The wistful side of me wakes up every morning with good intentions and big dreams to quit my job and become a yoga teaching farmer.
Then the fiscally conservative, first-born sends me to my sixty-hour-plus day-job and reminds me that being a crazy bendy chicken lady doesn’t pay the bills.
But wait, perhaps I’m missing a golden opportunity….
Surely they must be kidding? (couldn’t resist)
But no, goat yoga is a thing. People are herding (did it again) to yoga classes held in fields and barns with goats and sometimes chickens.
What do you think? Are you ready for some nubian namaste?