The guy with the poodle knows it, so does the lady with the lab mix. Ms. Cutey Pie with the sheltie-something and the muscle man with the similarly ripped pit bull both know it. Of course the elderly and very regal woman with the snarling Pomeranian has no doubt about it. It's a beautiful, no perfect, night to walk the dog.
At sidewalk speed we nod and smile. Sometimes there is sniffing, maybe woofing or whining. The universal certainties are "hell yea it's good to be out" by the hounds and "ooohh this is nice" by the two-leggeds.
One foot and two paws in front of the other(s) we meet the future and face the truth--toddlers always know the truth when they exclaim "doggie!" and point. God is just Dog turned around.
What kind of dog is that mister? Does he bite? What's his name? Well, he's a...good dog. And no, he doesn't. Boss. If you insist he's a hound-doberman-shepherd-type All-American masterpiece.
Mixed breeds: every dog is every one at once. Just like us.
We're all running loose on the streets, pooches and people, taking in the air, believing in the magic of walking, panting in our pleasure, knowing.