Every afternoon the friend group meets at the corner, leashes clipped, hot-girl walk energy engaged. They call it the hot-dog walk: heads high, tails swishing like metronomes, and the group chat set to speaker via cheerful yaps.

The tall trotter sets tempo, the corgi powers the wiggle, the terrier provides color commentary, and the senior lab keeps everyone grounded with professorly huffs. Sidewalks turn into runways. They practice synchronized side-by-side, single-file through the hedge, then fan out for the big reveal at the park gates. Neighborhood news is exchanged at conversational volume: squirrel scandal, stroller parade schedules, mail-carrier fan club updates.

Hoomans match step and smile, coffee cups bobbing, as the squad cruises past storefronts like a four-dog fashion editorial. At the green, they loop once for flourish, pose for a quick snap, and share a tasteful crunch or two.

Cooldown arrives as happy silence: tongues out, eyes bright, leashes softly braiding into friendship bracelets. Hot-girl walk achieved. Batteries topped. Group chat will resume tomorrow at the corner, same time, same sashay.