I cannot believe it took me so long to write a post about Biddy and Mac. When I was looking through my exhaustive dog files this morning, I was ecstatic to see that these two lil terriers were still in my "SOON" column. That sounds more ominous than it is. I digress.
Biddy and Mac are Irish, not by birth or naturalization (could you IMAGINE how long it would take two DOGS to figure out an American customs office? I have HUMAN friends who baaarely got their green cards), but rather by association with their human owner. If you didn't know, canine nationality works by a kind of associative osmosis wherein the doggos absorb the culture and ancestry of their human through headrubs and snuggles. It's all very scientific. More importantly, Biddy and Mac, at least in my head, are also old timey gangsters from the turn of the century: the Lawrence Gang.
Mac, the larger white and grey spotted terrier, is the muscle. He is hesitant and careful, not because of any kind of guile or cunning, but rather because he knows the world can be a scary place full of garbage trucks or literally any other dog. A gentle eight-pound giant, if you will. Picture Lennie from Of Mice and Men or Pinky from Pinky and the Brain, but you know, with his head on swivel and a tommygun slung over his shoulder. If you need a door busted in, a rival's knuckles broken, or a stump indiscriminately peed on, Mac is your man. Er...dog.
Biddy, on the other hand, is the brains of the whole operation. Dressed in a jet black shift dress made of the finest fur—a small Derringer pistol concealed underneath, of course—she plans the gang's various capers, heists, and long cons. Notable among such deeds:
The Bully Stick Robbery of 2016
In which the gang made off with tens of thousands of bully sticks that were left out by the garbage because they are long, tough strands of unspeakable origin that exist in defiance of God. The gang got off scot free because a police report was never filed because ewwwwww.
The Great Squirrel Massacre
A 2017 turf war in which no squirrels were actually harmed but were certainly glared at very harshly and timidly barked. In addition, many tense, furtive glances were reportedly exchanged between Biddy and Mac. More of a moral victory for the Lawrence Gang, but a victory nonetheless.
For an analogical cue (that word DOESN'T look like it means "relating to an analogy," but Merriam-Webster insists it is correct) picture Faye Dunaway as Bonnie Parker in Bonnie and Clyde. Actually, picture Faye Dunaway in any role. What I'm saying is that Biddy is Faye Dunaway as a dog—Faye Dogaway. It's all very scientific.
I will—begrudgingly—admit that this elaborate fantasy of dog gangsterdom is spun whole-cloth out of my overactive mind and that in REALITY Biddy and Mac are just two little button-cute canines with no real ties to Chicago's seamy underbelly. To wit, when I first met them, Mac ambled up to me and put his lil paws up on my thighs and gave a big ol' yawn and Biddy, in perhaps the cutest introduction I've ever experienced, was alllllmost completely hidden behind the couch with just her nose and one eye stickin' out. That just isn't the behavior of hardened criminal pups, and I admit that.
In terms of walkers, they're very chill and easygoing. Mac tends to walk a bit, then sniff and stall a bit, then shoot me a plaintive look, then reluctantly walk a bit more. Biddy is a stone-cold shuffler, loosely shambling from tree to fire hydrant to corner-of-building, Biddy does this thing when she wants to go inside where she sorta half smiles, half bears her teeth and slowly oscillates up and down. It's hard to explain. Harder to explain is why my reaction is to weirdly half-smile, half show my teeth back at her. It just always seemed like the right thing to do. Earned a few strange looks from passersby for that, thank you very much.
Back at the apartment, they sit calmly as they are unleashed. Biddy RUNS AS FAST AS POSSIBLE to the other side of the room, and Mac sits dejectedly, preparing himself for his LEAST FAVORITE THING. I haven't touched on this yet, partly because it is a little embarrassing for ol' Mac (although, it's highly unlikely that he'll read this) and partly because is completely dispels the gangster storyline I invested sooo much mental energy in to. You see, Mac has a bit of separation anxiety which results in him piddling if he's left alone for too long. Thus, in what must be the ultimate indignity for a dog (indognity?), Mac must wear a diaper. And Mac doesn't like wearing a diaper. Even sadder, he doesn't even struggle or run away, he just hangs his lil head and accepts that teal pad being velcroed around his midriff. I always give him a treat after this, which seems to brighten his spirits a bit.
To Biddy and Mac, may the road rise to meet you! Or rather, the sidewalk—we all know you're afraid of the road.