It has been four years this month since I adopted Miss Harlow. A tornado trapped in a puppy’s body, she came to me with the grossly inaccurate name of Pinky. It was all wrong. I called her “puppy” for two whole weeks, and was relieved when I thought of the name Harlow, and knew in my gut that Harlow was, for sure, this dog’s name.
Today I am writing this while on a break at work, and I’m thinking about her. I will be leaving the office a bit early today to take her to the vet. She has been acting like herself for the most part, but she is clearly not feeling well. How do i know this? Barf. That’s how. She’d thrown up at least five times since Monday (that I witnessed), and when she woke me at 5 this morning throwing up in the bedroom, I decided that maybe she needs more than a few days of a bland chicken and rice diet.
I am nervous. I’m nervous because more than one person has said it could be a blockage. They have also suggested Bloat. The thing with Harlow is, she just doesn’t seem to register discomfort, and it’s very rare that she doesn’t seem herself, even if something is off. Just the other day, we went to a nearby pond and I let her run and run. After all the playing in the normal way she does, we went home. Where she promptly got sick all over the rug.
So anyway I just hope it’s nothing serious.
Harlow has always been a needy handful, but she has also been a stalwart friend, coming to me when she knows I am upset, and sitting on me because that’s helpful, right?! She is silly, and funny, boisterous and naughty, loving and ridiculous.
Here’s to the next years with my rambunctious tomboy dog.
(click to enlarge)