My friend Tami invited me to practice goat yoga with her and I said, “Ewe’ve got to be kidding.”
Baaaaa ha ha.
She goat-ed me into it.
So, I packed up my yoga mat and a good supply of hand sanitizer and off we went to LaClare Farms, which turned out to be beautiful.
I mean, the take-a-deep-breath-and-be-grateful-you-live-in-Wisconsin kind of beautiful that grows naturally on award-winning farms.
Namaste here for a while and check this thing out.
We rolled out our mats, closed our eyes, and, guided by our able instructor, began to stretch out. The pitter patter of tiny hooves and the playful “Baaaaaa” of a half-dozen baby goats alerted us to their arrival.
Cautiously, I opened an eye and made direct contact with adorable eyeballs of a two-week old goat.
“Well, hello there little friend.”
It’s hard to say who had more fun during our 45 minute class — me, Tami or the baby goats. They ran around like it was recess on a parochial playground and we giggled like school kids.
Want a good ab workout? Try breathing through your nose while a rambunctious baby goat parks under your down dog to snag a sip of your friends’ water bottle.
Clearly, I underestimated the cuteness factor of yoga with tiny ruminants (animals with no front teeth, a phrase I did not know before taking Yoga with Goats). Of course, goats carry the bulk of their cuteness on the front side of their hearty little bodies. I looked up from my savasana and caught a total eclipse of the sky, a full-on goat moon that altered my mantra from one of peace and strength to “dear God please do not let any of the orifices facing me emit anything gross.”
I am happy to report that my yoga mat and I both emerged from our morning with the goats unscathed.
Afterward, we hung out with our new little friends, took gelfies and bonded.
In some ways, I still think Goat Yoga puts the Z smack at the end of the Internet craze.
But I definitely enjoyed my morning in Malone, Wisconsin and I’m grateful to Tami for convincing me to give it a whirl.