Caren Krutsinger Poet Prose Poetry

I Do Not Know What To Tell Her

My friend has five dogs – Chet, Ruffy, Bones, Chewy and Saber.
Every conversation comes back to them.
If I have a new hat, she had one once and Chewy chewed it in half.
If I say “my cousin” she reminds me that Bones and Saber are cousins.

I get to hear a play-by-play of their daily antics.
It is not that enjoyable, but we are friends so I am polite.
My dogs are my life, she tells me. Much nicer to me than my daughter.
She does not see her grandchildren after Chet bit one of them.

Chet is not a bad dog, I am sure she was teasing him, she said.
When I mention my dogs, she has to go. She has an urgent something.
But yet, I am not only supposed to enjoy her dogs, but…..
I am supposed to enjoy it when she puts them on Facetime.

They bark “hello” to me, one by one. 
My daughter never calls me, she laments.
I have no idea what to tell her.
The dogs bark their agreement.

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