Nixon...take it away.
We'll start with my best feature, which is my smooth furry hiney to which is attached my beguiling tail; tipped in a white so brilliant that it rivals the new fallen snow sparkling under the cruel winter sun. When I wave it to and fro it is mesmerizing to birds which is how I caught this one.
Oh don't give me those groans of disgust. I'm a beagle and I come from a long line of distinguished hunters. Okay, I actually came from Peoria, but I'm sure my grandpappy was a hunter, probably in England where they get to kill foxes, not wimpy grackles. Grackles taste like crap.
This is the corner of my canine condo. This is where I planned to woo the lady beagles until I took a spa vacation at Petco and came home feeling strangely neutral.
This is the tree I peed into greatness.
I have a side job harvesting vegetables from the garden. I am trying to save my masters from nasty vegetables.
Sometimes I lie under this bench and pretend they are prison bars and that I have been sentenced to the gulag for selling family secrets to the Russians in exchange for a delicious sack of pig ears from Costco.
This is my basil plant for when I want to redecorate my kingdom with pesto poop.
My name is Nixon
and I was named after