraculous it literally altered me on a cellular level. I am sharing my journey with others who, like me, may have forgotten how mighty they are.

If you want to talk, I’m here for you.

By the way, I now have a sword. I’m just sayin’ . . .

Chris Davis

www.lightheartedpress.com

Part Three—RAT

So there they were. Two rats—crouched among the birds, squirrels, chipmunks and rabbits.

It was February 2014 and an unexpected six inches of snow had fallen in the Portland area. I was keeping the food stockpile on the hillside high so the critters wouldn’t run out. That’s when the rats showed up. I live in the woods, so seeing rats in the area is not unheard of. At first they only came out at night, but after a few days they figured out the pickings were better when the two-legged creature without fur (also known as me) came though the magic door on the deck, and that was usually in the day time.

The rats changed their tactics and started coming out in the morning. They stayed about six feet away as I strewed my goodies on the ground. Occasionally they would glance in my direction but for the most part they didn’t pay any attention to me. Periodically I’d see them chase off a small bird or chipmunk. Then they began chasing off the squirrels and rabbits. Chasing progressed to attacking.  One rat sunk its teeth into a cornered chipmunk on the rock wall and the two tumbled about five feet to the ground, the rat holding on until the last minute. Thankfully, they both scurried off.

The rats rose to the top of the food chain. They claimed the seeds, nuts and lettuce for themselves and did their best to keep the other creatures from getting anything to eat. My feelings went from interest in their habits, to respect for their tenacity in claiming a part of the bounty, to sorrow in observing their determination to take EVERYTHING even though there was more than enough for EVERYONE.

From Ratatouille (Disney/Pixar Animation Studios 2007)

This same, sad scenario is the basis for so much suffering on our planet. My heart ached as I watched the delightful dance of creatures on my hillside turn into a bloodbath. When the rats began scurrying next to my feet I became scared. Everything felt out of balance. I picked up as many of the seeds and nuts as I could, not an easy thing to do when you’ve been feeding the wildlife for over 23 years. The rabbits were the first to leave, followed by the birds, chipmunks and squirrels. The rats stayed.

Pest control—the words gnawed at my heart.  Who am I to determine what a pest is? Who am I to choose which creatures are worthy of life? I’d seen—and loved—the movie Ratatouille. What if my rats were great chefs like the character in that film? What if the rats in my yard were prolific writers, tapping away throughout the night on tiny typewriters beneath my deck? What if they were there to inspire my next book?

From Ratatouille (Disney/Pixar Animation Studios 2007)

Despite those thoughts, I knew there was a good chance the rats could be creating babies. The image of many rats taking over my yard was too much to handle. I signed the deadly contract with the pest control company and they came and did the deed. A few weeks went by and the rats disappeared. In time I was able to begin putting food out on the hillside again.  The birds, squirrels, chipmunks and rabbits returned and peace was restored among the feasters. Everyone got something.

The rats reminded me how important balance is. I’ve needed to learn that lesson more than once in my lifetime. However, I’m haunted by the fate the rats suffered at my hand. Was the action I took any different from theirs? Did I do the right thing? Was there another option I could have pursued?

What would you have done?

Chris

Part Two—FROG

He was in the bottom of my pond.

I was used to frogs hiding beneath the rocks and vegetation when I cleaned the pond. Most of them leaped out and hopped up the hillside, ready to return when the job was complete. Occasionally, a frog would jump up next to me and peer into the water as if he was sent by management to supervise my work.

But this little guy was different. He was terrified—and he wasn’t moving.

There was nothing left in the pond for him to climb onto and the pond liner was too slippery for him to get any traction. I leaned over and presented my hand with the hope he might accept my offer of rescue, but his bulging eyes only got bigger.

“Listen, little one,” I said, “I really need to clean out this water. Let’s work together and find a way to transport you to a temporary hiding place.”

A quick glance around the yard revealed the corn broom I used for sweeping up sunflower seed hulls. Perfect! I brought the broom back up the hill and lowered it into the pond, creating a ledge for him to step up on. Mr. Frog was immobile. I imagined him silently praying “Please, Lord of all Amphibians, let me go quickly and without pain.”

“It’s ok,” I told him. “I know you’re scared, but you need help. Not very long ago I, too, needed help. That’s when a magical prince from a faraway kingdom crossed a very big pond—much bigger than this one—and took me to the land of wizards and dragons and swords and gave me a chance to start my life over. I couldn’t have gotten there without him and YOU can’t get out of here without me. So please let me help you.”

He brought his eyes up to mine—the terror had softened. He would allow me to help him out of his predicament. A green and black leg reached up and took hold of the corn bristles. He hopped onto the broom and with a quiet dignity rode his magical coach to an upper level of the pond. Then he stepped off and leaped behind a rock that seemed to fit all but one leg of his body. That leg dangled until the pond was clean, at which point he dove back into the water with the speed of an Olympic swimmer.

