When I first heard about goat yoga, I was horrified. Who would let a goat dance all over them while trying to stretch themselves into a pretzel? Don't they know that those little monsters pee and poop every 3-4 minutes? Nothing against goats or people who love goats but I just prefer not to pay money for a farm animal to use me as a toilet while I'm attempting a complicated yoga pose.
Besides, I prefer to do my yoga for free in public toilets and outhouses.
Let me explain.
I went to the Lakes District Fall Fair from September 9-11, 2022. On this beautiful drive from Quesnel through villages and glistening lakes of northwest British Columbia, I had no idea of what I was in for when it comes to outdoor plumbing.
Now I'm no princess.
I grew up without indoor plumbing and know the luxury of my bare bottom touching a moose hide toilet seat of an outhouse in -40'F weather. Styrofoam was a major upgrade for my family.
I have also mooned my share of truckers when a bladder emergency happens and then try to hide behind a vehicle or a scrawny bush with my pants hobbling my ankles as I fall down a ditch.
As I've gotten older, I have given up on my dignity though. Nowadays I try to scare oncoming traffic with my oversized derriere as I chase them down the highway. Who's peeing their pants now, eh?
I figure it's just a butt on a bathroom break. We all do it. Deal with it, people.
Anyway, me and Mykel and Wendy were off on another of our dog adventures. Ken McKenzie was doing a stock dog clinic in Burns Lake and this was Mykel's weekend to learn and have another go at this trialing thing. Wendy had done the Chris Hanson clinic the prior weekend at Jen L'Arrivee's farm in McBride, so Wendy came along for the arena trial.
Now I wish I could tell you a tall tale of Wendy and Mykel's probable disasters, but they both did me proud and didn't attempt to drown a sheep or eat one for lunch. All three of us learned a lot and laughed a lot and are already planning on attending next year's fair.
This about me and that damn public outhouse.
The Eagle Creek Fair Grounds is high up in the hills outside Burns Lake and has some of the nicest bathroom facilities I have seen for a long time. Clean and well-maintained, I highly recommend them. Please bear in mind that I'm not bashing these bathrooms. I just seem to have a natural attraction for dysfunctional bathroom stalls. If it's broke, I will find it.
All weekend I had used these public bathrooms and had staked out my favorite stall. We all have one, even if no one admits it. It's usually the first one we use and then gravitate back to that stall as we have figured out it's quirks and idiosyncrasies.
On Sunday, after an over-consumption of caffeine from an early morning of packing up for my final day of trialing in Burns Lake and then would be making the 4 hour drive home, I decided to get the bathroom business done before I got sidetracked by fun in the arena.
As I opened the bathroom door, I noted that someone else had already in my favorite stall.
That's okay. I would just use the one next to it.
The last guest had made sure the toilet was flushed properly and the seat was clean. It was perfect for my needs.
As public bathroom stalls are always small and I really needed to pee, I was already fiddling with my belt while hanging my purse on the convenient hook on the door as I did the toilet stall door shuffle when I noticed the latch wouldn't slide shut.
That's okay. I've done this rodeo before.
I jiggled the latch.
I jiggled the door.
Oh screw it. With my back against the door to hold it closed (Mountain Pose), I got my pants down and then with a leap/spin/trip-on-the-toilet/slap-the-door-shut maneuver, I managed to get turned around and into position.
Except my arms weren't long enough to keep my fingertips pressed against the door while I semi-sit/hover as close to the toilet as possible (modified Down Dog on a Chair Pose).
With one leg stretched out to hold the door close, I sank (fell) onto the toilet seat (modified Heron Pose). Aaaaahhhh. Sweet release.
That's when things got worse.
The dreaded public toilet paper roll holder.
Now some rollers are so nice in how they generously roll off lovely tissue for you to utilize. And there is the other kind. The kind that someone must have scissor-kicked that giant one-ply roll onto the holder. You know the type. It stingily gives you one sheet at a time or worse, it gives you only the tiniest bits of shredded fluff that wouldn't be enough to wipe a mouse's ass.
I got the one with no TP at all.
I just came through a pandemic and had packs of anti-bacterial wipes in my purse. The purse hanging on the toilet stall door. For f--k's sake.
Stretching as far as I could, my finger tips just grazing the bottom edge of my purse, it swung to one side and out of reach, Out of breath not from lack of exercise, but from my wine gut cutting off circulation to my organs, I wondered how the hell did I get myself into this position. (modified Half Splits Pose with meditation moment)
Then with the determined power of refusal to be beaten by a public toilet and my purse, I raised up on one leg, my pants binding up at my knees and threatening to topple me over into the sharp edges of the empty toilet paper dispenser, I snatched that frigging purse right off its self-righteous hook.
Now if you're wondering if anti-bacterial wipes are safe to use on perineal skin, I really don't know. It's probably not the healthiest thing to use as toilet paper. And yes, I could have "dripped dry". I just didn't think about that at the time.
What I should have thought about is this: "Will this burn?"
The answer is: "Probably."
Thank God for waterproof mascara.
So with my head smashed into the toilet stall door (modified Downward Facing Dog pose), I pulled up my pants and sniffed away the tears as I glared at that f--_ing door lock. How dare it think it could defeat me?
With the wisdom of an idiot, I reached out and jiggled the latch knob with as much anger as two fingers can give a bathroom stall lock.
And damned if it didn't slide easily into its latch.