What would it be like to have the visual acuity of an owl?
As it zeroes in on its tiny, scurrying prey in the otherwise dark and unmoving night?
What would it be like to have the hearing of a whale?
To listen and understand the complex songs of their cousins half an ocean away?
What would it be like to feel the world for the first time, as tiny baby?
Always held, always kissed, tummy always blown upon, piggies always tickled, always swaddled in the softest of chenille blankets?
To discern the subtle difference between black and white truffles, to negotiate the blend of cocoa to milk, to pair the driest of wines with the savoriest of fish courses?
What would it be like to have the sense of smell of a dog?
It intrigues me a little bit, how my dogs sniff my legs if I’ve been in close proximity to other dogs. How their nose must register these molecules of another canine’s scent, how they process this in their mind as being that of another dog, and not a cat . . . because they don’t give my legs that kind of sniff over if our cats have rubbed against them. They are always wary of the interloping dog.