Soren’s Button Takes a Bow — Under the bright arena lamps, Soren counted hoofbeats in fours: clip, clop, clip, clop. Read the full story →
Under the bright arena lamps, Soren counted hoofbeats in fours: clip, clop, clip, clop. He wanted to reach the judges’ stand without losing the tiny brown button tucked into the last braid of his mane. It looked like nothing, but it had popped from his rider’s jacket the day she first laughed instead of sighed during practice. Soren had carried it ever since, a round little reminder that waiting could turn wobbles into music.
Around the rail, spectators rustled programs like dry leaves. Soren lifted his knees as neatly as a marching clock, while his rider’s gloves whispered on the reins. At the booth, one judge leaned forward. Another hid a smile behind a pencil. Soren took three slow steps, then paused for the salute, patient as a statue with a very itchy nose.
Then the booth began to click: one button, two buttons, three buttons, tapped on the judges’ table in the same four-beat rhythm. They had saved their loose buttons too. “Bravo, Button Brigade,” someone whispered. Soren snorted so softly his rider’s sleeve fluttered. Next time you spot that tidy braid near his ears, can you guess which little circle kept the clip, clop, clip, clop?
