What I spent over six months

For about six and a half years, everyone I knew asked me: Why don’t you have a dog?

Moving to New York in late 2015 marked the first time in my life, aside from college, that I didn’t have at least one dog around. Apparently, it showed.

My answer had three parts:

1. I lived in a city with limited space and few dog-friendly apartments
2. I knew from experience how expensive dogs could be, and I didn’t have enough saved up yet
3. I worked a 9-to-5 job in an office. None of my roommates were particularly interested in dog care, so I’d need to hire a regular dog walker, spending more money I didn’t have

But last year, the pieces finally fell into place. My landlord gave me the green light. I saved up emergency funds for both myself and a potential pup. My hybrid work schedule allowed me some dog-walking flexibility, and my girlfriend offered to help during in-office days.

So, I adopted Tessa, a rescue.

Tessa has grown into a 73-pound cuddlebug. She’s an excellent communicator who’s easily trainable. She’s an energetically goofy tug-of-war enthusiast, with a great sense of comedic timing. She adores belly rubs, pillows and playing fetch.

She’s basically my perfect dog.

And she’s expensive. Over our first six months together, I spent $5,491.18 on dog-related costs — most of them pretty standard, and largely non-optional. I didn’t know she’d be that pricey, and I’m glad I spent years saving up in advance.

Here’s a breakdown of my expenses.

Getting a dog requires a huge amount in one-time startup costs. Here were mine:

• Setup/one-time purchases: $1,633.66
• Emergency vet visits: $1,141.70
• Regular vet visits: $796.86

Between Tessa’s $450 adoption fee and a $490 robot vacuum I bought in anticipation of dog fur, I spent almost $1,000 right off the bat. The vacuum is a Shark. I named him Bruce.

The other $600-plus in setup costs went toward necessities like a crate, a dog bed, food and water bowls, a food storage bin, a leash, poop bags, doggy toiletries (toothbrush, toothpaste, shampoo, nail clippers, brush) and a bottle of Nature’s Miracle.

Most of those items I had to buy twice, to furnish both my apartment and my girlfriend’s apartment. None of them are expensive individually. Together, they add up.

Then came the vet bills.

When I first brought Tessa home, I scheduled her for a checkup at a local vet. Their first availability was weeks away, and I took the appointment, hoping nothing major would happen before then. What were the odds?

Almost immediately, Tessa started relentlessly vomiting up her food. Two days of tests at the emergency vet, as well as injections and X-rays, led to a diagnosis of a simple stomach bug. I paid $1,141.70, including $255 just for walking in the door.

Weeks later, at Tessa’s regular checkup, she tested positive for hookworms and white worms — both common in rescue dogs, and highly treatable. Between the checkup fee, medications, follow-up visits and tests, and a year’s supply of flea, tick and heartworm preventatives, I spent almost $800.

In total, Tessa’s startup costs ran $3,572.22. Here’s the scary part: That’s well within the nationwide average of $1,050 to $4,480, according to on-demand pet care company Rover.

The recurring purchases aren’t quite as bad as the one-time costs, but they’re still significant. Here were mine:

• Food: $561.79, or $93.32 per month
• Toys, treats, poop bags, paw wipes, other miscellaneous items: $462.23, or $77.04 per month
• Dogsitting: $631.94 for 14 days, or $45.14 per day
• Pet insurance: $263, paid annually instead of monthly to save money

Those first two categories are mostly expensive because, again, I’m stocking two apartments. My expenses were also frontloaded — the longer I’ve lived with Tessa, the more I’ve learned about what kinds of food and toys she likes, and what kinds I don’t have to bother with.

My dogsitting expenses are well below the national average, which ranges from $48 to $69 per night, according to Wag, another on-demand pet care platform. My secret: friends-and-family discounts. I dogsit for nearby friends at a budget-friendly rate, and they do the same for me.

Then there’s pet insurance, which is absolutely worth the price.

I use a base plan — essentially catastrophic insurance — from Lemonade. It comes in handy. In December 2022, after these first six months, Tessa broke her toe. Between vet visits, x-rays, splints, bandages and cones of shame, I spent roughly $1,450.

Lemonade quickly reimbursed me $450, almost double what I paid for a year of coverage.

That coverage is about to get more expensive: This year, I’m paying $311.32 for the same plan. The increase is due to “the changing costs of vet services, medication, and treatment,” Lemonade recently told me.

Thanks, inflation.

Looking back, my first question for myself is: Where did I get price-gouged? Furnishing multiple living spaces and keeping them stocked added up: Cutting those duplicate expenses in half could have saved me around $600 or so. Call it the cost of not living with my partner yet.

I paid a “New York tax” on a few items, too.

Tessa’s adoption group operates in Texas, where adopting a dog cost just $275 last year. And the cost of vet bills and pet insurance is 43.37% higher in New York than the national average, according to data from Pawlicy Advisor, an online tool for comparing pet insurance rates.

That means I spent approximately $850 more than I might have in a different location, if my back-of-the-napkin math is correct.

My second question: If I could have a do-over, what would I do differently?

I’d probably include the “vet visit fee” add-on to my pet insurance policy. If memory serves, it was $6 or $7 extra per month — but by making an illness claim for Tessa, I inadvertently locked myself out of eligibility for the add-on, Lemonade told me.

I asked for the rationale behind that policy and got no response.

I’d also warn myself to prepare for shifting conditions. A few months ago, my company’s return-to-office plan forced me to pony up for that dog walker after all, for example. At $20 per walk, twice per week, that’s an added expense of around $2,000 per year.

Even Tessa herself is a shifting condition. When I adopted her, I thought she was 1.5 years old and fully grown at 52 pounds. Turns out, she may have been just 7 months.

In retrospect, that explains a lot — crazy bursts of puppy energy, tripping over her then-oversized paws, struggling to maintain focus during training, some unwelcome gnawing on my apartment’s baseboards. She’s come a long way since then, and the job’s not done yet.

I’m not complaining. Surprises and all, my huggable goofball of a weighted blanket is one of the best purchases I’ve ever made.

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