Former Bronx resident Sharon Boustani (with her daughter Olivia, 12) founded NY Goat Yoga at her upstate farm last year. “This is brand-new,” Boustani says, adding that she’s working with the health department to figure out just how free-roaming the goats can be. Instead, it’s granting daytime permission on a case-by-case basis, considering the classes “exhibitions.” The city’s Department of Health won’t permit the goats to stay the night. And yet New York City, the most populous city in the country - home to all manner of pointless trends - has gone an embarrassing year and a half without a goat yoga class of its own.īoustani says this is likely due to the logistical feat of bringing farm animals to the bureaucratic Big Apple. Since then, Morse has counted more than 200 spinoffs of the class in cities all over America. “It’s really my take on animal-assisted therapy.” “There aren’t many experiences out there that create such a joyful distraction from whatever people might be going through,” Morse tells The Post. A yoga-teacher pal suggested adding yoga, and Morse agreed. Goat yoga first appeared on a farm in Oregon in August 2016: The farm owner, Lainey Morse, had come to see her pet goats as therapy animals, so she held a “goat happy hour” for her friends to spread the love. The goats are just pets - along with about 40 chickens, two turkeys, three dogs and a growing number of cats. ‘There aren’t many experiences out there that create such a joyful distraction from whatever people might be going through.’īoustani, a former Bronx resident, started offering the yoga classes at her barn after getting two Nigerian dwarf goats as a gift from her daughters last Easter. When the goats are especially happy, they tend to jump excitedly into the air, as if on a trampoline. “They want to climb, so if you give them something to climb on, they’ll just do it naturally,” says Sharon Boustani, the founder of NY Goat Yoga, who runs the farm with her husband, Aldo, and daughters Olivia and Victoria. The goats are quick studies, and their handlers gently nudge them away when they occasionally nibble on someone’s hair. “I’ve done regular yoga before, but I prefer this type of yoga,” says Tyree Dunn, a 21-year-old student from neighboring Oneonta, as he snuggles Sandy and Frenchy, a smile stretched across his face.Ĭuddling with participants at the Sunday class was part of the animals’ training - a process that involves little more than acclimating them to humans, with the help of animal crackers strategically placed on the mats. Most have given up perfecting their Warrior 1 by the end of the class, focusing instead on the every movement of these little creatures.īut what the class lacks in strenuousness, it makes up for in good vibes. If you’re looking for a good workout, you won’t get one, class participants say. “You’re just living in the moment and enjoying being present,” Pellegrino says of the ineffable joys of goat yoga. “Having those goats there, people are smiling and laughing, not inside their heads thinking, ‘Am I doing this right? The person next to me is doing this better,’” says Vanessa Pellegrino, a local yoga instructor who will make the trip downstate to teach at the pop-up. Vanessa Pellegrino teaches goat yoga at the upstate farm. At $40 a class, the price is comparable to a Barry’s Bootcamp session, only a lot cuter. Next week, NY Goat Yoga - as the business run out of Gilbertsville Farmhouse is called - is bringing its goat menagerie to a warehouse space in Bushwick for a series of twice-weekly pop-up classes running from April 17 through June 12. The animals are there purely to provide happiness - and a great Instagram shot, especially when they climb on top of giddy yogis mid-pose. The goats, who weigh about 5 pounds each, were at the studio in rural Gilbertsville, NY, to get trained in the art of goat yoga - an absurdly adorable phenomenon whose name tells you pretty much all you need to know: It’s a yoga class with baby goats. “How can I focus on anything right now?” one student cried, pulling her phone out to capture the excited tail-wagging of the class’s newest occupants: 3-week-old Nigerian dwarf goats named Rizzo, Frenchy, Marty and Sandy, after the Pink Ladies in “Grease.” On Sunday, about a dozen barefoot yogis were sitting peacefully on their mats inside a rustic barn when the Zen spell was broken by four latecomers clumsily trotting in.
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