The animals happily nibbled
away during child’s pose and downward facing goat, I mean dog, as the cheerful Yoga
instructor led us through a series of basic poses. Though I am a Pilates
regular, I am not a Yoga person. I came
for the goats. And I was overjoyed to be
among them.
Arms outstretched,
and legs crossed, I broke my poses to gather little piles of alfalfa and then quietly
summoned the Alpines. My state of mind, undistracted, and focused, was wholly
absorbed by the little goats. The Yogis
call this state Nirodha, but I’m pretty sure I achieved it not through the
practice, but via the goats. I rested my
foot on the backside of a gamey bigger goat, and the softness of its coat delighted
me.
About midway through
the session, a blond long haired goat herder, wearing a dirty orange tee shirt, came through with a
bucket of food, and about half a dozen goats hightailed it over to him in a
mild stampede. I laughed at the sound of
their little hoofs pattering across the pavilion floor, but some people seemed
startled out of their yoga meditation.
Mostly, the goats ambled amicably about, as observers stood outside the
penned in pavilion, watching the scene with bemusement.
“They are so sweet,”
I commented to the herder. “And so
well-behaved.” He explained that they
socialized the goats from birth to be out among the people, grazing on grass on
hillsides, or attending these classes.
I have to admit that
I was less interested in the Yoga stretching, and more excited to interact with
the goats. I’d seen videos on Facebook
of small goats climbing onto the backs of Yoga participants. No goats climbed onto my back, but they did
come close, allowing me to pet them, feed them, and whisper sweet nothings into
their tiny furry horns.
Heavenly, for me. For the goats, pretty routine. City Grazing, a San Francisco-based goat landscaping
non-profit organization, teams up with Deborah Burkman, an experienced Bay Area
yoga instructor, to offer these 30 minute sessions. It was the first time they brought goat yoga
to Marin, and of course, it immediately sold out.
A baby goat stood still next to an empty mat, as the class
ended. It didn’t move, as people
collected their things and quickly left the area. I didn’t want to leave and the
baby, completely relaxed, had fallen asleep on its feet! It doesn’t get more adorable.
My love for goats, the oldest of domesticated animals, began
a long time ago. We have a large oil
painting of one named Hodini, in the living room of our Dillon Beach
house. I admire their intelligence, and enjoy
cheese and yoghurt made from goat’s milk. I’ve visited with goats in West Marin,
Greece, and Israel, but never for long enough. When I tell my wife that I want a couple of
goats, she rolls her eyes. But I’m one
serious Capricorn.
In my quest to learn more about goat care and the making of goat
products, I’ve contacted an animal sanctuary in Santa Rosa called
Goatlandia. Two ex-San Francisco women,
who used to own a restaurant in the city, founded this farm animal rescue
organization. They take care 14 goats, 5
pigs, and 46 chickens, and also find foster placements for farm animals.
I filled out their volunteer application and was particularly
struck by their question: “Why do sanctuaries rescue farm animals?”
I answered, “Unfortunately when domesticated animals can’t
rely on humans for care, they have usually one option – death. Providing a safe and healthy home to farm
creatures is an important act of loving kindness in these harsh and cruel times.”
I kept my answer short, but the whole idea of sanctuaries, is
particularly salient in the face of Trump era immigration policies that treat
children and families inhumanely and cause irreparable damage. Quite simply, I believe it is a worthy
endeavor to provide safety to vulnerable beings, whether they have 2 legs or 3
or 4.
I am waiting to hear if Goatlandia will let me
volunteer. In the meantime, I’m dreaming
of goats.
