The Real Cost of Things

Simon, far, and Chloe, our newest family member.

On New Year's Day, the three of us - Adam, me, and Simon - woke up at Rob and Arnica's, who good friends of ours who probably enjoy Simon's company more than ours (though their yellow lab, Maddy, might disagree). I woke up first because the double bed the three of us were sharing was not big enough for two adults and a 100 pound puppy, and made my way through their house, helping to tidy at way too early an hour for a person who went to bed at 4 a.m. Arnica rose shortly thereafter and we  groggily cleaned and attempted to make small talk through the alcohol haze.


That morning, Chloe arrived in their yard. Maddy and Simon went predictably ballistic, in the way that labs do, and roused Adam and Rob. Eventually, the four of us humans, two dogs, and one unwitting cat named Ginger welcomed Chloe into the house as Rob and I set forth on an epic Internet search for Chloe's owners. Sweet and gentle, not to mention tolerant of Simon's enormous paws looming over her head, we knew she needed to get back home. After a long search, help from a neighboring animal control, several helpful and not-so-helpful calls, we tracked down her owner. He lived just up the road from them. He said he would be over to pick her up in a half hour.

We watched the entirety of Looper. Chloe slept by the backdoor.

Eventually her owner showed, chatted almost thirty minutes, and eventually, reluctantly, took her home. Arnica gave her phone number and mentioned that if he didn't want her, we could find her a home.

The next day, he called her. He couldn't keep his dog. She was living outside, he said, so she was used to the cold. She had a plastic igloo. She was tied all day on her run. He fed her extra when she looked thin. I don't doubt that her first owner loved her, but I don't think he knew how.

Adam picked her up and brought her to the vet the next day. After several hours of lost work time, an emptied bank account, and a clean bill of health, Adam brought her to Arnica and Rob. The hope was that she would go home with Arnica's parents who were visiting from out of state. But an impending surgery and a slight disagreement with Maddy, and that wasn't going to happen.

On January 6, she came home with us. Simon, ever the ecstatic puppy, was overjoyed that his new playmate seemed willing to play chase. Our cats, Phoebe and Oscar, were considerably less enthused. Our bank account was downright depressed.

Chloe is older, somewhere between age 6 and 9, and has lived outside most of her life. We are worried she will have health issues in the near future, large or small, and that we might be unable to care for her. Since the start of any financial wavering, we vowed that we would go hungry before our pets, who are entirely dependent on us, and yet here we were, taking in another little furry mouth to feed. And love.

For a week, we bit nails in between grateful puppy snuggles and breaking up small power-struggles between the two dogs that had gotten too heated for our liking. We chased (both) escapees down the street and over fences at different times. We tried to show Chloe what toys were, balls are still a mystery, but she has since figured out what stuffed bones mean. We gave lots of snuggles and tried to keep the cats happy while they adjusted.

Then Adam said something I never thought he'd say.

"I'm selling the Challenger," he said one day. "It isn't because of Chloe. It isn't even because we are struggling even after you got a job. I don't see the value in it anymore."

I shook my head. He loved that car. A 2010 Dodge Challenger SRT8, it had been his baby for a while. It was fun. It was fast. It was, as a point of fact, rather frivolous. But he bought it when he had a better job, and I had a better job, and we had barely any responsibilities. It was two years and a lifetime ago.

"All the fun I could possibly have in it, I've had," Adam went on. "I want different things now. It's not enough to go fast and look cool and ... well, go fast. It used to be my daily driver, but I have the company truck now. I want a life with you, and the puppies and the cats. This car, while we can technically afford that, is making it harder to get there."

I think I cried. Not for the car, though I loved driving it, but for him. For his giving up, for his acceptance of adulthood. Of all the things I love about Adam, his adherence to a sense of childhood is one of my favorite. And seeing him give up this giant, beastly, costly toy made me sad of him, even when he wasn't sad at all.

"I'll get another toy," he laughed. "I'm already working on the plan for the Jeep!"

That Saturday, as I went to pick him up at the car dealership, I cried a bit more. He cheerfully got into my car and we drove off.

When we got home, we settled on the couch and watched some nonsensical movie and chatted about the week to come.

Then, I took that picture.