A Resonant Homecoming

I trotted back inside through the front door just as the streetlights flickered on, ready for a well-deserved evening retreat. Resting right on the polished wooden console was a hammered copper dish brimming with shiny brass house keys on a braided lanyard. Did anyone honestly expect me to walk past such an exquisite percussion tray? I gripped the woven cord with my hooves to give it a jaunty tug, but the heavy keyring slid over the rim with a sharp, resonant chink, pinning my microphone wire flat against the table. You wouldn't call that a commotion, would you? A world-class performer always announces her grand return home.