By: Lori Hall-McNary

The smell of burning iron still lingered in the air. “Pretty horse, but she’ll never amount to anything.” The shoer slammed his truck door. The Vet had said the same thing. “Pretty Palomino mare, but too many problems for a horse so young to become a barrel racer.”
The grown-ups may be experts, but when I looked into Shamrock’s soft brown eyes I could see the flicker of a warrior’s spirit. The afternoon sun glinted off her golden coat.

I knew she had the heart of a champion if only someone believed in her. I believed in her.

“You’re both wrong!” I stated, in my twelve-year-old boldness uncensored by adults.

In a low, calming tone, my Step-Dad cautioned, “Now, Lori, she is a nice horse. Just don’t get your hopes up too high.” He meant well, but I knew he was wrong too.

I gazed into my first horse’s beautiful cocoa eyes again. Liquid amber simmered beneath. She blinked and nudged my hand with her warm nose as if to say, believe in me. Love me. Together, we would prove everyone wrong. That day I decided no matter what the adults said, I would be loyal to Shamrock and my vision of being a champion gymkhana rider.

I soon realized I had much to learn to train my horse, Shamrock. I read every horse training book and magazine I could get my hands on. I worked with my horse before and after school and on weekends. Riding Shamrock for miles, visiting the local ranches and auctions, and pestering the cowboys for advice. My schoolteacher suggested I join the local 4-H club. Attending those meetings with other horse-crazed kids was a horse lover’s dream.

After attending my first playday show I was hooked on the speed and grace of the gymkhana horse. I wanted to be one of those cowgirls where the horse and rider rode like the wind, turned on a subtle cue around a barrel, and stopped on a dime, dust and dirt spraying in all directions.

Supporting three step-kids and two of his own my Step-Dad worked two jobs. No money was left over for lessons or fancy shows. That was okay. My parents gave me their tremendous work ethic. Odd jobs at different ranches earned me lessons from the top trainers in our area. I babysat, mowed lawns, pulled weeds, gutted fish, picked up bottles and aluminum cans for gas money and entry fees.

In the beginning, I made several mistakes; like getting bucked off and breaking my arm. I learned real quick not to put my hand down to cushion my landing as I flailed through the air.

Many times in handling the 1,000 pounds of energetic, green-broke horse, I ended up with bumps and bruises, even a broken nose when I wasn’t paying attention. But I never gave up on her. I kept learning and my horse’s skill levels got better and better and so did mine.

Together as a team, my Quarter horse (who would never amount to anything) and I won local, state, and national gymkhana (barrel racing and pole bending included) championships. We’ve earned first place in endurance riding and parades. And I was even asked to join a traveling western trick riding show. But my parents didn’t think it a good idea for a sixteen year-old to go galloping around the country with strangers.

Working and training my first horse taught me patience, persistence, perseverance, and possibilities. Today I still live by those early lessons I learned. On my own ranch, where I continue to train champion horses and riders, our motto is: “Yes, I can. Just figure out a way how to do it!”