One Step, Breathe. Another, Breathe.

I was so excited to visit Dottie Orenda yesterday—and to share her presence with a dear friend.

All week, I had been gently placing the lead around her, letting her feel my intention before the harness followed. It was going beautifully.

But yesterday, I had a limited window of time. I tried not to rush, truly I did.
You see, as soon as Orenda finishes eating, she wants to be with Dudley, her pasture mate.

And then it happened.
I couldn’t "catch" her.

I don’t like that word—catch. It doesn’t resonate with me.
Maybe that’s where I need to begin… finding a new word.

Orenda, with no eyes, bumped into the fence. She shook her head and moved on.
Then she bumped the scratching post. Shook her head again.
Another fence. Another post. Shake. Bump. Shake.

It was more than usual.
And just as I was growing more reactive—Jules appeared.

She said exactly what Jim at Bar T once told me:
“You need to regather and shift your energy.”
Or at least, that’s what I heard.

And she was right.
Nailed it, actually.

Once, a student asked me,
“Why won’t my six-year-old sit still?”
And I replied, “Do you?”
He only saw her rushing—no stillness.
And so she, too, needed to slow down,
So her whirlwind wouldn’t throw him off balance.

That was me yesterday.
Orenda felt everything.
My urgency. My expectations. My unsettled energy.
Each time she bumped, I reacted.
Not out loud, but in my body—in my breath.

And in that,
I hurt her.
Not intentionally, but through my unconscious rushing.
I wasn’t grounded.

It woke me up.

I have Orenda for many reasons.
But above all—
to love her.
To give her safety.
To create a space where she knows she can trust.

Today, I will gather my energy.
Place it on the wind and watch it float away.
And if there is no wind?
Then I will bury it deep in Mother Earth.

She doesn’t need my stress.
She needs my stillness.

One step. Breathe.
Another step. Breathe.