Restoration: Our 2026 Shorthorn Junior Nationals Story

Five days ago, Knox won the Shorthorn Junior Nationals.

As I sit here writing this from my laptop in a coffee shop in College Station during the All American Brahman Junior Nationals, I ask myself for what must be the thousandth time:

Did I dream it?

We’ve joked about it ever since.

“Hey Knox,” I asked the other day, “who won that show?”

He didn’t even smile.

“Quit talking like that,” he replied.

Sunday night, I found myself sitting alone in our dining room, staring at the Grand Champion banner as it swayed back and forth in the breeze from the ceiling fan. It’s been so hot in Texas that our air conditioner can’t quite keep up.

I just watched it. Still trying to convince myself it really belongs in our house.

The truth is, I don’t think I’m struggling to believe we won.

I’m struggling to believe the beautiful journey that brought us here.

The first video Paige Wallace ever made for our family was after the 2020 Houston Livestock Show. In it, my dad said:

At the time, that wasn’t an exaggeration.

Houston was our world.

Six years later, for the Neumayr family… replace Houston with Shorthorn Junior Nationals.

How did that happen?

How Did We Get Here?

I don’t remember a time in my life before Shorthorns. But I remember life without them. I never stopped missing them.

But for Knox, there is a before Shorthorns chapter. He doesn’t remember the first part of our family’s story. He only knows the chapter that began when we came back.

And because of that, I’ve found myself saying the same simple prayer over and over these last few years:

“Thank you, Lord, for letting us have Shorthorns again.”

This was our third Shorthorn Junior Nationals as a family — my twenty-third.

The first, in Maryland, was really about coming home. Knox was too young to show, but we dove headfirst into the contests, walked the barns, visited with old friends, and slipped right back into a place that felt like home.

By the next summer in Grand Island, Knox finally had a Shorthorn heifer to lead. If you know me, you won’t be surprised to hear that I believed she could win the whole thing. Maybe she could have. She didn’t.

We left Nebraska exhausted, thankful, and just a little disappointed.

Knox had an incredible week. High Point. Contest wins. Margie won her class. But somewhere on the drive home, I made up my mind.

Never again would we come to Junior Nationals with just one chance.

Fast forward one year.

Somewhere between buying heifers, Knox’s first bred-and-owned being born, and convincing ourselves this all seemed perfectly reasonable, our trailer suddenly held four.

Looking back, I couldn’t help but think of Melissa McCarthy and those puppies in Bridesmaids.

“I took nine… I did slightly overcommit.”

As I looked at our schedule with four heifers to keep straight all week, I had to laugh.

Maybe… just maybe… I had overcommitted.

More Than the Heifer Show

The funny thing about Junior Nationals is that I spend the four months leading up to it convinced the owned heifer show is everything. I analyze every possible outcome, every class, every scenario. I drive my family absolutely crazy. But every year, something changes.

Knox does every leadership contest he possibly can: 

• Speech
• Photography
• Poster
• Judging
• Art
• Team fitting
• Showmanship
• Written quiz

If it counts toward High Point, he’s in it. 

By Friday evening, you’ve already lived an entire Junior Nationals before the first heifer ever walks into the ring. You’re exhausted. You’ve walked fifteen thousand steps a day, celebrated victories you never expected, cheered on friends, survived on five hours of sleep, and spent a week surrounded by people who have become family.

By Friday night, after the awards banquet, Knox had won High Point in his age division. As Luke and I climbed into bed, I told him something I hope he’ll remind me of next June when I’m obsessing over the owned show all over again.

“Next year, when I spend months driving everyone crazy over the heifer show, remind me that by Friday night, I won’t be nearly as invested in it.”

Don’t get me wrong. The owned show is still the show. It’s the one I’ve dreamed about Knox winning since he was born. But somewhere along the way, Junior Nationals becomes so much bigger than one Saturday afternoon. The leadership contests, the friendships, the late nights, the ups and downs, the memories — they remind me why we came in the first place.

Ups and downs. Looking back, that’s probably the best way to describe our week.

I never want to share only the highlight reel. Aren’t we all tempted to do that? I know I am. Junior Nationals wasn’t perfect. It never is. That’s part of what makes the victories so meaningful.

One of my favorite moments had nothing to do with championships. Miss V8 Shannon Margie 476P, Margie’s calf at side, won her class and was Third Overall in her division in the Bred & Owned show. 

Months earlier, we’d prepared Knox that Shannon probably wasn’t going to be a great show heifer. The week before Junior Nationals, he reminded me, “Mom, just because Shannon may not be a great show heifer doesn’t mean we aren’t proud of her.”

