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

To Play is the Thing!

Can I take your order please?

I think that all humans should consider living with a dog. It makes life a lot more fun. My humans are a lot of fun to play with. I love to jump on my Grammy's door. It makes a loud pop and that makes her jump off her bed every time. So funny!

My Mama is the most fun to play with because she has the most time to play with us. Our favorite game is called "Sock". She takes Daddy's old socks (the holes with the holes from his talons) and ties a knot in them so that we know which socks are ours. I like to pick these socks up and jump on her lap and then stare at her until she takes the hint.

Most of the time she fusses, "I don't wanna play sock!" Well, everybody knows that that's just silliness. Mama loves to play sock too. Eventually she throws it away from her, after I pick it up and drop it on her laptop a time or two.  Coco and I run as fast we can to see who gets the sock first. It's usually me. Coco is good at running long distances, but I'm a great sprinter.

I grab the sock, snarl at Coco in superiority, then bring the sock back to Mama. Sometimes Coco takes one end of the sock and we play tug of war. That's my favorite! Coco is super-strong, but my jaws lock down tight.

Playing is the absolute most fun thing in the world to do. Next to eat. And also bark. But playing is definitely the tops. We also like to play ball or chase apples that fall from trees. We have a pretty big yard, so there is always something to sniff or dig at. My Mama tells me I'm a lucky boy for having suck a big yard. She says some dogs got no yards at all. And that makes me sad.

Coco and I always have so much fun playing that I can't imagine not playing.

My Mama used to work with a group called second Chance Animal Rescue. Unfortunately, it closed down before I was even born, but my Mama tells us all about the dogs she used to work with their. They were Pit Bulls and Rotts and Chows. She says these doggies are considered "Bully Breeds". The only Bully I know is a big, drooling chocolate Lab named Coco.

Mama says that a lot of people were scared of these dogs. But she says that these dogs were even more scared of people because people used to make these dogs fight each other. I thought to myself, Well, Coco and I fight all the time. But then I found out that people made these people really fighting each other, like until someone was hurt or dying. And to top it off, THEY DID IT FOR MONEY! And THEN they didn't even get the doggies a vet or even any treats. They just left them to die!

When my Mama worked with these dogs, she took them outside to play every day. And sometimes these dogs fought each other. that's what they were trained to do. But most of the time, these "Bullies" were so happy to be out of that life, so happy to be well-cared for, that they just rolled in the grass. Laid in the sunshine. Were just grateful for their freedom.

I am grateful for my freedom as well. Glad that I have a big yard and my sister and humans to play with. I hope that one day all dogs know the happiness I feel.

I hope that they get the chance to just play.