Those mornings when I set out with the sheep she often took the form of a dog, moving in step, and sometimes angling herself to keep the flock together.
But later in each of those days, when we were alone in the hills, she'd be a goat skipping up the narrow places and stretching our bond to move further from the flock.
When I sang she returned to near me, and was a bird, ruffling her feathers as she perched close by. Sometimes she made herself a smaller bird-shape, and set herself in my outstretched hand.
I did not imagine ahead, and yet the future was this: when she settled, out on the road with Kleobis my master, she was a songbird, and her voice flew with mine.