On the first day of the show, Knox stopped in front of Shannon’s stall sign. The first “Miss V8” he had ever bred and owned. He smiled, looked over at me, and smiled again.

Two sentimental people didn’t need words: Pride.

Not every story ended that way.

We came to Junior Nationals planning to show four females: Bill Jr., our reigning Show Female of the Year and frontrunner; Shannon in the Bred & Owned show; Margie and Shannon in the owned show; and CF Myrtle Bo 5127, the high-selling fall-born female from the Cates Family’s Modoc Madness Sale. We believed “Turtle Bo” had every opportunity to become our second warhorse behind Bill Jr.

During our final practice Friday afternoon, it became obvious she wasn’t ready. In a display that was anything but Shorthorn appropriate, she repeatedly tried to pull away from Knox and make her exit. After much discussion, we made the difficult decision to scratch her. It wasn’t easy. People knew who she was. They expected to see her. But Knox trusts us never to put him in a situation he isn’t prepared for, and we owe every other exhibitor a safe show. It was the right decision, even though it stung.

I still believe Turtle can become an outstanding show heifer. Maybe we figure her out. Maybe we don’t. That’s cattle. They don’t always follow the script we write for them. We’ll keep showing up, keep learning, and keep trying.

For now, we’ve officially changed the spelling of her name from Turtle to TurDle. She can earn the second “t” back when she decides to quit being a turd.

Oh… and for those keeping score at home, Luke is still not over Knox’s art project being left out of the Top Five. Some disappointments simply require a little more time to heal.

2026 NJSS Show Day 8: Saturday, June 27, 2026

And all of a sudden, it was Saturday. The day we Neumayrs spend all year working toward. With Turtle Bo scratched from the show and Shannon only showing in the Bred & Owned, our first trip into the ring would be with Bill Jr. As she stepped into the trim chute, my nerves had already settled into a low, steady simmer.

This year, Bret Pembrook was with us at Junior Nationals. Explaining why that mattered is difficult unless you know our story. Earlier this spring, I asked Beth if Bret could come help us show Shannon. There are plenty of great showmen in the Shorthorn breed, but for reasons that are hard to explain, I wanted it to be Bret.

The Pembrooks are part of our family’s Shorthorn story. Last year, we lost Travis. Travis listened to me talk endlessly about Shorthorns. He believed in what our family was building long before there was much to show for it. His encouragement meant more to me than I ever told him.

Every Shorthorn show day, I miss Travis.

That’s why I wanted Bret there. Having Bret beside us made it feel like a little piece of Travis was still part of our week.

After Bill Jr. won her division, Dad and I stood together in the makeup ring watching everything unfold. Dad’s eyes welled up as he quietly said, “I sure wish Travis was here.”

Then he smiled. “I can just see him making those big eyes and saying, ‘Boy… that was tough.'”

We both laughed.

How lucky are we to have memories like that?

Poor Bret. Travis and Beth had experienced plenty of “Catherine on show day” over the years. Bret, however, was getting his first front-row seat.

As Bill Jr. was getting fit, he looked over at me and said, “Man… you’re really nervous.”

That’s one way to put it. If you’ve ever been around me on a major show day, you already know the truth: I’m a competitive monster. As it came time for Knox and me to head to the show ring, where he always watches a few classes to study the flow before entering, I did something I’d never really done before on a show day.

Over a lifetime of showing cattle, I’m sure I’ve whispered my fair share of desperate little “Please God, let us win” prayers while the judge set down the microphone and started walking toward his champion. But intentionally stopping, setting everything else aside, and truly praying before a show? That was a first.

“Knox,” I said, “let’s say a prayer before we go.”

Luke stayed behind to finish getting Bill Jr. ready. I sat down on our cooler, and Knox came beside me. We held hands, leaned our foreheads together, and bowed our heads.

I couldn’t tell you the exact words I prayed, but I can tell you how they felt. 

I thanked God for putting us in this space. I thanked Him for the Shorthorn family and for letting us be part of it again. I prayed we’d have a good experience that day, that we’d see a reward for our hard work, that we’d be patient and kind with one another, that our silly Bill Jr. would behave herself, and that above everything else, we’d leave that ring thankful for the privilege of being there together. I never prayed for us to win.

When I finished, Knox smiled and said, “Well done, Mom.”

As we walked toward the ring, something had changed. The nerves were still there – I don’t think they ever completely leave, but the weight on my shoulders seemed a little lighter. We’d made a memory together that I don’t remember making during all my years of stressful show days. Maybe someday, Knox will remember it too.

