Triple Trouble: A Pause From the Payco Drama to Celebrate a Win With Hot Sauce

“…growth isn’t always flashy. That real growth rarely looks like a grand finale. It’s not always shiny or Instagram-worthy. Sometimes, it doesn’t come with applause or dramatic breakthroughs.”

In the whirlwind of horse life — where triumphs and tribulations collide, and every ride tells a story — there comes a time to hit pause on the drama. Today, this Triple Trouble piece takes a detour from the ongoing saga of Payco’s leg and shines a much-needed spotlight on a different kind of victory — one that isn’t draped in ribbons or sealed with first-place titles, but instead forged in quiet moments of patience and relentless effort behind the scenes.

Let’s talk about Hot Sauce.

Photo by Roam Photography

We all know the truth about big wins — they don’t always happen in the spotlight. They’re found in the shadows. In the lonely hours after a long workday, when you’re tired but still saddle up. When there’s no audience, no clapping, just you, your horse, and a whole lot of trying. The world sees results. What they don’t see are those tiny moments where progress is painstakingly carved out in tears and frustration. The growth is slow but it is happening.

As I reflect on my riding career, my proudest moments aren’t necessarily from the show pen. They’re from the instances that made my heart swell with fulfillment — the moments where I could feel that I was growing, that my horses were listening, that our partnership was becoming something deeper. The moments that make it all worth it.

For me, those moments have overwhelmingly come with my heart horse — my OTTB, Funny Bunny B (Buns). Buns is the kind of horse you wish to have once in your lifetime. We’ve become two peas in a pod. Whether we’re competing or just out for a trail ride, we’re connected. With Buns, it’s a seamless blend of trust, feel, and unspoken understanding. I’ve never had that with any other horse.

Photo with my heart horse, Buns, by Emily Hric

And because of that bond, it’s been incredibly difficult for me to ride other horses without comparing them to him.  So when it came to Hot Sauce, I knew I was in for a challenge.

Hot Sauce. Her name isn’t cute irony. She came out of the womb with fire in her veins and something to prove. She’s been testing boundaries since day one— making herself known. Five years in and over a year of professional training, she still challenges me in ways I never expected.

Photo by Kamille Huff

Riding her feels like trying to dance with someone to a rhythm only they can hear. She’s smart, reactive, easily frustrated, and sensitive in the most complex ways. But underneath all that fire, I can tell she wants to get it right. She just doesn’t know how yet. And honestly, I’m still trying to figure it out.

I’ve spent the past year trying to understand her better — trying to figure out what makes her tick, where her tension comes from, and how I could meet her halfway. I’ve expanded my mental toolkit, welcomed new training methods, and opened my mind to things I once would have dismissed. And maybe more importantly, I’ve learned to let go. I stopped turning every disagreement into a battle. I started thinking of her more like a child — one who needs space, compassion, and a little patience to process frustration before lashing out.

Still, it hasn’t been easy.

Photo by Dusty Lane Photography

Almost every week since she’s come home, I’ve cried. At least once. Sometimes quietly, sometimes ugly sobbing in the stall. I’d convince myself I wasn’t enough for her. That I was holding her back. That we just weren’t a match that was going to click. I’d threaten myself with ultimatums — “If we’re not making progress by this date, I’m listing her for sale.” But the date would come and go, and there she’d be — doing just enough to keep my hope alive. Like a toxic relationship with potential. One moment, we’d be civil. The next, she’d leave me face first in the dirt, both of us frustrated.

But sometimes you get a magical moment. The kind that makes it all feel worthwhile.

Photo by Dan Shea Photography

It was the first practice of the season with my trainer, Ezra, at No Reins Performance Horses. As part of the session, Ezra offered to ride any horse someone wanted feedback on. I hesitated. Letting the trainer get on your horse, especially when you’ve been struggling, is nerve-wracking. You expect critique. You brace for the list of all the ways you’ve messed up.

But I wanted the truth. I wanted to know where I really stood with Hot Sauce. So I handed over the reins.

I held my breath as I watched Ezra ride her into the pattern. And to my surprise, she was attentive. Focused. She stayed with him the entire time, listening and giving. There were definitely things I noticed — areas that needed improvement — but she didn’t explode. She didn’t tune out. She tried.

Then came the words that I wasn’t ready for.

Ezra stepped off and said, “That’s the best she’s felt.” My brain almost couldn’t process it. He went on to tell me I was doing an amazing job with her. That I was exactly what she needed. That I shouldn’t change a single thing.

And just like that — I was in tears.

Not because someone praised me. But because all those tears, all the late nights, all the internal battles about not being good enough… suddenly felt seen. Validated. Worth it.

It wasn’t a title. It wasn’t a buckle or a victory lap. But it was everything.

Photo by Marlee Fritz

That moment reminded me that growth isn’t always flashy. That real growth rarely looks like a grand finale. It’s not always shiny or Instagram-worthy. Sometimes, it doesn’t come with applause or dramatic breakthroughs. Sometimes, it’s quiet. Subtle. It’s a shift you feel more than you see—a flicker of connection, a sense of understanding, a moment where everything just… clicks. For me and Hot Sauce, it wasn’t fireworks. It was a quiet, yet it spoke volumes.

So here’s to Hot Sauce. To the horse who challenges me, humbles me, and makes me better. We may not have it all figured out yet, and I know there will be more frustration ahead. More tears, more setbacks, more days that make me question everything.

But today we’re celebrating. Celebrating how far we’ve come in a short amount of time. Celebrating the patience and the powerful reminder that even the smallest wins can mean everything.