Goats may be the most freewheeling and slaphappy animals alive. When they’re in the mood to play, nobody is more entertaining—or relaxing. That’s why, one hot July day, I headed to Hamden livestock rescue Nadeau Farm to investigate goat yoga, which supplements the physical and emotional health benefits of classic yoga with those of animal therapy.
Nadeau was apparently the first farm in Connecticut to combine goats and yoga. Operated by Leah and Charles Hilton, the property has been in Charles’s family since 1939, a sweeping, elevated spot originally encompassing 30 acres. In the beginning, Nadeau supported itself by selling farm-fresh eggs. (It still does: You can purchase chicken eggs for $5/dozen and duck eggs for $10/dozen.) The story goes that it transformed into a rescue by accident, when a friend of a friend needed to rehome their goats and sheep in a hurry and the Hiltons stepped up.
Leah learned about goat yoga in 2016 after reading about one of its earliest practitioners, Oregon’s Lainey Morse, who took up the practice with her own goats during a rocky divorce. After contacting Morse via email, the two engaged in a three-hour phone conversation that Leah likens to “connect[ing] with your favorite rock star.” Not long after, Nadeau began running multiple yoga classes every weekend, from late spring through early fall, as a way to fund the care of the animals—today, 13 sheep, seven mini-horses, four mini-donkeys, two rescue cats, flocks of ducks and chickens and Nigerian Dwarf goats, many of whom were babies just a year ago. The farm is a happy and boisterous place, with a continuously bleating soundtrack.
This year’s yoga season, priced at $35 per session, started slow, leading to a decrease in the frequency of classes, but fortunes had changed on the day I attended. A robust class of 11 women, composed of adults and older teens, had come to experience a 50-minute routine led by certified instructor Alice Caple—who’s worked with the farm for four years—in an airy outdoor pavilion Charles constructed specifically for such gatherings. Due to a bad hip, I stayed on the sidelines. Though I felt a bit embarrassed, Leah assured me this was acceptable. “It’s called goat yoga,” she insisted. “They do the work; you enjoy.”
I doubt that the seven goats who participated—Lil, Daisy Mae, Joanie, Penny, Shirley, Nicole and Paris Hilton—thought they were working. At first, I felt like I was part of a real-life Far Side cartoon, with the animals secretly snickering over the humans obediently doing their bridges, bends, stretches and downward dogs with coordinated breathing while they watched from a distance, butting horns and casually exploring the space. Meanwhile, Leah and her two young farmhands—high school student Lexi, an agricultural science student at Lyman Hall in Wallingford with dreams of becoming a large-animal vet, and her middle school-aged sister, Talia—performed what Leah calls “the most important job,” poop patrol. Trust me, these women were on the case, though, as I discovered, goat business really isn’t so offensive.
Eventually, the goats took an earnest interest in us humans and our rituals, staring closely into faces, chewing on clothing and possessions (at one point, I was sure my phone and shoes were goners) and even allowing themselves to be petted. We were told that if we wanted to hold the goats we could wrap our arms around their legs and hoist them onto our laps, but no one was quite that bold. From time to time, when Caple was in a downward or bridge position, a goat would leap on her back to give her a little hoof massage—supposedly a nice sensation—but only a couple were bold enough to surmount a guest.
Whatever they were doing, these seven girls brought a lot of laughter and spiritual lightness to us. Will I go for more of their ministrations when I’m feeling a little more limber? Absolutely. Nadeau’s next goat yoga session is scheduled for August 24 at 11:30 a.m., and Leah hopes to close in the outdoor pavilion and provide it with heat in the colder months so that the farm can offer the class year-round. Cold or not, count on Lil and company to keep the proceedings warm.
Written and photographed by Patricia Grandjean.