“Hit the ring showing.” That’s what I always tell Knox as he walks into the ring, because that’s what my dad always told me.

And away he went. Leading Bill Jr. and carrying all of our hopes with him. For just a moment, time seemed to stand still.

It was here.

The Hurdle

They won the final class of the division. As the division came together, I knew it was the next hurdle to clear.

What I didn’t realize was that it would be the hurdle.

My phone buzzed.

Dad: “Can tell by his voice he’s going to hate to choose this next division. Poor D. Rob!”

Immediately, my nerves went from a low simmer to a full boil. Dad has judged enough cattle to recognize when a class is easy and when a judge is genuinely struggling with a decision. If he said this one was tough, I knew exactly what that meant.

Me: “Where are you?”

Dad: “Entrance in corner across from the ring.”

I made my way over and found him.

Somewhere over the years, our roles have completely reversed.

Growing up, Dad was the one who wore a path in the dirt outside the ring. Every class, every lineup, every slap of the judge’s hand – he lived every second of it, carrying around a blue rope halter. Now he’s the calm one.

If you’ve ever seen me on a major show day, you know exactly what I’m talking about. There’s a Brandi Carlile song called “Mama Werewolf.” Every time I hear it, I laugh because it describes me a little too well. Fiercely protective. Intensely competitive. Completely incapable of relaxing until the day is over. My mom isn’t much different. If I’m Mama Werewolf, she’s Grandma Werewolf.

The judge finished talking through the division, set the microphone down, and started walking.

Only… he didn’t walk straight to any one heifer. He looked. Then looked again. Then circled back.

Dad and I tracked every turn of his head and every measured footstep.

“Here we go…”

“He’s coming back toward Knox.”

“Oh no…”

“Come on…”

“YES!”

Knox, meanwhile, just kept showing. He probably didn’t recognize the pressure the rest of us were feeling. All he knew was what we’d told him a hundred times before: keep showing until the judge is done. Bear down.

It seemed like forever before D. Rob finally made his decision. When he slapped Bill Jr., I think all of us standing outside the ring exhaled at exactly the same time.

Two Heifers

When the dust settled, we still had one more heifer to show: Our Margie.

Our first Shorthorn. The one that brought us home. She’d already given us so much. The perfect first heifer for Knox. Countless memories. And now, one last trip into the ring.

Margie won her division. Knox showed her as well as he ever had. Months of rinsing three times a day had paid off, and watching the four of them together — Knox, Margie, Bret, and Shannon — filled me with gratitude that had nothing to do with banners.

Just like that, both of our heifers would be back for the Grand Drive. Bret would take Margie, leaving Knox free to show Bill Jr., our best chance to win the show.

Then it hit me: Two V8 Shorthorn heifers. In the Grand Drive. 

This was the moment I had spent years imagining. Everything that happened after that was simply a gift.

A few weeks before Junior Nationals, one of our livestock Bible studies posed a question that stuck with me: How do we make God part of our show days without reducing Him to a last-second, “Please let me win” prayer?

Someone suggested that if you found yourself fortunate enough to make the Grand Drive, you stop and say a prayer of thankfulness.

I remember thinking that sounded like a wonderful idea. I just didn’t think I’d be calm enough to actually do it.

As I stood ringside, my nerves were through the roof. In fact, I kept wanting to assume the position they tell you to get into when you’re having an anxiety attack: bend over and put your head between your knees.

Instead… I bowed my head.

Not because I felt calm. But because, somehow, in the middle of all that nervous energy, I remembered.

I thanked God for letting us be there. I thanked Him for the best week of our year. I thanked Him for my family, for the Shorthorn people who have loved us so well, and for the chance to stand there with two V8 heifers in the Grand Drive.

Then something unexpected happened. I realized I wasn’t praying for the dream. I was standing in it.

The Moment

The judge gave an incredible closing speech. I’m sure it was thoughtful. I’m sure it was meaningful. I remember it putting a lump in my throat. I also couldn’t repeat a single word of it if you put a gun to my head. My mind was somewhere else entirely.

I do remember one thing he said: He reminded us to thank our parents. 

I don’t know that I’ve ever thanked mine enough. They’ve never stopped believing in us. Somewhere along the way, our family’s dreams became theirs too. They were there every step of the way — rinsing cattle, leading calves, making the long drives, cheering Knox on in every contest, and carrying this dream right alongside us. It isn’t lost on me.

Then the judge set the microphone down. And walked straight to Knox. For just a second, everything else disappeared.

