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Dear Readers:

Occasionally, I am fortunate enough to have a post from a guest blogger. Today is my lucky day (and yours too)!

I present to you the story of goat yoga, a strange phenomenon sweeping the nation. Sounds like something I would try. Alas, Bingo Lisa tried it first. Here is her account (edited slightly for blog voice and flow).

I’ll be back with a Words With Friends dating update later this week.

Love,
Beth

 

This kind of yoga really got my goat*
Guest post by Lisa Wigger

I’ll admit I was a bit excited about being invited to a baby shower where there would be goat yoga. I’m not a big fan of women-only baby showers. Unless I’m sure there will be alcohol, I usually avoid them.

My friend Trina, my 6-year-old daughter Cali and I drove out to the sticks in Ridgeland, South Carolina, to celebrate our friend Jessie and her baby boy’s approaching arrival.

I’d seen pictures of goat yoga online and all of it looked happy. People holding poses and nuzzling baby goats or having them on their backs.

Preggo Jessie (left) and a family member pose with four-legged friends.

Dorothy planned this event. She could not be more thrilled.

The yoga was supposed to be outside, which I now know is ideal. However, the weather was misty so the yoga class was moved inside into our host’s sunroom. We unrolled our mats with anticipation for the nearly ceremonial releasing of the goats. Oh, rabbits too. And chickens.
However. These animals are not potty trained. My expected serene yoga event turned into a literal shitshow.

The releasing of the goats quickly led to the goats releasing their bowels.

So much poop.

I attempted child’s pose and lowered my head per the teacher’s instructions. A baby goat then ran full speed at me and tried to head butt me. I realized I couldn’t let my guard down for a second.

Here’s Lisa on high alert.

The actual yoga lasted maybe five minutes because everyone spent the time either holding the goats, picking up their lovely presents, or trying to keep them from eating our mats.
We passed around tiny shower cocktail napkins to pick up nuggets and sop up pee. I joked that this was great training for the mom to be. If only those goats had worn diapers.

The goats show Jessie how she got pregnant, in case she didn’t know.

It seemed like most attendees had a great time.

Sara (left) and Trina appear to be having a blast.

Cali loved it too. Me, not so much.

Cali pats the bunny. Meanwhile, Lisa reports that her face looked like this the whole time.

I just couldn’t. I was counting the seconds till the end of goat yoga.
Bye Felicia.
When I got home, my husband Rob and I had this convo:
Rob: How was goat yoga?
Me: There are three yoga mats in the bed of your truck that belong in your work dumpster.
Rob: That fun, huh?
Never again. Thankfully, I needed a new yoga mat anyway.
Lisa

*Don’t blame Lisa for that headline. It’s all Beth.

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Dear Trish the Chicken (RIP):

A former graduate student of mine (now friend) sent me a link to this article today, and I immediately thought of you. And missed you, of course.

You would have made a great gang leader. You had a strong personality and did not suffer fools. You were never too chicken (har har) to go anywhere. You also were very loyal to me alone, much to Eddie’s chagrin.

I feel sorry for the little fox in the story, but the idea of a chicken gang is hilarious.

Anyway, I hope you are having a ball tearing up the landscaping and pooping everywhere in the great coop in the sky.

Yours always,
Beth

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Dear Trish the Chicken,

It’s been eight years since your untimely death. I miss you on the reg, but never more so than yesterday.

I went to the Northwest Georgia Poultry Club show in Calhoun, Georgia — an hour northish of where we live now.

By myself.

For no reason beyond curiosity.

I did feel out of place, though. For example, I drive a Volkswagen, not something like this:

 

Also, I wasn’t wearing camouflage. (An oversight, really. I do own plenty of camo and a general affinity for rednecks.)

The show made me miss you so much, and also miss having a house where we could have chickens. Look at your beautiful brethren!

This looks like some kind of dog!

I thought the sign said “bitchen” at first, and I thought, “Yes, that is a bitchen’ chicken.”

Look at this handsome specimen!

She’s got legs, and knows how to use them.

What a beautiful bird.

This face!

As I am mostly a “city girl,” it’s hard for me to understand some customs. For example, why is one of the judges wearing a Clinique consultant coat and the other is wearing an apron?

Let’s review your skin care regimen.

The apron on the guy on the left says, “Judge.” It makes me fear for the losers of the competition.

The contestants were vying for these trophies. And perhaps the hand sanitizer as well.

And the title of Champion Cock.

These were the sights. You can imagine the smells. Here are the sounds:

Finally, thanks to the onsite Tabernacle of Praise, I was able to say a little prayer for you.

Anyway, it was an interesting Saturday morning.

And I still miss you.

Love always,
Beth

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So … it is now Jan. 19, well past the time when many people abandon their new year’s resolutions. It seemed like a good time to check in with mine.

