"Almost a hundred years ago now -" which is incredible to think of, the world his parents were born into being close to a century old, but that's neither here nor there - "a man in Japan gets a dog and names him Hachiko. Every day, the guy takes the train to work, and Hachiko stays home. But Hachiko's a smart dog; he learns when his master's on his way home, and he goes to the train station to wait for him.

"One day, while the guy's at work, he dies. But how do you make a dog understand that? Hachiko doesn't know that his owner isn't coming back. What he knows is when the train comes, his owner gets off, and they walk home together. So for the next nine years, Hachiko goes to meet the train every day. He sits and waits for his master, until he himself dies.

"There's a statue at the train station now," and it's obvious, all of it is so obvious, why he bought her a little figurine of a patient dog. But he couldn't resist it when he thought of it. "Hachiko is revered in Japan as a symbol of fidelity. He was loyal to the person who mattered most to him, long after that person was gone. And he's a dog," this with some humor, as though it's the true lynchpin of his reasoning, as he taps the figurine's head, "and I know you like those."