Pidge was a guest in my garden last summer. I told you about her first in this post.

When I realized Pidge was still alive, I had to give her a chance. Even though it contradicted my logical left brain thinking, my gut and my guides were telling me different.

Listen, “always trust your gut” was one of the first lessons I learned in my animal training career. Later I learned that “gut feeling” is often synonymous with “psychic insight.”

My 3D RN brain said, “You’re just giving her a more comfortable place to pass than the grass by the side of the road.” My assessment was based on observation and experience.

Still, I set up a box with some towels and water, and placed her carefully on a soft nest that supported her body so she didn’t have to lay flat or try to stand.

I sat with her, and offered her Reiki, even though in my head I was running through what science and my medical training told me, as well as my observations of the last 4 hours. Animals that barely move for hours after being knocked unconscious have a high mortality rate. Pidge had repositioned herself in the grass, but otherwise had not moved more than a few inches when I went back to check on her after I was clocked out of work.

Medically, that suggested fatal diagnoses such as internal bleeding or broken bones. Medically, rationally, I should’ve still given her a quick and painless ending rather than letting her linger.

What I heard from Pidge and my guides was that she was dazed, with only muscle and soft tissue injuries that would heal with time. When I held her, and offered her Reiki, this is what I saw intuitively. When I picked her up from the grass and carried her to the box I’d prepared, I carefully stretched each wing, and palpated her keel bone and legs. Everything seemed in order. Confirming what my guides said, and what I sensed through the Reiki energy.

Still didn’t rule out internal bleeds, or a broken pelvis. As I settled her into the box, and offered her more Reiki, I still thought she’d pass.

I covered the box with a towel to keep her safe and warm and left it sitting in a protected spot in my Zen Garden before I went inside. Later in the evening, I went out to the garden to check on Pidge.

“Well. Still alive?” I couldn’t leave her outside any longer. Just a cardboard box covered with a towel was fine for the afternoon, but overnight in my garden meant she’d be vulnerable to local wildlife. A passing raccoon would’ve made her dinner.

So I brought her in for the night. Still thinking she’d probably pass.

“Goodnight little one.” I whispered as I gently set the box down in a corner of my laundry room.

Her round eyes were still scared, but less so than before. Now there was confusion, and hope. “Thank you.” I heard before I covered the box once again with the towel.

The next morning, Pidge was standing on her own.