One of the greatest lessons of the wild adventure I had while writing my new book, Breathing Fire, has been learning to ask for help when I need it and accepting assistance with gratitude. This was a BIG lesson for a stubborn New Yorker so I understood my little frog’s dilemma.

He and I have come far on our travels.

To learn more about Breathing Fire please visit the Lighthearted Press website. Enter the Coupon Code FROG to receive a 15% discount off the retail price of all our books and gifts. Coupon good through 6/30/14.

Ribbit!
Chris

Part One – OWL

It was June 2012. A soft, dreamy sound was coming through my bedroom window late one night, asking me to awaken and be with it. As I felt myself coming to awareness the WHO WHO WHO-WHO of the owl became clear. Such a lovely song—I could not help but surrender to it.

That owl—a barred owl—would be outside my window for two months, hooting throughout the night. I’d go down early to water the plants and there owl would be on a low branch in the tree, watching as I sprinkled the flowers.

WHO WHO WHO-WHO.

Those who understand about animal medicine believe that if a barred owl appears in your life it may be there to show you how to find your voice. Little did I know that a few weeks after owl came to me I would be invited on a magical journey that would change me forever, compelling me to write and speak about something from my childhood I’d kept to myself for many decades.

Although the owl in the tree has moved on, its spirit is always present in my heart. I have found my voice and am using it as an instrument to reach others who, like me, have been longing to reclaim the passion and joy that has been missing from their lives. My story is for anyone who has experienced trauma in their past…and for anyone who hasn’t.

Thank you, owl.

WHO WHO WHO-WHO!

The first time I heard the word giveaway was back in 1995, two years before I wrote my book, For Every Dog An Angel. I was looking to leave corporate America so I could pursue a living that would satisfy my soul. With my beloved dog, Martha, by my side I felt certain I would find my heart’s true calling.

I met with my friend, Misa Hopkins, a healer of Native American descent, hoping she could offer guidance for my journey.

“What will be your giveaway?” Misa asked.

I came to understand that when you are inviting something new into your life you often need to make space for it. This might mean giving up something tangible, or letting go of a belief or philosophy that could prevent you from living your dream.

In true “Chris” fashion I told Misa my giveaway would be Brussels sprouts, a vegetable I detested. A few weeks later I came home and found Martha standing motionless in my yard. She had gone into a catatonic state. Fifteen days later I lost her to a brain condition that was never diagnosed. The Universe had decided for me. Martha was to be my giveaway.

Many furry friends have left my side since the loss of Martha. I began 2013 with my cats, Molly and Star, never knowing I would lose Star on July 31, 2013.

Now it’s just Molly and me. After all the years of having four dogs and four cats in my home, sharing my life with only a single critter has taken some getting used to. In the beginning it felt odd—extremely out of balance. Molly, however, seemed to take it all in stride. With unwavering confidence she padded up to my side and took her place on my lap with a kind of regal elegance. There was no big brother to attack her from behind the couch, and no dominating sister to bite her for wanting some affection from Mom.

It is Molly who will accompany me on the next leg of my journey as my new book, Breathing Fire, comes out in a few weeks. This is the true story of how I was rescued from living under the spell of unworthiness. For the first time in my life I can hold my head up high. I see the same in Molly, now that the siblings who tormented her have gone to the Rainbow Bridge.

Molly and I are now in perfect balance . . . and with that realization I remember how wise the Universe is.

If of thy mortal goods thou art bereft

And from thy slender store two loaves alone to thee are left

Sell one and with the dole

Buy hyacinths to feed thy soul

—Muslihuddin Sadi, 13th Century Persian Poet

I wrote those words on a piece of paper back in 1970, after hearing them recited by Vincent Price on an episode of The Mod Squad.

Flowers add so much to a home. More than just color and fragrance, they present the possibility of a miracle—the feeling that if you look at them long enough, or from just the right angle, or at just the perfect time of day, something extraordinary is going to happen.

I kept flowers in my home until 1998, which was the year the kitties came. My dog, Jake, discovered the litter of four fabulous felines in the yard, and bringing them in meant saying goodbye to the posies. They were too tempting to the kitties, and in some cases, might have been poisonous.

I was the winner in that trade – the kitties brought more color and magic to my life than any rose or daisy could have. Still, I missed the bouquets, their carefree arrangements sitting in a variety of containers.

The loss of two cats, Dickens and Pippen, in 2010 was followed by the loss of their sister, Star, this past July. With only dear Molly left, I wondered if perhaps the time had come to invite the flowers back into my home.

I bought these flowers a few weeks ago. It took Molly two days to see them, at which time she jumped on the coffee table, buried her furry face in them, and then walked away.

“I remember these, Mom,” her eyes said as they met mine. “I’m glad they’re back.”

“Me, too,” I told her..

So, the flowers have returned to my life after 15 years—a gift from Dickens, Pippen, Star and Molly.

So beautiful.

Chris