Scene 10: Horseshoes Don’t Have Shoelaces
Karen was so excited by her success at school that she ran all the way to the stables.
“Pegasus! Where are you?”
Her mentor walked around the corner of the barn. “You sound excited. Is everything okay, Kitten?”
“it’s better than okay. I turned in my report—the one I told you about—on Connecticut. My teacher had trouble believing I’d written it. Then I showed him my notes, and he could see I had. He almost cried, he was so happy. He said I’d go to college for sure. Then I told the class that if I could do it, they could too, and they cheered for me. Even on the bus home, they cheered. I’m the school hero.”
“You’ve come a long way from the little girl who would not give up on learning to tie her shoes.”
Karen thought fondly of Miss Kimiko, the occupational therapist who had figured out how to teach her about the laces. Karen never gave up. Neither did Miss Kimiko.
Pegasus looked her in the eye. “How do you suppose you did that great report?”
“My new study skills, of course.”
“All because of your new study skills?”
“Yes.”
“Then isn’t there someone you should thank?”
“Miss Natalie… yes.”
“Hop on my back, brave Kitten. I’ll give you a ride home so you can call her.”
He walked to the nearest fence so she could climb up onto him. Then he took a few steps and stopped.
“Hurry up, Pegasus. I need to call Miss Natalie right now.”
“I can’t, Kitten. My shoelaces need tying.”
They both laughed, and Karen hugged his neck. “Oh, Pegasus! You are so funny. Horseshoes don’t have laces!”
“Good thing, Kitten. Because horses don’t have hands.”
They laughed more, and he broke into a trot.
Original text ©2022 by Karen Lynn-Chlup. All rights reserved.
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