A very serious autumn gathering held by people who, upon closer inspection, do not own a single beagle.
Tents · Tinfoil · Truly Deranged Competition
Once a year, as the oaks begin their surrender and the nights turn crisp enough to justify a second flannel, a small and frankly unqualified group of friends assembles in the woods for what is — by unanimous and unverified declaration — the most prestigious autumn gathering in the greater tri-county area.
We call it Beagle Nationals. We call it this despite the observable fact that no member of our group has, at any point in our collective tenure, owned, fostered, walked, or been in direct custody of an actual beagle.
Some say the name is aspirational. Others say it was chosen at two in the morning by a man named Russ who had eaten four s'mores and made a decision. Both are correct.
We gather the weekend nearest Halloween. We erect tents of varying structural integrity. We award trophies. We keep records. We go home Sunday with our lives mostly intact.
The founding, continuing, and occasionally tolerated membership of Beagle Nationals. Attendance is expected. Attendance is also spotty.
Each year's champion is determined by cumulative point total across the following disciplines. Rulings are final. Rulings are also frequently overturned.
The title of Grand Howler is bestowed upon the member with the highest cumulative score. The trophy — a ceramic dog of indeterminate breed — travels home with the victor until next October.