GOAT YOGA IS ALIVE AND KICKING IN LEAGUE CITY
Houston’s goat yoga classes are peak 2017
A MBER Murphy gets a lot of calls at Butler’s Courtyard, a special-events venue she owns in League City. Brides-to-be and corporations are always looking for a beautiful spot to book. And by this summer, she thought she’d heard it all.
Then one day, Jessica Shofner, the wedding and event coordinator took a strange call: Someone was asking if they could host goat yoga on the grounds. Murphy had questions. “I was like, I’m not sure. Does she bring the goats? Do they live here? Where do they go to the bathroom?”
The answers, she’s since learned, are: yes; no; and mostly at home, but sometimes on a mat.
Goat yoga is pretty much exactly what it sounds like: A class of 30 yogis gather
on the lawn at Butler’s Courtyard, joined by 20 goats, who frolic around during a beginner-level class. It’s 60 minutes of yoga followed by 30 minutes of photo-ops.
“I saw the idea originally on TV,” says Rachel Henson, owner of Goat Yoga Houston, which she launched at Butler’s Courtyard in July. “I’m not pretending I came up with the idea or anything like that.”
But while goats are trendy as heck this year, Henson thinks she was ahead of the curve on that. As a member of Rodeo Houston’s lamb and goat auction committee for the past eight years, she’s always had a soft spot for the animals.
“I got my yoga certification, and I called my brother, who has goats and was like, ‘Haul ’em on down here,’” she said. “He was like, ‘Worst idea ever.’ ” Except it wasn’t. Goat yoga is peak 2017. And it’s less about fitness than it is about your Facebook feed.
After opening at the end of July, Henson’s classes sold out in a flash, thanks to Facebook shares and viral attention.
“We have enough inquiries and people sending their credit card numbers — which I don’t take like that — that we
could be sold out until December,” she said. “That’s why we have to do reservations. I know people ask why we don’t do credit cards on site, but think about if someone drove an hour-and-ahalf to get here, and the class sold out. Like, how terrible would that be?” It’d be pretty ba-a-a-ad. “What I like to tell everybody is this is not your normal yoga class,” Henson said last Friday as she began her class, with her two four-weekold kids, Conway Twitty and George Strait milling around near the front of her mat. The goats live with Henson, following her around like puppies. At night, they sleep in her (air-conditioned) garage.
“I encourage you to laugh and smile,” she said during the class. “The main thing is just to have a good time. In savasana, we normally laugh. I encourage that. I know it’s supposed to be your peaceful moment. But if you have something like this sucking on your toe, and you’re not laughing, that kind of defeats the purpose of this.”
Throughout the 60-minute session, the goats meander and bleat, sniffing Starbucks cups in search of a treat and rubbing their horns against yoga bags. They kiss yogis. One pees on a mat.
About halfway through, the goats are invited to participate. Class members can practice lunges with a kid slung over their shoulders; after class they can invite a goat to hop on their backs during downward-facing dog for an adjustment.
“When the goat was on our back, it actually felt like a little back massage,” Murphy said at the end of class. “I wasn’t sure about it at first, but it felt really good.”
And it looked even better on Instagram.