The Cave by José Saramago

The van had been loaded, the windows and doors of the pottery and the house had been closed, all they had to do now, as Marcal had said a few days before, was to set sail. Strained and tense, looking suddenly much older, Cipriano Algor called the dog. Despite the anxious tone that any attentive ear would have picked up, his master's voice raised Round's spirits. He had spent the morning running about, perplexed and uneasy, sniffing the suitcases and packages that were brought out of the house, he had barked loudly in order to attract their attention, and his instincts had not misled him, something singular and out of the ordinary had been happening lately, and now the time had come when luck or fate or chance or the unstable nature of human desires and constraints were about to reach a decision on what was to become of him. He had lain down by the kennel, his head resting on his paws, waiting.

When his master said, Found, come here, he thought he was being summoned in order to get into the van as had happened on other occasions, a sign that nothing had really changed in his life, that today would be the same as yesterday, which is the constant dream of all dogs. He thought it odd that they should put the lead on him, which they did not usually do when they went traveling, and this sense of oddness only increased and changed into confusion when his mistress and his younger master stroked his head, at the same time murmuring incomprehensible words among which the sound of his own name kept being repeated in the most disquieting fashion, not that they were saying anything very bad, We'll come and see you soon. A gentle tug on the leash told him that he should follow his master, the situation had suddenly become clear, the van was for his mistress and his other master, he would be going for a walk with the older master.