I kept seeing cute goat videos online. Tiny hooves, big smiles, yoga mats. So I went to see what the fuss was about. I’ve now done goat yoga twice at Original Goat Yoga at No Regrets Farm in Oregon (spring babies—oh my heart) and once at a pop-up behind a brewery near Austin in July. If you want to see how the Original Goat Yoga movement started and how it’s organized nationwide, the information at Goat Yoga Headquarters lays it all out.
If you’d like another first-person perspective, you can read a full breakdown of the experience right here.
So… what is goat yoga?
It’s a light yoga class held outside (usually) while friendly goats walk around, climb on you, and sometimes nap on your mat. You stretch. You breathe. A goat might nibble your shoelace. The teacher leads simple poses. The goats are the chaos and the charm. Even mainstream outlets have taken notice; this Associated Press story dives into why goats and yoga mats keep ending up together.
It’s part yoga, part petting zoo, part comedy show.
My first time (and yes, a goat stood on my back)
At the Oregon farm, we set up on grass by a red barn. It smelled like hay and fresh rain. The teacher gave quick rules: keep bags off the ground, no feeding the goats, hands clean before and after. The goats trotted in—bell collars jingling. They went straight for the person with a braid. (Hair looks like hay, I guess.)
We warmed up with cat-cow. A baby goat hopped up during tabletop and just… stayed. Tiny hooves. Light pressure. Oddly nice. When we moved to child’s pose, another goat parked itself at my side like a weighted pillow. I was laughing and also trying to breathe. That sums it up.
How the class actually runs
- The flow is simple: lots of tabletop, child’s pose, bridge, low lunges.
- The teacher pauses when goats engage, then restarts. It’s loose.
- There’s a quick photo moment near the end. Staff will help place a goat, if you want.
- After class, there’s cuddle time. The goats know the routine.
At the brewery pop-up, the ground was dusty, the music was loud, and the goats were more curious than calm. I did maybe five real poses. And yet, I left lighter.
What I loved
- The stress drop is real. It’s hard to worry when a goat sniffs your sock.
- It felt social. People chat, share mats, swap goat stories.
- The farm class gave me fresh air and soft ground. My knees liked that.
- I caught myself smiling for no reason. That’s rare on a weekday.
What bugged me (because nothing’s perfect)
- Goats poop. Little pellets. Staff scooped fast, but still—on the mat it goes.
- Hooves can pinch. Not painful, just pokey. Long sleeves helped.
- Focus is hard. Breath, pose, goat, camera—brain gets busy.
- Allergies flared a bit at the brewery. Dust plus hay had me sniffling.
- My favorite leggings got hoof marks. They washed out, but I worried.
Is it “real” yoga?
Yes and no. You do yoga moves, but it’s not a deep practice. Think gentle flow with surprise guests. If you want silence, heat, and tough poses, this won’t scratch that itch.
For a sweat-soaked alternative, check out this candid story about hot yoga teacher training.
I’ll be straight: during one class, we hit downward dog once. The rest was low and slow because the goats prefer it. And honestly? That was fine by me.
For a deeper dive into how different yoga practices compare—and where goats fit on that spectrum—check out the breakdown over at It’s All About Yoga.
Who should try it
- Beginners who want a fun first class
- People who love animals and don’t mind dirt
- Kids and families (if the farm allows it)
- Stressed folks who need a laugh more than a sweat
Who should skip (or ask your doc first)
- If you’re pregnant or have back issues that hate pressure
- If you’re immunocompromised
- If you have strong animal allergies
- If you need a strict, quiet practice to feel good
Expecting and still want to keep moving? Here’s an honest take on attending pregnancy yoga classes in Brooklyn & NYC.
Tiny tips that helped me
- Bring an older mat or borrow the farm mat. You’ll be happier.
- Wear a tee with sleeves. Hooves grip better on fabric than skin.
- Tie your hair up high. Goats love tassels and zippers.
- Leave strings, beads, and snacks at home.
- Pack wet wipes and hand sanitizer.
- Check the farm’s reviews for animal care and cleanliness.
- Ask about weather plans. Wet grass can get slick.
Cost, time, and little extras
My classes ran 45–60 minutes and cost about what a drop-in yoga class costs, sometimes a bit more. The farm class felt worth it because the staff handled clean-up fast and knew each goat by name. The brewery pop-up was cheaper, rowdier, and very “look at this goat on my back!” Both had plenty of photos. I took too many. No regrets.
Final take
Goat yoga isn’t about nailing a pose. It’s about letting your shoulders drop while a small, happy animal decides you’re a mountain. It’s silly, sweet, and slightly messy. I wouldn’t replace my normal yoga with it, but I’d do it again each spring when the babies arrive.
Would I recommend it? If you smiled even once while reading this, yes. Bring the old mat. Bring your sense of humor. And maybe, bring a lint roller.
Feeling liberated and open to new experiences after letting goats clamber over your yoga mat? You might want to channel that same playful spontaneity into your social life by exploring Meet and Fuck—a no-strings-attached community where adults can quickly connect with like-minded locals for fun, hassle-free encounters. Michiganders who’d rather skip the swiping marathon and dive straight into arranging a relaxed meetup can check out Adult Search Battle Creek where verified ads and clear filters make finding a compatible partner quick and straightforward.