Goat Massage

 I’ve been climbing the Incline about three times a

week, starting to build up a base for this coming race season. As you know, this routine has included ice bath at a temperature causing me to evaluate my life choices… but I also called up my massage therapist to get back on her schedule.

My massage therapist is awesome. She’s only part time,  but happens to have a studio right at the end of our street, in what is literally the only business block in our community.

The rest of the time, she lives out in the mountains on a farm. Which is how, when I walked into her studio last Friday, I met Patrick McLovin.

Patrick McLovin is a two week old goat, being fostered by my massage therapist after a traumatic birth where his siblings didn’t survive. He’s imprinted on her, a fact I learned when he started bleating pitifully while I was changing and she left to wash her hands after putting him in his diaper. 

Patrick followed her around the entire massage, happily wandering under the table, occasionally making an appearance through the face hole or rubbing his tiny head into my hand if it was hanging off the table. 

This was not a bougie, bring goats to a brewery so Lululemon clad yoginis could get Instagram photos whilst downward dogging. This was just what my therapist had to do to keep Patrick McLovin alive and happy in a critical time.

After the massage, Patrick McLovin decided that I was safe, and took a flying leap into my lap… and promptly fell off. I picked him up and cuddled him for a few moments, until he decided he was done and jumped down.

Patrick McLovin then walked over to my massage therapist’s purse… and peed in it. 

I’ll be getting another session at the end of the month. I hope Patrick McLovin isthere, but I will probably leave my purse in the car.