In recent years, I’ve written about how Bix, the Mississippi Mudhound, is getting old.
There’s white around his muzzle, he doesn’t care about squirrels anymore, and if he goes for a long walk one day, he’s good for nothing the next.
There I go again.
It’s come to my attention that I’ve never written about the gray around my dad’s muzzle. Nor have I put anything in print about how my mom no longer chases squirrels.
Writing such things about my parents would be impolite, and there’s the chance I’d hear from one or both of them, people would say things they didn’t really mean, oaths would be made, doors would slam, wills would be revised – a bad scene all around.
Why is it OK to document Bix’s decline?
True, he didn’t pay for any of my college education and he’s never fixed me a home-cooked meal, but he’s also never forced me to clean my room or get a haircut.
I’m not saying that all balances out, but Bix is the definition of a good dog, and far better than most, to tell the truth.
So I wanted to report that Bix has found a way to reverse the aging process.
If he were a man, he’d have bought a toupee and a convertible, providing the toupee came with a serious adhesive.
But he’s a dog, so he’s started jumping on the bed, something he quit more than a year ago. Those back legs have to struggle, struggle, struggle to get his tail end up there, but he manages just fine and does it with a look that says, “Ain’t nothing but the thang.”
He’s also volunteering for extra walks, and chasing balls for all they’re worth.
And when it comes to ball, he’s back to his old form. It had gotten to where he missed more than he caught, but the eye of the tiger – better yet, the eye of the wolf – has returned, and balls barely stand a chance.
I don’t know what caused his return to youthful vigor, though it could be that I’ve been writing about his slow decline. Maybe it ticked him off and the old boy wanted to prove he’s got plenty of life in him.
If so, I could very well be an immensely powerful being. Think about it: The ability to make Bix feel and act like a younger dog could be my super power.
Imagine if I could do it for people. Mom and Dad would beg me to write about whatever changes the years have brought, so they, too, could start chasing balls again – metaphorically speaking, of course.
What about you? You or – wink, wink – someone you know might want a shot of Bix’s Miracle Tonic.
Wow. The possibilities.
How much should I charge? And do you think the Mighty Daily Journal should get a cut?
M. Scott Morris is a Daily Journal feature writer. Contact him at firstname.lastname@example.org or (662) 678-1589 .