Luke and Mom were standing together in the stands. I was beside Dad. I slipped my arm through his and laid my head on his shoulder. He reached over, patted my hand, and smiled his happiest smile.

That particular smile is one I don’t see nearly often enough anymore. After years in which life has asked more of our family than any of us expected, the weight he’d been carrying seemed to disappear, if only for a moment.

Then I turned to Brahman customer turned invaluable V8 team member Scott Dykes. I always joke that Scott is my brother. Somewhere along the way, he became family to all of us at V8. I wrapped my arms around him and, through laughter and tears, said, “I’m so glad my brother is here with me.”

Standing just behind us was Tyler Cates. Tyler and I have known each other for over thirty years. We’ve grown up together in this business and somehow found ourselves standing side by side in one of the biggest moments of my family’s life.

I hugged my old friend. “I know I’m a lot,” I told him. “But thank you for this.”

Big goals demand something of everyone around them.

To the Cates and Shoufler families… thank you. I’m quite certain I’m your most difficult client. I’m equally certain I’m your most thankful.

We Did It Again

While the judge continued selecting the rest of his Top Five, Luke made his way down from the stands into the makeup area.

Luke isn’t much of a crier. At least not compared to us Williamses. But his eyes were teary too.

As I hugged my partner in all of this, I just kept repeating the same sentence: “I never thought we’d do it again.”

I’ve thought about that sentence a lot since Saturday. I said it to everyone. But when I said it to Luke, I hope he knows it meant something different. It meant this only happened because you chose to chase this with me.

Last fall, we were eating lunch with Mom and Dad before heading to the Cates Labor Day Sale. They looked at us and asked, “You’re really going to that sale? Are you sure you even need another heifer?”

I looked over at Luke. He knew that question felt like taking a bullet. Not because Mom and Dad didn’t support us. They absolutely did. But later I found out they weren’t planning to come to the sale. When we bought Margie, we’d all walked through the pens together. This time, it would just be Luke and me.

For the first time, we were on our own.

Luke found Bill Jr. He believed in her first. He was the one who said, “Let’s buy that one.”

I’d always trusted Dad’s eye for cattle. Suddenly, we were relying on our own. I remember wondering what Dad would think when he finally saw her. What if we’d picked the wrong one? That sale was like solving a constantly changing Rubik’s Cube. Sale order, budget, strategy, trying to decide which heifer was worth staking the next year of our family’s hopes on. We fired our bullets on more than one heifer. Bill Jr. just happened to be the last one. Thank goodness she was the one who came home with us.

Ultimately, even though we had a lot of people giving their opinion to help us make our choice, the credit for finding Bill Jr. belongs to Luke. I have a few more thoughts about how all of that worked out, but if I told you, you’d probably think I was even crazier than you already do.

This time, I stood outside the ring. And it was even better. Watching my parents experience that moment through Knox may have been my favorite part of all. Dad smiled the happiest smile I’ve seen in years. Mom cried. Knox won. 

And for just a little while, our family simply got to be happy. That is a gift I will never take for granted.

One final thought.

On March 6, 2020, I was sitting on my couch bidding in a Cates online sale. We weren’t really back in Shorthorns yet. We were trying to find our way.

I have a screenshot on my phone from that night. I don’t even remember what heifer I was bidding on. But I remember the Scripture. For whatever reason, I had opened to Deuteronomy 30. I happened to be reading from The Message translation. I know it’s a translation that sparks plenty of debate, but one line has stayed with me ever since.

“God, your God, will restore everything you lost.”

Restore.

That word settled into my heart that night and never really left. At the time, I had no idea what restoration would look like. Now I know.

Restoration isn’t always about getting the old life back. Sometimes it’s about God giving you a new chapter you never saw coming.

As I look back over the last six years, I see twists and turns I never would’ve chosen. I see heartbreak. I see closed doors that made room for better ones to open. I see friendships — new and old — that carried us. I see a little boy who fell in love with a breed that first captured my heart decades before.

And I see restoration.

Not because we won Junior Nationals. But because somewhere along the way, God gave our family back something I thought we might never have again.

A place to dream.
A place to laugh.
A place to build.
A place to belong.
A place where my parents could smile like that again.
A place where Knox could begin writing his own story.
A place where Luke and I found a dream to chase together.

Maybe that’s what restoration looked like all along.

P.S. If you’ve ever had something restored to you that you thought was gone for good—a breed, a place, a dream—I’d love to hear that story. Come find me ringside. I’ll be the one wearing the Mama Werewolf label proudly.