For Christmas, I gave goats to the Foxes. More precisely, I gave my family a morning of goat yoga, which, it turns out, is a real thing, and not just for hungover bachelorettes killing time before the next pedal tavern.

At Shenanigoats in Nashville, goat yoga takes place in a concrete-floor warehouse studio, where a handful of goats jump and climb on you while you pretend to get on with your Namaste — or Naaaaaaamaste, as they say at Shenanigoats.

As someone who does not practice yoga regularly–or ever–I can’t compare our hour-long session at Shenanigoats to a ruminant-free workout. But I assume there’s not as much belly-laughing in an all-human class–and not just because goats have four stomachs.

I laughed when Parmesan the goat ate my admission ticket, and when Tootsie chewed a lock of hair off my head, and when LePew leapt from back to back to back during planking, and when Squirrel trip-tropped from my husband to my son during “downward goat” pose. I laughed when goats pooped on the yoga mats and when they butted each other with their tiny horns, like wannabe rams imitating a Dodge truck commercial. It was all just so preposterous.

And yet, it was genuinely the most fun I can remember sharing with my family in I don’t know how long.

So, thank you to Lucy and the Goat Guy at Shenanigoats for creating a memorable morning, and to my husband and our human kids for humoring my gift, which, if I do say so myself, may be my Greatest Of All Time.