Is It Just Me 0r….?

I have two nieces that I think the world of, Francie and Cassie. At the risk of sounding like one of those “funny” uncles, they are both very attractive, articulate and personable. That’s where the similarities end.  

While Francie wears a pleasant air of diffident sincerity, Cassie presents an implied wink, a sort of “let’s have fun” devilish glint. So when she recently proposed a very unusual family outing, I was skeptical. 

A Trick! I Just Know It

She brought this up last June 4th at a Casino Rama show I did with Gord and the band. I was sitting in a bar talking with her and some other family members after the concert. The topic came up about her summer job the year before near Niagara On The Lake. It was at a winery that offered tastings to the public and had a facility for that purpose. It cost $75.00 a person, and it included a selection of chocolate, crackers and cheese, along with samples of their different wines. Cassie was one of the hostesses and she invited us to come out.

Jeanette and I took her up on it. One wonderfully sunny summer day last August, we lounged on lawn chairs by the peaceful winery turtle pond eating cheese and sipping Merlot, taking full advantage of the generous employee family discount. 

Back To Casino Rama

“I’m doing something different this year,” she announced. 

“Goat Yoga.”

“What the fuck is that?” I exclaimed, causing my sister Mary to cringe. Strange, she was the first of any of us to drop the F-bomb in front of Dad when we were kids. 

“It’s a typical 45-minute yoga session, but you do it in a pen with goats,” she explained. 

“Afterward, you sit in lawn chairs eating cheese and sipping Merlot.”

Cassie then informed us she had the whole family booked to attend one of these sessions on Sunday, July 10th. 

I was sure I was being had. Goat yoga? Gimme a break. 

Four Weeks Later

I was sitting at the kitchen table having coffee one morning with Jeanette when she looked up from her iPad Scrabble game and said:

“Don’t forget, we have Goat Yoga with the family next weekend.”

“Goat what?!?!” Good thing she mentioned it (or not), I had forgotten. My morning brain struggled to find any possible connection between the words “Goat” and “Yoga”. The memory of that evening at Casino Rama began to drift into my consciousness like a disembodied spirit. I’m close to comatose before noon and even the simplest thinking is like wading through mud in galoshes.

“Okay, but this is what’s going to happen. We’ll drive all the way to Cassie’s place, she’ll laugh hysterically and say, ‘Gotcha, Uncle Mike’ and we’ll go bowling or something”

Conspiracy Theory

“And you’re in on this aren’t you”? I added, fishing for some kind of response.

Silence. She was oblivious to the accusation as her iPad teased and taunted her. In passive frustration she was making the most mundane Scrabble moves like dropping an S onto a word for a big 5 pointer. I’m just guessing at that; how would I know? It did start to seem though, that the computer tablet was gloating. 

It Was No Joke

The next Sunday, we braved the dreaded Queen Elizabeth Way, which is arguably the most godforsaken stretch of soul-sucking asphalt in all of Canada (Okay Torontonians, don’t send me mail. Yes, Eglinton Avenue is just as bad) We were heading to Saint Catharines and the promised land of serenity with farm animals.

We pulled into the driveway of the address given to us by Cassie, parked, walked up a small hill, and Lord Love A Duck, on the other side, was a pen with goats! 

We walked up a bit closer and counted at least twenty. Some of them looked kind of cute. Later, I attributed any affection I had for goats to Celtic DNA memory. 

*A quick note: Four universities in Canada offer courses in Animal Husbandry. One is Jeanette’s current boss, the University of Saskatchewan. I could take that and run with it but it’s too easy.

Assume The Lotus Position

Once our whole family had arrived, we were ushered into the pen. Our ‘Sherpa guide to higher barnyard consciousness’ was a very pleasant lady with comfortably restrained enthusiasm and a reassuring, friendly smile. 

She began to chat informally as we chose our places in the pen and unrolled the mats handed to us earlier. I waited for Jeanette to settle and then I moved in beside her. 

Once my frenetic family showed some stasis, she called the session to order and explained that we would be going through a series of yoga positions and stretches. The goats, which ranged in size from one to three feet tall, would be curious and they would move in very closely and actually make contact, nuzzling and pawing (or I guess, hoofing). We were not to be alarmed as the goats were gentle and meant no harm. 

I Wasn’t Convinced Of That

I had become aware of a large goat with slanted eyes, a long beard and spiralled horns that was watching me during the introductory talk. He looked like my wise old Irish-Chinese philosopher, Foo O’Shit wearing a Wagnerian horned helmet. 

As I followed the guide’s direction, I briefly forgot about the old goat. It was all very peaceful as we went through the different positions and let our minds be in the moment. And indeed, the animals were gentle. 

At the 40 minute mark she demonstrated the final position which was all fours, doggy style. As soon as I did it, the old Foo goat made his way over and got up on my back. His left hoof stepped right in between two discs on my spine and with a loud “God Damn it” I bounced him off like a bucking bronco. He was airborne for a moment landing near two other goats who bumped into four others. The place was on fire with goat excitement (and, I dare say, excrement) for about three seconds. The peaceful bliss was destroyed, returning us to a feeling akin to the terror of driving on the Queen Elizabeth Way.