There was nothing special about Nocchio other than she was free, soft as silk, cuddled and nuzzled rather than kissed, brought new life to an old dog, took treats from my hand like an angel might. Other than that she was like your dog, or maybe not.
One particular evening after playing with Tipper, her foster mother, 12 years her senior, getting the old moles that old dogs get, Nocchio did the most amazing thing.
Tipper had retired from playing. Their playing began after Tipper had sufficiently wash Nocchio's face and she thought it to be her invitation to play and so they did.
As Tipper lie against the sofa,retired from play, Nocchio kept circling her as if to entice her to play again. Then, with a quick lurch, Nocchio went for Tipper's face. There was a sharp yelp and when Nocchio backed away I noticed Tipper's eye was bloody and I began scolding Nocchio. When the small amount of blood was wiped away from Tipper's eye, a mole, that no more than two weeks prior was suggested to be removed as it might cause infection, was gone. Nocchio, as if sensing the smell of disease on Tipper had removed the unsightly glob of flesh.
Nocchio, named after Pinocchio by my grand-daughter who couldn't pronounce the whole name, was my real live dog. My real live companion had just been scolded, made to look into my eyes just the day before about coming when the whistle was blown. I am sure, with a dash, she was returning home from an adventure, just as Pinocchio in the movie did, learning some new lesson that she might later share with us because the whistle had been blown.
Funny how she had already earned her life with me, she was my real live dog, my real live friend who will be sorely missed, my real live Nocchio.