Long, golden shadows covered the Anatolian plateau's sweeping hills under the late afternoon sun. Mehmet, the goat herder, watched his flock mooch across the grassland from the little hummock where he sat with his dog, Dog. Though calloused from years of work, his hands were kind as he stroked Dog, he enjoyed the feel of the tough wiry hair on the creature's back.

His mind wandered and he found himself remembering a childhood scene. He was 10 and following a fast, young goat that had strayed from the herd. Bleating goats and distant bells filled the air. His father, a tall man with stern yet kind eyes, watched over the flock with long, hard-won experience.

"Mehmet, you must learn to anticipate their movements," his father said, raising his voice over the wind. "Think like a goat, feel the land beneath your feet as they do. Be the goat.”

Mehmet remembered the sun on his back and wild thyme and lavender in the air. He watched the baby goat skip around, and, following his father’s advice, he patiently mirrored its movements until he guided it back to the to the rest of the herd. He recalled still the warmth of pride he’d felt from the subtle nod his father gave him.

As he remembered those times long past, Mehmet recalled also strolling with his father through the small hamlet where they lived. By then he was a few years older, maybe thirteen. He and his father rarely went to the market, that was for the women, but it was a respite from their hilltop life. The grasslands were calm, but the market was colourful and noisy. Children laughed, vendors shouted, and fresh bread and roasted meat mixed.

His father bought the lead goat a deep-toned bell. Before giving the blacksmith a few pennies, Mehmet remembers his father holding the bell to his ear and listening closely. The new bell clanged sweetly as they returned home in companionable silence.

A bleating goat brought Mehmet back to reality. He searched the horizon for the sounds. A juvenile goat had strayed again, drawn to a patch of clover too far from the herd. As he guided the goat back, Mehmet grinned, feeling his father's lessons in his motions.

It soothed Mehmet as he imagined the ghost of his father guiding him. The hills, goats, and seasons were part of a great cycle of life, he thought. Mehmet took a bite of goats cheese and bread. Followed it with an olive and a swig of his own red wine and burped contentedly. His dog, Dog, farted.