“Is he friendly?”

It was a question Laura had heard often. And for years, her answer was pretty much the same.

“Oh, he is. Only looks intimidating. Loves children,” she’d say, patting the massive head that was always at her side, jangling the studded collar against a tag that read “HAHAI” for the dog that followed her everywhere.

Then one day, the thin man with a little dog asked her the same question, and his voice made Laura shiver.

They met in that quiet purple just before dawn, Laura’s favorite time to walk. Only the occasional whisper of distant wheels along the dampened road to indicate the world would soon be stirring — but not yet.

He called out to her from beneath a street lamp. Laura froze, unsure of what to make of him and his words. Shadows slashed his face but the glint from his eyes shone cruelly through the dim. The puffy dog beside its master’s thick boots felt out of place, as if merely an accessory, the connection between them forced, so unlike the one she shared with Hahai.

Then the thin man and the little dog crossed to Laura’s side of the street and waited.

He’s just a little off. Ignore him. Turn back.

“Is he friendly or what?” the man called sharply, once more interrupting her thoughts with the familiar question that had become so disquieting. A plastic baggie slipped over his hand, at the ready. His long fingers flexed inside. Still the little dog beside him merely twirled and yipped, as if aware of some darkness in the man’s mind.

“Are you?” Laura wanted to snap back, but feared the answer. The man bounced on his heels. Jittery. Hungry.

“Yes or no?” he said, taking a step forward before hesitating. His thin face drawn tight. His eyes darting between Laura’s eyes and her legs. She hoped for one of those rare passing headlights, but the tall grass simply rustled beneath a fading moon.

“No.” Laura felt her hand go to the leash, giving her a sense of strength with its rough, thick band — and possibly a weapon. Nothing made sense, but there was no more time to think. “He … he’s not. And neither am I.”

The man’s face twisted with an odd expression. He jerked the little dog into the street and scuttled to a van Laura hadn’t noticed before, obscured in a turnout by a tangle of shrubs. The thin man’s shadow seemed distorted as he ran, as if another shadow moved with him, sweeping at his heels.

The taillights flared red and glowered back at her, matching the anger she’d seen in the man’s eyes. Something else was in the thin man’s eyes at that last moment, too — a look of fear that hadn’t made sense. The van tore off with a low growl cutting into the stillness.

“It’s gonna be all right.” Laura exhaled, then whispered. “It’s OK.”

They were the same words she’d said to her old friend on that last day, when brittle bones couldn’t help him to rise to the door for their usual night walk. She’d stretched out along his dog bed instead and held his great, graying muzzle in her hands.

Laura looked down at the painfully empty spot beside her, then at the leash she still kept tucked in the pocket of her hoodie — the leash she couldn’t bear walking without. Even a year later.

Maybe, when she needed him most, Hahai was still there.

Following.

Like a shadow.

He always was the most frightening-looking, loyal, lovable giant.

“Thanks, boy.”

She spoke to the warming air around her in that quiet dawn, and wondered if she heard the faint jangle of a collar after all.