“How much did Fisher cost?” my children once inquired. Officially, $350—the adoption fee. But the true cost? That’s immeasurable.
He devoured entire breakfasts, countless cupcakes, and an endless supply of bread. He destroyed Barbies, stockings, and even inspired me to yell at the neighbors from within our fence. He burdened me with training expenses, dog beds, rental car fees, and the strained patience of neighbors who found his paw prints in their snow.
Yet, he also gifted us time. He dictated our mealtimes and bedtime. He allowed the baby to nap on him, and he established the routine of our household.
Then came the Saturday he couldn’t rise. Too weary to eat, too exhausted to even breathe. I understood his message—it was time.
It took gas and a flood of tears to collect the kids, more tears at the vet as we murmured, “You were the best dog. It’s alright.” And ultimately, it demanded one final journey home to bury him beneath the pines.
So, what was Fisher’s cost? A great deal. More than I anticipated. But not nearly as much as his value.