  • try noodling. I still haven’t found a guide.
  • wear skirts more often.So far, I’m sporting a skirt once a week. That’s a huge increase from about twice in all of last year.
  • go to Lacoste again (or, at the very least, drink more French wine). Check “yes” on the second part.
  • speak more Spanish at home and keep practicing French. Not so much, unless cursing counts.
  • acquire more chickens. I’ll start looking for chicks in March.
  • clean out my pantry. I got rid of a couple of items. OK, so they were expired. It’s a start.
  • stop letting my son’s superhero noises bother me. That’s an uphill battle, but I’m working on it.
  • see Adam Ant in concert.I bought tickets for the Feb. 11 show. Then he had to push the tour back six months. (He’s not in rehab again.) (OK, that’s what his people say.)
  • see Van Halen reunited with David Lee Roth in concert. They will be in the Southeast in April.
  • visit the Brannens in Abu Dhabi. Hmmm … March or June.
  • go camping at least once. Too cold right now.
  • see my friend Tina’s new place and finally talk her into visiting us. Hasn’t happened.
  • stop pretending I like to listen to NPR in my car. I outed myself during a class yesterday. Liberation!
  • audition for a play or musical. I hear there are auditions for “Rent” in March.
  • actually go out for drinks/dinner with my friends Matt, Pam, Kathy, Lee, etc., instead of just talking about it. Hasn’t happened yet.
  • either part ways with my padding or to stop talking about it. I’ve been to the gym twice a week since Jan. 1 AND I made money because of it, thanks to GymPact.
  • make homemade pasta more often. I made shrimp and mushroom ravioli last week.
  • take a cooking class to improve my knife skills. Signed up for a class next month.
  • go to more of the interesting festivals I like so much (such as the Redneck Games). The Redneck Expo and Golf Cart Rally will be held April 6-7 in Bainbridge. That sounds like a winner!
  • write more, read more, talk less. I’ve written columns for the local paper, so that’s good. (What’s bad: I let more than two weeks pass between posts on this blog.) I’ve mostly caught up on my magazine reading. And I caught myself being quiet and not chiming into a conversation the other day. Progress!

So there you have it. I’ve also added one more: Learn to do the Running Man and Moonwalk.

How are you doing with yours?

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I don’t usually make resolutions for the new year. (Why wait until Jan. 1 if you want to change something?) The closest I get is making non-resolutions.

I’m feeling optimistic and inspired, though. And so I resolve to:

  • try noodling. (Anyone know a good guide?)
  • wear skirts more often. (I tend to be a pants kind of gal.)
  • go to Lacoste again (or, at the very least, drink more French wine).
  • speak more Spanish at home and keep practicing French.
  • acquire more chickens (much to Eddie’s dismay).
  • clean out my pantry. (I don’t really think this will happen, but it is nice to have a goal.)
  • stop letting my son’s superhero noises bother me. (Yeah, that won’t happen either.)
  • see Adam Ant in concert. (He’s on tour!)
  • throw my panties on the stage at that concert. (I’m kidding. Just making sure you’re paying attention.)
  • see Van Halen reunited with David Lee Roth in concert.
  • visit the Brannens in Abu Dhabi.
  • go camping at least once.
  • see my friend Tina’s new place and finally talk her into visiting us.
  • stop pretending I like to listen to NPR in my car. (Confession: It’s usually ’80s and country.)
  • audition for a play or musical.
  • actually go out for drinks/dinner with my friends Matt, Pam, Kathy, Lee, etc., instead of just talking about it.
  • either part ways with my padding or to stop talking about it.
  • make homemade pasta more often. (Not sure this goes with the one above.)
  • take a cooking class to improve my knife skills.
  • go to more of the interesting festivals I like so much (such as the Redneck Games).
  • write more, read more, talk less.

Of course, there are the resolutions I share with almost everyone else: Improve eating habits, exercise more, spend more time with family, save money, etc.

Now I’m ready for the new year. How about you?

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Anyone can post postcard-perfect pictures. (And yes, I will too.) In the past two days, though, I’ve been more interested in capturing critters.

A puny French version of the late Trish the Chicken

Puny Trish has a friend.

A literal version of "pigeonholed"

 

From birds to beasties (the praying mantis, that is, not me)

There's a whelk on that there limestone! (Say that with a Southern accent, please.)

Flowers? No.

Snails!

Apparently, if you put them in saltwater, the snails leave their shells. Then you put them on salad. Um ... yum?

Un escargot grand

Un escargot grand avec des amis

Next post: flora of France

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A fowl day

I guess we are not meant to have chickens.

Jeanne has gone to that great coop in the sky.

It appears something attacked her in the coop (not Maggie this time, as Maggie passed away last October). Perhaps a possum or raccoon. Jeanne put up a fight, but didn’t make it.

Once again, Eddie is the one who found the carnage. (Hmmm … there seems to be a theme emerging.) He called me on my way to work, while I was already upset about something else:

That’s some jury-rigging right there. Not pretty. This is what happens when you are driving a Volkswagen and can’t swerve to miss a piece of truck tire in the road. And why Eddie hates my car. (He was driving.)

Eddie also hit a deer a couple of months ago. So Progressive loves us, I’m sure.

It was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day for me. Worse for Jeanne, of course. RIP.

Eddie says that’s it for chickens. Yeah, well. He’s said that before.

I’ll bide my time until March, which is the start of chicken season.

 

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