His leash tied to a post the dog sits waiting patiently, knows she will return for a joyous reunion. He has faith. If he thought for a moment she wasn't coming back he would chew through that flimsy leather bondage in minutes, run free.
I step out for a cigarette, rub his chest gently, reassure him that she will be back soon, that everything will be alright.
He already knows this, so who am I talking to?