For the Love of Animals
In 2001, I was driving home after a full day of massaging horses when my best friend and coworker, Joan Sorita, turned toward me and said something that would quietly change the course of my life:
“You know, you really should be teaching this to people. Just mentoring one person at a time, like you did with me, isn’t getting enough hands on enough horses.”
She was right—and not in a vague, inspirational way. In a practical, undeniable way. I had spent half my life becoming a massage therapist, and I loved my work. I believed in it. I could feel the difference it made—how an animal breathed differently, stood differently, moved differently when their body finally had a chance to let go. I was good at it, really good.
But I also knew my reach was limited by something very real: I only had two hands, and only so many hours in a day.
Still, the idea of teaching? That felt like stepping onto unfamiliar ground. Being a skilled practitioner didn’t automatically mean I would be a skilled instructor. I wasn’t trying to build a brand or start a school—I was trying to do good work, the right way, for the animals in front of me. The thought of standing at the front of a room and claiming the role of “teacher” came with a heavy question: How could I know I’d be good at that, too? Let alone, really good?
As it turned out, the timing couldn’t have been more important.
In the year leading up to that car ride, the landscape of animal massage in Washington State had been shifting under our feet. Since 2000, the legislature had been debating who should—and should not—provide bodywork to animals, with much of the attention focused on racehorses. At the time, racehorses made up a considerable portion of my clientele. If the rules changed in the wrong direction, it wouldn’t just impact practitioners like me—it would impact the animals who benefited from consistent, skilled care.
Myself and a few other practitioners formed the Washington Animal Massage Association. We showed up that year with a bill in hand and a hard-working lobbyist on loan from the Washington Horsemen’s Benevolent and Protective Association (WHBPA), led by racehorse owners and leadership from Emerald Downs. It was grassroots politics in the truest sense: long days, focused conversations, and the kind of persistence you only find when you’re protecting something you deeply believe in.
Those months were a blur of work, mixed with committee hearings and conversations that demanded we clearly articulate what animal massage is—and what it is not. By 2001, Washington State had a new law on the books allowing massage therapists to provide massage therapy to animals without direct supervision of a veterinarian.The key to the deal was that to qualify, individuals had to complete a 300 hour training from a state approved school. Which, of course, at that time, had yet to exist.
Which meant that Joan and I had a colossal task ahead, to create a curriculum that would meet the high standard that the Washington State legislature had put in place. Joan tackled the numerous anatomy illustrations and homework assignments while I focused on the core curriculum, much of which is still at the core of our programs.
On January 28th, 2002, Joan and I found ourselves sitting across from our business attorney, signing our names on a newly formed partnership: the Northwest School of Animal Massage.
We held our very first class in late summer of that same year. It was advertised as a continuing education offering for licensed massage therapists. We had nine students and two teachers, crammed into a tiny office space at Legacy Hunters and Jumpers, the original home to NWSAM. We didn’t have sleek systems or polished marketing. What we had was heart, experience, and a clear sense that something meaningful was beginning.
And we had that first group—curious, talented, and all-in. Their energy made one thing immediately obvious: this wouldn’t be our last class.
When I think back on that first graduating class, the memories are vivid. Vicki Draper—eight and a half months pregnant—positioned in the doorway half in and half out of the room so we could squeeze a recliner in for her to keep her feet up. Today, she’s authored four books on animal healing, produces exceptional flower essences through her ViMiere line, and still maintains an active animal healing practice. Vicki introduced me to the magic of craniosacral therapy. Her daughter, still our youngest student to date, is also an animal lover like her mom, and working on her college degree.
I remember Tressa James, in overalls and pigtails. SOMA practitioner, lifelong horse lover—who gifted her classmates and instructors handmade treasures during the final days of class. I still wear the wooden hairstick with its silver Celtic knot charm on the days I pull my hair into a tight bun. Years later, after a significant back injury, Iuck would find me on her massage table. The series of SOMA sessions I received from her skilled hands helped me get back in the saddle and back to my practice. Her early work as a student of fascial specialists Thomas Myers and Thomas Hanna would spark a lifelong fascination with myofascial release therapy for me.
That’s one of the truths I didn’t fully understand when we started: NWSAM wouldn’t just be a place where people came to learn techniques. It would be a place where people—and animals—changed each other’s lives.
Twenty-five years later, I can say this with both pride and humility: the Northwest School of Animal Massage has become far more than a school. It’s a community and a standard-bearer. It’s a place built on compassion for animals, deep respect for the practitioner’s craft, and a commitment to doing this work with skill and integrity. It’s a place that supports growth, celebrates victories, and reminds you—especially when you’re tired or unsure—that you’re not alone in loving animals this much.
Most of all, it’s a place where like-minded people meet and become peers, friends, and, over time, family.
If you’re discovering NWSAM for the first time, I hope our origin story feels like an invitation—not just into a program, but into a purpose. The world has changed a lot since 2001. What hasn’t changed is the need for steady hands, clear minds, and big hearts in service of animals.
Thank you for being part of these first 25 years—whether you’ve been with us since the beginning, or you’re just finding your way here now.
The future is still in your hands.
White Witch Chronicle 