The Arby Chronicles: Love and Pink Juice: Part 2

Roberta Gale

The following six-part podcast series: The Arby Chronicles—Love and Pink Juice is presented in its raw state—an unedited stream- of -consciousness rant recorded soon after I put my dog Arby to sleep in July of 2008. It is a selfish act. A narcissistic therapy session by a woman who loved animals from the second she slipped into this earth and was wrapped in a blanket embedded with dog hair. A koan that makes no attempt to explain why some are barely affected by the death of an animal, and others mourn as if their entire family died by random violence. If you’re in the former group, I don’t expect to convert you to the latter, nor change your mind if you think I’m anthropomorphizing to a clinically significant fault. I never had to put a dog to sleep before. It was the most devastating and the most loving thing I’ve ever had to do in my life. This isn’t Marley and Me revisited. It’s just Arby. And me. And love. And death. And learning stuff about life. And learning nothing. Journal entry 5/24/2008 "I’m amazed at the lack of coping skills I've developed watching someone I love deteriorating before my eyes. I’ve only experienced sudden death in my life--my dad's suicide, my grandpa's heart attack, my former dog Felix's aneurysm while I was walking him--any number of quickies. Just when I think this experience is a gift- -helping me to understand that everyone and everything gets older and eventually dies, and there’s something to be learned each step of the way--I realize that all this spiritual crap sounds great now, but I'll freak when anyone I love dies, whether fast or slow or medium." The “Pink Juice” in the subtitle refers to the neon-like liquid used to euthanize animals. It’s sometimes called Purple Juice or Kool-Aid, but in any case it’s unlike the color of any other liquid medication a vet might use --for obvious reasons. Death flat-out sucks, but letting someone you love suffer sucks even more. Long live canines and the joy they bring to those who are open to their offerings. In Arby’s memory, Roberta Gale