Ride or Die...

This is as close to a car as I want to come.

According to my crazy mother, I should enjoy car rides. And to a degree I do. I like seeing all the stuff that's outside my little neighborhood. There are so many people. There are so many trees and so many flowers. There are so many cats and squirrels. But to a larger degree, I HATE IT!

Riding in the car makes me want to scream. (And I often do scream.) Why does my mother have to listen to that stuff she calls music? I hear no whistling. It's not music to me.  How come people in other cars pretend they can't hear me when I try to talk to them? It's so rude. I'm just trying to give them a friendly hello bark. Except those nutty people walking around on the sidewalks with their hoods up. I don't trust anyone with a hood on their head. I simply have to take my anger out on them! And what's up with windows anyway? My mom only rolls it down far enough for me to get fresh air. Woman, I wanna jump out! Everything passes by too quickly. I want to walk around and take my time sniffing everything, peeing on everything. It's a man's job to mark his territory. Cars don't allow you to do that.

My silly sister loves to go on car rides. That means she's been on all sorts of cool trips with Mama and Daddy. She's been to Michigan, Pennsylvania, Wisconsin, Ohio, Indiana, and everywhere in between. She just lays around the house, so I guess it's no different to lay around in the car. She hangs her head out the window, but never tries to jump out. She's such a bummer sometimes. I would hate to be stuck in the car for so long. I love to run too much.

Apparently, my mom really wants me to go on car rides with her. I know this because I heard her telling my Grammy about these leashes that lock in to your seatbelts. I guess she found them at this place called Pep Boys and wanted to buy me one. Sounds like doggy torture to me.  Then I couldn't even run from the front to the back of the car and back again. She showed me a picture of my friend Bella in her car seat. I mean, that's alright. At least a short guy like me could see out the window without stretching, but still.... I WANT TO PEE ON EVERYTHING! No matter to me that my mom keeps treats, a water bowl, a bottle of water, and a bag of food in the car at all times. I have those in my house and my Grammy will give them to me if my mama won't.

I just prefer to walk I guess.

Does anyone else really freak out in the car? Or am I the only dog in the world that does this? I'm honestly curious. Please let me know.

Barks and Licks,
Teddy

P.S. Besides, she's always taking me to the vet or the groomer in the car. NOT associated with great memories after you've been neutered.

Lives to Live... (By Guest Blogger Matt Partain from S.T.A.R, House for Men)

Matt and Gizmo Partain

How many lives can most people say they have lived?

I have had the unique and scary opportunity to have lived at least four in my 33 years.  My first began in 1982, when the world was blessed with another screaming, wrinkled thing resembling a miniature 80 year old man.  I always found it funny how I came into this world looking that way, and, if I live long enough, I will probably look the exact same, only longer.  Anyway, I came into this world 33 years ago and had a mostly innocent life for the first 14 years.  The summer after my 14th year, I began my second life.  That was the life of changing the way I felt and viewed the world.  That was the first time I put something into my body that helped me cope with my emotions and numbed all factors in my life.  That second life had it’s ups and downs.  It was not all bad.  There is one thing I will admit freely.  I absolutely LOVE getting high.  I love the way I felt, the fun I had, whether actual or perceived.  The relationships I built around that life seemed so genuine and deep.  Any drug addict who doesn’t admit that is lying to themselves and to you.  Why else would we have done it over and over again? Why else would we risk repeating craptastic consequences, just to chase that feeling down at least one more time?  Why else would we risk everything and everyone we ever cared about? That is a powerful thing indeed.  

That second life of mine lasted until I was 29 years old.  Over half of my life at that time had been spent chasing that rush and feeling of nirvana that only drugs and alcohol could provide.  Like an extended orgasm you just want to keep going.  Then I found myself in jail once again.  I had been there before, but this was different.  I was tired of that life.  It had moved from pleasure to work.  And it wasn’t a job I loved.  Every waking moment was spent searching and chasing. I was given the choice of prison or rehab.  I made a decision right then. I was done.  This was the birth of my 3rd life.  I was going to go to rehab 2 hours away, and I wasn’t coming back.  And that’s exactly what I did.  Because of that personal decision, rehab was easy.  I learned the tools I needed to get through rough times.  I built a network of like-minded people and called on them every time I needed to.  I was given an opportunity to further my recovery and begin a career working with another rehab in town.  After a lifetime of my friends and acquaintances coming to me for help or to talk, I began to actually get paid to be a counselor.  

Six months after I graduated rehab, the month I started full-time working at the rehab, I became a single parent for the first time.  My child weighed about a pound and had brown hair and eyes the color of coal.  He was a Peekapoo and I named him Gizmo.  To say he was a blessing would be an understatement.  He brought back that joy, those insanely strong positive emotions, that previously were only felt during the years with drugs coursing through my body.  He was the happiest and sweetest puppy.  He filled the hole of not having a romantic relationship. I didn’t need one.  He was my new prescription and I was addicted again.  

Over the course of the next 2 years, our bond strengthened even further.  I had never had anything that 100% of the time chose me over anything else.  He literally screamed when I had to leave.  It was heartbreaking and joyous at the same time.  I enrolled him in daycare for when I was at work.  He remained as happy as any dog I have ever seen.  

