Farmer’s Wife Joins Yoga Cult, Turns Barn Into Goat-Led Retreat
She traded boots for stretchy pants,
And goats for gurus trained in France.
The hayloft now’s a healing dome,
Where incense clouds out smell of home.
She chants with cows in downward dog,
While Pa just mutters through the fog.
“These goats ain’t zen,” he tried to warn,
“One just bit my saddle horn!”
But tourists flock from miles around,
To stretch with goats on sacred ground.
They pay in crypto, hum in bliss,
While pigs now teach their own sun kiss.
The preacher quit, the sheriff bowed–
The llama taught them how to plow.
Now chakras bloom near old manure,
And peace arrives through goat-led tour.
Alan Nafzger (editor@bohiney.com)