Spuds MacKenzie is alive and well, albeit nude, guarding a fancy pants watch and jewelry store in Chicago.

Heading off to the store, I turned the corner and was startled to see Spuds MacKenzie, beloved mascot of crappy American beer from my youth, staring at me. While Spuds wasn’t up to his usual standards of fine dress, he looked no worse for the nearly 20 years since I’d last seen him on a TV screen. Spuds was on the leash of a security guard for an ever-so-well-to-do purveyor of jewel encrusted watches on Rush Street. Verily, a jeweler on Chicago’s infamous Viagra Triangle.

Spuds if you remember, is a pit bull. Well, I guess Spuds used to be a pit bull. Nowadays, his breed is referred to strictly as a bull terrier. Spuds isn’t very tall or long. Nose to tail, I’d put him at about 2 feet long. Maybe a foot tall. Not a big dog, but hell on your ankle if he thought it smelled tasty.

I was thinking to my self it was odd to see a pit bull (I don’t care if it isn’t P.C., I’m still calling Spuds a pit bull) on a leash outside an upscale shop. On the way back, I peered in and sure enough, there they were. In the middle of the shop stood the same guard holding the leash and there at his foot was Spuds. It boggles the mind.

I’m just wondering how well Spuds is toilet-trained, given the haute factor of the address. His lifting a leg might be misconstrued by the customer as a reaction to the prices.

When I got in my building’s elevator, I commented to a young lady how strange it was to have a guard dog, no matter how ferocious the breed’s reputation, that I could literally step on, it was so small. Not real intimidating. She thought Spuds was there more to lure women in as an object cuteness, more than a deterrent.

Midget intimidator or magnet for women with lots of disposable income? Either way, don’t let anybody tell Chicago isn’t a weird place. And if you hear about an old dowager losing a finger, trying to pet a doggie in an upscale boutique, don’t say you weren’t warned.