My name is Nixon and I am not a Crook

My guest blogger today is my dog, who stole my camera and took pictures of his dog kingdom since he is not allowed in the house which is a people kingdom.  WARNING:  He is not well trained


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 

a watch

not 

a President.