Harlow Louise

Tonight I want to talk about my big, little girl, Harlow.  Harlow is an American Mastiff.  She is six now and weighs 170 pounds.  My road to Harlow was a bittersweet one.  It all started when I was randomly dog searching online and came across The Flying W Farms.  Flying W Farms breeds horses and dogs. The  American Mastiff breed was originated here.  The breeder bred English Mastiffs to Anatolian Shepards to create a massive drier mouthed dog.   I announced to Danny that this was the next dog I wanted.  And that was the end of that.  Until December of 2003 when Danny's National Guard unit was called up to Iraq and Danny told me to "get my dog." 
I began an email correspondence with the owner of the farm and was approved for adoption of a female.  I had decided to name her LRS Louise.  LRS was the acronym for Danny's Guard unit.  It seemed appropriate.  My sister and I drove out in June 2004 to pick her up from Ohio! 
LRS was a beautiful little thing.  She loved Barron, followed him everywhere.  She was the joy we needed during Danny's deployment.  We were awfully happy for those few weeks.  Then LRS got sick, very sick.  And her little body could not fight whatever it was that was attacking her.  And she died in the night at the vet clinic.  She is buried in the backyard. 
The breeder offered me a refund or another puppy.  I took the puppy.  This was done as a pure act of kindness from the breeder because LRS's death had nothing to do with her breeding or care prior to her living with us.  In fact, the cause of her death was probably due to poisoning.  Our best guess was that someone in the neighborhood had put out poison.  A wild animal got into it and then came through our yard.  LRS may have shared a water dish, or sniffed something up in the yard. 
Twice, we were notified that our puppy was ready.  But both of those puppies were not meant to be ours.  One turned out to be a boy and the other was accidentally killed by her mom.  It wasn't until the fall of 2005 that we finally got Harlow. 
Harlow is an Olde English word for troops on the hill.  Danny's unit spent a great deal of time in the mountains of Northern Iraq.  I wanted to keep her name in tradition with LRS's.  And they share a middle name.  LRS and Harlow were also cousins. 
Harlow started out as a very social puppy.  She went where we went as much as we could.  Soccer games and Petsmart.  Walks around the neighborhood, Cedar Rapids.  She loved the attention and the new adventures.  Then it got cold and she got too big to go easily to all those places.  When spring arrived, Harlow did not want anything to do with new people or places.  A walk was usually out of the question.  She would do pretty good if Barron was with her, but on her own, she was a nervous wreck.  I found some help in a dog trainer book and we could have some good walks, but all in all, Harlow was now home bound.  There were even occassions where we would get to the corner and she would stop.  Outweighed by 30 pounds, I didn't have much choice but to end the walk and go home.
When new people came around, there was a very long introduction process.  Harlow did not want anyone to approach her.  She would do the approaching, slow and unsure.  There are some people that have seen her for six years and have never petted her.  We have learned to accommodate her and it seems to work.  She stays in our room if there is going to be a lot of activity.  People respect her and make no sudden movements toward her or surprise her from behind.   Harlow gets plenty of love from those that she knows and she seems completely satisfied with that.
Harlow and Barron were very good buddies and when Barron died, I was terrified that Harlow would be soon to follow.  But she bounced back ok without him.  We had several good months where Harlow did just fine.  But recently, there have been episodes of I don't know what.  She has freak outs over people she knows and loves.  She has lost control of her bladder from time to time.  Sometimes I don't think she hears me, I have to tap her butt to get her attention.  There are days where she paces and paces.  Days where she follows me everywhere.  Sometimes, she reminds me of my mom when my mom was sick.  Harlow just seems confused. 
But this girl of mine.  This great big little girl is so very sweet.  Her head must weigh 20 pounds and she will rest all of it in my lap.  She will put her nose ever so close to me, prickly whiskers tickling my cheek, moist exhale in my face.  Harlow often has a furrowed brow, like she is deep in thought or confused.  I go with the latter.  Harlow likes to hold hands and sometimes, she likes to stand chest to chest.  Only she is taller than me so her head rests on top of mine.  Harlow is the only one in this family that can see what is on top of the refrigerator.
Harlow bounds about the back yard.  She used to look like a horse when she ran, before she put on her weight.  She looked like Scar from the Lion King when she walked.   Harlow adores Jacob.  She is his own personal pillow pet.  Harlow loves to be there with him when he watches TV.  With Ashlyn and Hayley, she just kind of presents herself for love and attention.  They will be busy doing whatever it is that they are doing and Harlow will decide to get up, walk over and say hello.

Tonight, Harlow is sick.  She cannot control her bladder.  She whines a lot.  She paces around and never seems comfortable.  I thought about taking her to the emergency vet, but they don't know Harlow and Harlow does not know them.  Unlike Barron, Harlow does not see a friend in everyone and she fears new and different places.  So we are going to wait this out and go to the regular vet in the morning.  I am nervous.  I don't know what is wrong with my girl.  I don't look forward to the list of tests that need to be run.  My stomach flips at the thought of the bill.  And I know that I shouldn't be thinking about the cost right now, but Barron's final bill in April ate up all the excess vet emergency fund that I had, and then some, so another hefty vet bill at Christmas time is weighing heavy on me, too.  But it is the thought of something serious being wrong with this big headed girl of mine that is making me cry tonight.  I know that I won't have her long as it is, a mastiff's life expectancy is around eight years.  But I already lost Barron this year, I am not ready to even thing about losing her. 
So my prayers are to Saint Francis tonight.  For Harlow's health and well being.  For my own good judgement tomorrow.  And for a simple diagnosis with an easy treatment both for Harlow and me.