About a year ago, Kelly Diedring Harris's husband Jeff sent her an article about a new phenomenon taking off in Oregon: Goat yoga. You've heard of it. You do yoga, with goats. The classes have a 900-person waiting list.
Harris's husband thought the article was funny. He sent it to her "as a joke," Harris says. She's wearing a pro-goat t-shirt, sitting on a picnic table in her backyard, feeding animal crackers to three 14-week-old Nigerian dwarf pet goats. These are her own recently-acquired pet goats, who are now the stars of their own weekly goat yoga class.
"I didn't get them to do yoga with," Harris explains. "One hundred percent pets."
The goats belonged to a woman Harris knows, who found herself overwhelmed and reached out for help. Harris — a host on the Home Shopping Network — had wanted goats for a while, so even though she hadn't been in the market quite yet, she put in a call with her fence guy to see how quickly he could get a two-acre pen complete. Fast, it turned out.
The three, who are triplets, have been at Harris's Lutz home for about five weeks now. She's infatuated, describing them like you might talk about the members of a popular boy band with whom you feel that extra-special connection.
Garth, the blonde, is known as the nice goat. Dark-haired Brooks is the leader. And Jeter, with those piercing blue eyes and lush, multicolored hair — he, Harris explains, is "the pretty one."
And while Harris didn't get the goats in order to be able to host goat yoga, goat yoga happened anyway. The goats are just so ridiculously cute, and fun, and affectionate — and eager to be around people.
"I just feel selfish keeping them to myself," she says.
Harris floated the idea to Namaste Yoga Studio shortly after bringing home her kids. They said yes. It's been a hit; the two classes that have taken place so far, on Saturday mornings in Harris's expansive yard led by a Namaste instructor, have sold out.
Harris says the class is real yoga, but not too advanced. She's aware that most people's true focus is getting to hang around with these — we speak from experience here — extraordinarily charming and friendly goats. Hay is placed on the yoga-doers' mats, to entice them. One — Garth, the sweet blonde — even does his own goaty version of downward dog.
At the end, participants are encouraged to stick around to hug and pet the goats a little longer, as well as feed them some snacks.
"They love it," Harris says, affection in her eyes and goats under her arms. "They're just sweet little things."
Jeff, Harris's husband, is "surprised," she says, at how quickly the classes grew popular — but supportive, since he sees how happy people are to be doing goat yoga, and how much Harris is enjoying this pursuit.
One day, Harris imagines rescuing a donkey or an emu, and bringing home some chickens — maybe chicken yoga could become a thing? Jeff, for his part, has his eyes on a burgeoning beer yoga scene. Now, with the adorable animals already in place, the intention is to hold a 45-minute class every Saturday until people are no longer interested in doing yoga with goats.
Which means, we assume, they will go on forever — except for a break in the schedule on July 8, since the goats are getting neutered just before and will need a little time to recuperate. Hey, one week off isn't too baaah-d.
People can sign up for these classes on Harris's Goat Yoga Tampa Facebook page. It costs $25, but that price includes goat selfies.
Arin Greenwood writes about all things animal-related, not just goats. She also has written two books, not about animals (although there are, of course, animals in the books).
