This page is dedicated to a very, very special dog and my best friend.
Inigo Montoya v. Noblesshof
4/5/2013 - 8/1/2020
Saturday, August 1 started as usual. Ini had spent the night in the house and he had me all to himself (since Kaya got sprayed by the skunk and slept in the kennel). In the morning I went about my routine with Owen and Ini patiently waited for us to go to the kennel, let dogs out and eat. By noon Owen was down for his nap, so Ini and I set to do a few projects outside. Just the two of us. I put together a patio umbrella, while he laid by the Gator, parked outside the kennel. It was hot out, so he stayed in the shade. We then got in the Gator and drove to the barn to fill some sandbags as the umbrellas counterweights. Ini was beaming, smiling ear to ear, he loved it. This was the first time riding in the Gator with the new canopy on. The sun was directly above us and I made a mental note how perfect the shade it provided was.
When we got to the barn he again rested in the shade as I shoveled sand from the 4 - 900 lbs totes of sand I had delivered outside the barn. Then back to the kennel to drop them off and onto the next project - chickens. He was getting all kinds of Gator time and loving it.
I parked by the chickens fenced area, we got off, and I proceeded to fill up the chicken feeder, and water new trees I had planted inside the chickens electric fence enclosure. Ini proceeded to fence run and bark with the neighbors pack of gazillion dogs. I let him, it was no big deal. Eventually they all disperse, or I call mine off.
Soon after the loud fence run began, Ini appeared in my area of view and proceeded to slowly lay down. As I was watching this unfold, the hair on the back of my neck must have been raised, because this behavior was 100% atypical and I made an instant mental note, and proceed to watch the rest unfold in slow motion, as if an out of body experience.
The neighbors’ dogs were still charging him through the fence, why was he taking a break?
He laid down and kicked his legs out and was now on his side and slowly laid his head in the sand. I was already over the fence and on top of him starting CPR. I instinctively knew something was terribly wrong with him. That very moment I would never forget and will relive forever. I knew what to do and I did it calmly and without emotion. As I was pumping his chest and practically swallowing his big brown nose blowing breaths, I would see him move his head back, open his mouth as if to take a breath, but shallow. Half of me thought man, are we going to have a story to tell of how you cheated death yet again, while the other half of me was beginning to sober up to the devastation that was to follow. His response was fading, I could not feel a pulse, and what I thought was a pulse was just my heart, frantically beating fast through my fingertips. I continued CPR, at this point unsure if it was making any difference. I was questioning the number of chest compressions vs breaths. His tongue and gums were blue, his eyes lifeless. Holy crap, what if he comes to now, will he be brain damaged, I remember thinking. But I continued...losing faith. I called my vet friend Gwen on speakerphone, telling her I think I’ve lost him, while continuing to perform chest compressions and nose blows. His eyes were non responsive to touch, my baby was not here anymore. Life had slipped away from him in an instant and my calm and collected autopilot was falling apart. And I began to realize what had happened. As Gwen said I am sorry, I fell apart. The dogs were still charging, barking and digging from the other side of the fence. I was numb. Life as I knew it had changed in a fraction of a second. He had looked at me before he fell sideways and the look in his eyes was what is happening? I can’t control it. There was no pain, no suffering for him, he was gone before both of us could comprehend that moment.
I was alone, in the far back of the property, under the big oak tree, between the shed and the chickens coop.
I held him, I held him tight, kissed his face and let my tears fall. Gwen stayed on the phone with me, she was his godmother, she had lost 3 of her Dobes to this, she was my only hug at that moment. I needed someone to wake me up from this nightmare. This could not be real. My Ini could not just leave like this.
Dave was on the other side of the world and not answering his phone, I needed to tell him, I needed to tell him. I texted my in laws to come get Owen, as I had to deal with Inis body. I backed up the Gator and attempted to lift him up onto it. Loading him in the back of the Gator helped me understand what dead weight means. I do not know how I did it, but I did not want anyone near him, so I did not ask for help from any of the people I know I can count on. I wasn’t ready to talk to anyone in person either. I needed to do this alone.
I drove him to the crematorium and hugged him more in the back of the Jeep, then the owner, Scott, and I moved him into the special wheelbarrow they also wheeled Kaiser out of the house in back in April. Ini looked peacefully resting, still warm, with a blue tongue and lifeless eyes, wet from my tears. I had given him a bath the night before, and I was desperately trying to smell his essence and lock it in my memory. Everyone knows Ini was the stinky brown dog, and when you love someone you love everything about them, in different amounts. Part of me was regretting that bath I gave him. I slipped his collar off and told him how much I loved him. I wanted to wake up from this nightmare again. This was not real! Not my brown dog. I had all the time I needed to stay with him and I stayed, crouched down by the wheelbarrow/cart, crying ugly.
I left him to be stored till Mondays cremation. Scott could not have been more understanding and accommodating. In such a moment of vulnerability and desperation, Sarasota Pet Crematorium has come through for me now twice in 3 months. I hope to not see Scott again, under such circumstances, for a very long time.
