April 19, 2021

Photo Essay: Baa-mastay with Baby Goats

I first attended baby goat yoga at Oats and Ivy Farm in 2017—back when I was trying to hit all the goat farms for all the baby goats.
circa 2017

I remember marveling at how feisty the goats were, nibbling my toes and leaping around, getting the zoomies without warning.

 circa 2017

But I'd posted so much goat stuff at the time, I wasn't sure I had anything new to say. So I left that experience off my blog. 

But today, I went back to Oats and Ivy to recapture the glory of baby goat yoga. 

Of course, for me, that's not so much yoga—and mostly baby goats. 

At Oats and Ivy, the herd consists of Nigerian Dwarf goats, which are used for dairy in addition to yoga sessions. 
Some of the babies during one kidding season may stay and have babies of their own in future seasons. 

Others—including the boys, which can't be used for milk—are sold off to other goat farmers to use for their own dairy or breeding programs.  

Some are so good-tempered, it's no wonder that they could become pets in some of their new homes (including the wethered boys). 

Although it was their first yoga class of the day, the doelings and bucklings were much more mild-mannered this time around than four years ago—but maybe they've been bred for sweeter temperaments. 

They still didn't hesitate to suckle on my thumb or forefinger—and give a good chomp down when they got too excited. (That was my fault, not theirs.) Fortunately, their baby teeth are tiny until they're about a year old—and they're only on the bottom jaw. 

After we wore the babies out with child's pose, plank, downward dog, cat/cow, and all those poses that tempt them to jump on our backs—or, in my case, shavasana, when one jumped on my belly and wouldn't leave—they were ready to crawl up on our laps and next to our thighs and take a nap. 

There was a lot I didn't miss during the pandemic—but as lockdowns wore on, I kept thinking to myself, "I can't wait to do baby goat yoga again."

Maybe today's session will tide me over for another couple of years. 

Or maybe it'll just reignite my desire to cradle more kids in my arms and tell them, "You're my baby!" as they try to eat my shirt and hair. 

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