Seven pooches, one yoga mat, and the most effective stress-relief class in Boston. Our lifestyle editor went to investigate.
Photo via Morsa Images/Getty Images
When my 13-year-old daughter, Emma, asked me to sign us up for something called puppy yoga, I was skeptical. “Are you sure this is an actual thing?” I asked. Yoga—rooted in mindfulness and serenity—paired with puppies: chaotic, wiggly, distractingly cute? I couldn’t quite see it.
But Emma, who’d first spotted the trend on social media, clearly knew what she was talking about. Puppy yoga is very much a thing. The concept, which has grown in popularity recently across the country, blends a gentle, all-levels yoga class with free-roaming pooches. Part wellness trend, part social experience, it’s designed to deliver both light movement and a dopamine hit. Studios often partner with breeders or rescues, and classes, booked well in advance, routinely sell out—proof that the combination of downward dog and actual dogs has undeniable appeal.
So on a recent Saturday, we headed to Puppies & Yoga near South Station, one of the franchise’s two Boston studios. I was still dubious while we waited outside. Then the doors opened.
Seven puppies—golden retrievers and an adorable black-and-white mixed breed—were already tumbling across the floor as the class filtered in. The puppies bounced from mat to mat, hopping into laps, chasing rubber toys, and eliciting a steady soundtrack of squeals.
It should be noted that this was not a room full of serious yogis. Only three of us were over 40; the rest were teens and twentysomethings who seemed perfectly happy to treat the yoga portion as a warm-up to playtime. The 45-minute class was intentionally basic: gentle stretches and accessible poses designed to accommodate everyone. For the first 15 minutes, the puppies continued their romp before gradually tiring. A few curled up and passed out completely, while others wandered lazily between mats. We were encouraged to pause if a puppy climbed aboard our lap—both for safety and because, realistically, no one was going to ignore that level of cuteness.
After the official practice, we had 30 minutes of dedicated puppy time, at which point a blue-eyed dog climbed into my lap, circled once, and fell asleep—warm and heavy, completely trusting. Next to me, Emma was already on her phone editing photos (because this experience was indeed a social media moment) and plotting lunch. “Mom,” she said with a gentle nudge, clearly ready to go. I opted to stay put a few minutes longer, stroking the soft, sleeping pup.
