Birthday Practice

At times, I forget the wise lessons of my favorite yogi, The Great Coleman Smith. I lose my way and forget to live in the moment.  Like for example, I've been fixated lately on getting him to his 10th birth date in relative good health.  July 3rd, to be precise.  As obstacles are thrown in our way, I become a bigger, badder snowplow... not always the answer.  Acceptance is, as Cole tells me, sometimes OK too.
His tumor, the Alien, as I have named it...

 did prevent him from peeing normally Tuesday morning.  Cole's stream did improve in the day, but my mood deteriorated to the most morbid funk.  WE ARE LOSING and I have been accused of being very competitive.  
Focusing too much on Cole taught me a valuable lesson by early afternoon.  I was looking for him when I was moving the tractor forward after 500 lbs of fertilizer had been loaded in the fertilizer hopper.  Never saw Garrett crawl under the tractor.  Dragged the hopper over him.

He's mostly unscathed, but it could have been so much worse.

This is life screaming at you to quit being an idiot and get you head out of your posterior.
I hear you loud and clear.
So, define a birthday?  A day you celebrate the gift of a love in your life.  Today is a good day for that.  Right now.

After work, we wander for two hours.  Take in the wind, 

the water,

all the random beauty we encounter.

A T-bone steak wanders into our kitchen too.

Happy Birthday Coleman Smith!

We're not done though.  We foray to town and get ice cream.

Then we venture to Georgia for lottery tickets.

Our road trip takes us down dark country roads.  He keeps his nose pressed to the vent sniffing the new scents.  I'm almost to Montezuma, Georgia, 2 hours from home, when he falls asleep. 

 I turn around and get home shy of 2 AM.  
He awakes with an appetite.  I cook him pork loins for a midnight snack.
Happy Birthday tomorrow too.  Sometimes I lose my way, but he always gets me home.