If you are still with me, I’m sorry for the vivid pictures. What comes next is nothing short of a miracle.
Inis adventures began in 2013, when he was born in Serbia, on Kaisers birthday (how about that!) to a breeder I respect and whom I had purchased Dobermans from in the past, to train and resell. When she posted a photo of him and his brother on FB, stating they are available, I had an idea. I remember vividly where Dave and I were when I saw that post, driving in his car, still just dating. I decided to buy the red male, raise him, train him and sell him as a finished product. I had done so successfully with many other Dobes and GSDs, but they all came to me much older, and had an already developed personality and sometimes things I needed to fix. A puppy was going to be a fun project. Ini was an I litter, so all puppies registered names had to begin with an I. I had no clue what to call him, so when Inigo was suggested, I had to watch The Princess Bride with Dave (and I fell asleep, twice). Inigo Montoya v. Noblesshof!!! Had a nice ring to it. Coming up with a call name was going to be another challenge, but Ini was good enough for me, even though Dave always said it’s silly and sounds like I am calling my dog bellybutton .
Ini traveled from Serbia, via a van to Germany and then on a plane to Orlando, FL in a dog crate. He was stinky on arrival, and little did I know that would stick with him for the rest of his life. It was a long journey for him, so once we left customs, we had to stop at Target on the way home, buy a jug of water, shampoo and a towel and I gave him his first bath in the parking lot. Phew, that was much better!
As I was getting to know the little guy, he was everything his breeder said he would be. Ball obsessed, sweet, attentive, fun and clear headed. Just like his sire. I loved teaching him how to bite the baby bite sleeve and tug toys, he had a natural calm and deep bite. Something I had learned to put a great value on during my dabble into the IPO world with Kaiser and Kaya. Ini had tons of promise in him and I knew I had made an excellent choice by purchasing him.
For months I called him the puppy as in not to get too attached to him.
By the time he was 6 months, he grew and developed exactly as I would expect. He was a perfect puppy. But no one would have prepared us for what happened next.
While I was out of the country, in Bulgaria, to be with my mom during my grandmas heart surgery, Dave reported that Ini dragged his feet on walks, not much but he looked like he was not picking his rear legs up as well as one would expect. I figured he is a fast growing large breed puppy, and when I return I would make him climb stairs and swim, to strengthen his rear. No big deal. But as I returned and observed him move, I immediately knew this slight delay and paw knuckling over in his rear left foot was neurological.
I sent a video to his vet and he agreed. I took him straight to UF College of Veterinary Medicine in Gainesville, FL, about 3 hour drive one way. Little did I know that would not be our only drive. Initially the staff assumed vaccination site reaction and treated him with prednisone for 3 weeks. He did not improve. On our next trip he was to undergo an MRI, a spinal tap, x-rays, a skin biopsy and a whole bunch of other tests. Just the thought on an MRI back then terrified me, it screamed the possibility of a very serious problem. Later on, the recommendation for an MRIs was only a $ sign to me. They were no longer scary. I believe he had 4-5 altogether over the years.
Dave and I got up super early on that day, drove to UF, dropped him off and got a hotel to sleep while Ini was sedated and tested. He was supposed to be ready to go home later in the day, and we were exhausted.
I’ll never forget the phone call from Dr. Michelle James around 11 am. She said they found the culprit and it was cancer. He was diagnosed with Spinal Nephroblastoma, aka Wilms Tumor when in children. A 6 mm sized tumor in his spinal cord, directly responsible for his increasing motor deficiency. The tumor was congenital, he was born with it, had no genetic component and there were only 11 dogs studied and documented in the whole world. Only one lived past 2.5 y.o. and it had surgery and radiation, the best chance of survival.
Ini needed surgery. Elated by the fact that they had found an answer, while equally terrified by the unknown, I said when can you operate?. They scheduled him for the very next day and we did not get to see him till he was done and ready to be discharged days later. Daves brother was a vet student at UF at that time and he sent us a video of our baby, in his kennel, post op. It meant so much back then.
Ini got to come home in a few days and he could not walk on his own. The swelling at the surgery site was huge, his back looked like a submarine. The surgery alone was a very delicate procedure and I had to sign documents that they may cripple him more than he already was. I had to find YouTube videos of similar spinal surgeries to understand better. I am not born with the steady hands of a surgeon, so I find such surgical procedures even more fascinating. I wish they would let me watch. I documented his journey for all to learn from and shared it on FB in a folder in my photo albums. You can easily find it on the business page.
Once home we did daily therapy sessions, stretching, range of motion, gradually weight bearing. On sunny days I brought him to the back porch and propped him with pillows so that he can watch me work and walk dogs and not feel alone. I moved my operation to the back yard on those days, because I wanted Ini to feel motivated. One day I saw him standing and I could not believe it. He was still very wobbly and needed a lot of help. He needed a sling under his belly when he would go potty or walk.