About a month ago, we began another life, my 4th.  One morning, Gizmo couldn’t stand on his back legs.  When I picked him up, his bowels let loose.  I panicked and took him to the daycare, whose workers have become amazing friends.  They took him to the vet for me, as I simply did not have the money.  I work full-time, but I am far from rich.  I pay my car note and insurance.  I have rent and utilities and cell phone bills.  My car must be insured and I have a student loan to pay off.  I can’t afford insurance for myself, even after being told I have no choice from the government, much less for my dog!  So, my friends at the daycare helped me and took Gizmo to the vet. 

 He had slipped 2 disks in his lower spine.  My options are limited, as my finances deem what options are even possible.  My finances have said the only course of action is to wait and hope and pray he heals over time.  He has improved some since his injury occurred.  For a while, he couldn’t even sit up.  He would just fall over, as would my hopes for recovery.  However, after a few weeks, he began to gain strength in his front half.  He is as good now as he has been since this all began.  He still can’t move his back legs.  He still can’t control his bathroom uses.  I have to use a wrap and maxi pad over him to absorb the urine.  He has begun to get extremely good at pulling himself along.  He literally uses his front paws to drag himself wherever I am.  This creates problems of it’s own.  His little doggy boner will get pulled out and stuck.  It swells.  This causes me to have to get into extreme parent mode and put it back in.  He gets rashes on his belly from the friction.  The resistance pulls the wrap right off of him, leaving a little snail trail of urine wherever he has been.  His mood has improved, but his physical condition has not.

  I set up a Go Fund Me account to try and raise funds.  These funds will be used to help purchase supplies for Gizmo and for other dogs who have owners that can’t afford treatment for them.  I am looking into getting a wheelchair type thing for Gizmo.  I want to help him and other animal parents who have unresolved issues due to finances.  Anyone can donate, with the assurances that the funds will be put to amazing use for the creatures who help us get through the day.  My little creature helped me begin a new life.  Without him, I can’t say how far I would’ve come after rehab.  Many other parents are in similar boats.  Thank you for taking the time to read this story.  Here’s to starting another life….one for me and Gizmo AND one for any other animals who are helped with this account.  Our account is gofundme.com/helpsavegizmo

-Matt Partain

Matt.partain@gmail.com

Dog of the House

I think it's been a long, long time since I wrote a blog.

But, then, I'm a dog and I can't tell time.

Hi everybody! Teddy here, back again after a lot of technical difficulty.

I've grown up a lot since last we talked. I celebrated my dog mitzvah last year when I turned two. And I got my nuts chopped off. Now I am a man. And I often display this. You see, my Dad works out of town quite a bit. He builds these things kids get to go to and eat pizza and wack moles and dance on big TVs. (Wish he'd build me a dog version of that!) And when Dad's away, I'M the man of the house and I have no problem letting everyone in my household know it!

I like to warn everyone when strangers are nearby. And nearby, to me, starts at one end of our block and goes clear to the other end. I learned from my old cat (may she rest in peace) that if you sit in our front window you can see EVERYTHING from one end to the other. This is a great watchtower. As soon as I see a pair of shoes turn the corner, I can bark to warn my family. I usually start with a warning growl. But the closer people get, the more I bark. But my Mama and my Grammy just yell at me to be quiet. It's so disrespectful. They would never talk to my Dad like that.

I see squirrels in our trees as an immediate threat. My Dad and Granddaddy also see squirrels this way. They grab the BB gun and fire. I can't, since I have no thumbs and the thing is way longer than I am. So I scare the squirrels away with my ferocious bark and the threat of my extremely healthy white teeth. My teeth are weapons of mass destruction. I make sure to sharpen them on plastic bottles, wood, whatever I can get my mouth around. And if I could ever just get my teeth on one of these squirrels, it would be over. Unfortunately my Mama got smart and realized I was escaping the yard too easily, so now I'm on a lead outside. This really hinders my squirrel game.

I also get easily agitated by cats. Now, I grew up with my old sister cat Furrball. In fact, my Dad says I'm more cat than dog. I take offense to that. Doesn't he see how much I hate cats? With their freedom to roam around and their free cans of tuna. Cats disgust me. At the same time, they fascinate me. I always had so much fun beating up and chasing after Furrball. I think another cat might be fun too. So I take my frustration out by barking and barking up a storm. My Mama actually thought I was hurt one day I was screaming so loud. She gave me a thorough talking to and I've calmed down some since then.

At any rate, I like to see myself as the man of the house when my Pops is out. The girl people just don't understand. And I've come to accept that. I just kind of let my Mama and Grammy think they are in charge. But we all know the truth. I'm a 23 pound dog who can protect the house better than that slobbering mess of a Lab my sister is. And she's five times my size. I think it's kind of funny.

I hope that all my readers have been doing well and I'm super excited for to check out what's going to go on this year with my blog. Look for a special guest blog from my uncle Matt this Friday. Thanks for reading and stay tuned!

Barks and Licks,
Teddy