By M. Scott Morris/NEMS Daily Journal
Bix the Mississippi mudhound was confused by the family’s dinner conversation.
“Nobody wished for super nostril strength,” he said during an evening walk.
“What? Opening bottles with your nose?” I said.
“No, Boss,” he said with a sigh. “Super sense of smell.”
Bix didn’t bring this up during the meal. He was too focused on catching food that dropped to the floor. The fettuccine was good reason to be extra attentive.
As we ate, my son, Evan, asked, “What super power would you want?”
I suppose it’s a question everyone asks from time to time. I’ve certainly turned it over in my mind.
To Bix’s point, I couldn’t think of a superhero with all-powerful olfactory equipment. Superman might have it along with his other abilities, but that probably doesn’t count.
“It just didn’t occur to us,” I said.
“You’re missing so much,” Bix said, “and you don’t even know it.”
He ran off to bury his nose in one thing or another, which explains why none of us humans thought to wish for super schnozzles. We’ve seen where Bix sticks his snout, and it’s not always pretty.
Evan wanted the ability to throw fireballs, which would be cool if you had the right situation. But if you didn’t have an ice-related supervillain to battle, you’d get bored starting camp fires and making water boil.
I love the kid, but with a power like that he might be seduced to the dark side and become a serial arsonist.
“You have to think these things through, son,” I said.
“Wait,” Evan said. “Burn cereal?”
“I want to fly,” my daughter, Olivia, said. “Can you see me up there soaring over the trees and through the clouds?”
“You’d get bugs in your teeth,” Evan said.
“I want to be a shapeshifter,” I said. “That way, I could turn into a dolphin for a swim, then change into a hawk to go flying.”
“What if you could turn into only one thing?” my wife, Michaela, said. “You couldn’t become just anything you wanted.”
“Stop messing with my fun, woman,” I said. “What power would you want?”
“Teleportation,” she said.
“Oh, fun,” Olivia said. “You could go to the beach whenever you wanted.”
“But what if you teleported to a spot and someone was already there?” I said. “You’d explode.”
“Or get all mashed up, like two people in one,” Olivia said. “Yuck.”
“Thanks a lot, Michaela,” I said. “We’re trying to eat fettuccine.”
“Disgusting, Mom,” Evan said.
“What did I do?” Michaela said.
Nothing she could’ve done would’ve stopped us from finishing that fettuccine. There was none left for Bix, and I felt sorry for him during our walk.
“Bix, I can’t think of any downside to your super sense of smell,” I said.
He snorted and wagged his tail. “I often pity you and your puny nose,” he said.
“With good reason, I’m sure,” I said.
M . SCOTT MORRIS is a Daily Journal feature writer. Contact him at (662) 678-1589 or email@example.com.