Inspired by the independence it offers, shortly thereafter I bought him a doggy wheelchair. And he did it! The wheels allowed him to run, play fetch and even wrestle with clients dogs. My Ini was slowly, but surely making a comeback. Eventually the wheels were no longer needed, but I always kept them, just in case his cancer returned or he got weaker as an old man. I did not dare think that far in the future, but the wheels would be ready for him, should that time and need come.
The next chapter was an adventure of a better kind. Radiation therapy was strongly encouraged, as the tumor removal did not go with clear margins. Confused and unsure of the process, I did not receive what I was looking for from UF while planning the next step. But through an interesting twist of connections, Kaisers breeder connected me with an ER vet in Ohio, who worked at a pet cancer treatment facility - Dr. Gwen Myers. She in turn connected me with Inis future radiation oncologist - Dr. Deb Prescott, who took the time, without knowing me, to speak on the phone with me, answer all my questions and prepare me. My mind was at ease and a plane ticket to Worthington, OH, via Columbus, was purchased. Ini and I were going to fly to MedVet and he was going to live with Gwen, her pack of Dobes (one of which was Kaisers sister) and a Poodle. Gwen was going to take him to treatments daily and love him like her own, for about a month. What Gwen did for Ini and I was an immeasurable act of kindness and love, for two strangers. This started a friendship that I value immensely.
Ini underwent 28 radiation treatments and almost daily underwater treadmill therapy and groundwork rehabilitation. I visited him once halfway through his treatment and was able to see the difference already. My boy was a fighter and soon to be officially labeled as a cancer survivor. No one knew what was in store for him, but I will not be exaggerating by saying no one believed he would live to be 7, and not die from his cancer returning.
The rest of his life was not the least bit as scary, but over the years there were many more MRIs, neurology, dermatology, orthopedic and ER visits. We always came back stronger and more educated in the end, and I got to know a vast majority of specialists. Along with my dearest few medical professional friends, I called them Inis Team of Experts. Everyone played an important and unique part, but the one that made the most impact on him and I over the years was Gwen.
Ini had several close calls with death, some resulting from his love for the ball. I often said Cancer didn’t kill him, but he will kill himself with his recklessness and His gravestone would say He died doing what he loved - (insert ridiculous, but fun filled accident here). He played so hard, his rear legs would turn into wet spaghetti and he would practically drag himself across the training field, still chasing his ball.
He could not swim if his life depended on it, and one time I had to jump in the pond after him and pull him out from the deep end. He was under water, still holding onto the ball, which had filled with water dragging him deeper. He was unbelievable! I have never seen a dog live life so fully, and never once let his disability stop him. There were times that this quality made me very nervous.
Ini loved deeply and he gave it his all in everything he did. Always. Among my clients he was best known as the Activities Director, the Farm Dog, Superman and the Brown stinky dog. He was the founder of Inis club for Dorks (look up that photo album in the business FB page).
He was a natural at his job of distracting dogs on down-stay, walking circles around their cots, and he would always bring a ball when I would ask him and entertain my efforts to proof a dogs obedience. I would give anything to hear that leg scuffing in the pavilion right now!
Every dog who trained here in the last 7 years has met, worked under and played with Ini. Every dog who needed socialized, became better because of Ini. That is over 400 dogs.
Ini was a sweetheart to my clients and their dogs. He was the safest, my go to demo dog. A few of my clients know this fact, but Ini was my only dog, whom I did not formally train. He learned by osmosis more or less, and although my competition days were far behind me, Ini did everything I needed him to do. Losing another business partner, especially one this friendly and outgoing, has been devastating. The void we all feel is immeasurable.
When I got pregnant, I knew that he would be the one of our three to be Owens buddy. They were becoming fast friends in the last few months. Owen was drawn to Ini and Ini to Owen. Owen had just learned how to say Inia, and to Owen all dobermans were Ishi. Silly, but I liked it.
The sweetest memory I have of the two of them together was from last week, when Owen ventured off to the tractor shelter, while I watched from nearby. Ini and Kaya were outside, near me, a good 100 feet away from Owen. As soon as Ini realized that Owen was missing, he began frantically sniffing the air. His head snapped in the direction of the shelter and he ran to it. Seconds later the two of them appeared, walking back toward me. If you know Owen, he does not leave the tractor shelter without having to be carried away, crying. I will cherish that memory, and look forward to reminding Owen as he grows that he once had a best friend who loved him very much, and shared his obsession with the Gator.
If you have made it this far, I thank you. I realize this eulogy evolved into a love story book, but I wanted to preserve the pivotal moments in Inis life, including those which have made the biggest impact on mine, and ours as a family. Ini was Dave and Is first baby and we (I) got lots of future baby training on him.
His untimely death will forever haunt me, my inability to bring him back will forever be a source of me questioning the what ifs. No matter how many times medical professionals, both animal and human, tell me there was nothing I, or really anyone, could have done. It is my tragedy to relive every time I look in that direction. Because I had saved him so many times, but I could not this time.
Run free and fast my sweet brownie, my cancer survivor, my farm dog, Owens buddy, my best activities director, my best distractor, my best snuggler, my last good night and my first good morning. I will never forget you!
