What Price Luxury? : Purebred or Mutt, Sports Car or Clunker, Owning One Is Going to Cost You Plenty

LATELY, THREE MONEY pits are ruling my life. Two of them wag their tails, and one leaves a suspicious puddle in my driveway. I don’t know which one gives me the most grief. My 12-year-old pugs? Or my 9-year-old car?

One thing is certain. Whenever I’m feeling complacent, along comes a new crisis that invariably requires a hefty infusion of cash. I realize that people with kids have it worse. But with a child, your obligations and priorities are fairly straightforward. The child comes first.

With pets and cars, you’re constantly practicing triage. There are so many decisions to make, and each one comes with the caveat that if you choose wrong, your beloved (fill in the species) will suffer. Or your car will blow up during rush hour on the 405. Or you’ll be facing a Visa bill like the one you get after a long vacation.

For the record, I’m not complaining about the high cost of automotive or doggy luxuries. My car doesn’t have a phone, a compact disc player or an alarm with electronic digital motion sensors. My pugs don’t have jeweled ID tags or marble feeding bowls. They don’t even see a psychiatrist like my sister’s dog, Elvis.

“I spend an outrageous amount on Elvis,” says Laurie, whose basset hound budget includes Medipet insurance, a prescription pet food delivery service, gourmet dog biscuits and the Pet Pickup, which taxis Elvis to and from doggy camp. Of course, Laurie can afford these indulgences. She doesn’t have a car.

I, however, write every third check to the mechanic or the vet. And these expenses never end; there is no bottom line.

Yesterday, I drove to the Mazda dealer to buy a $70 pair of switches so that the automatic windows in my car would go down. On the way, I noticed my steering was loose. Roy, the mechanic I met in the parts department, offered to check it out. He scowled as he peered under the hood: “This baby hasn’t led a tender life.”

Roy told me the steering box needed adjustment, and then he reeled off what else was wrong: radiator, air conditioning, transmission, belts, thermostat, ignition--you name it, my car needed it.

“It’s still probably cheaper than the dog,” said my husband, Duke, when I got home.

A few weeks ago, Bess, my black pug, collapsed on the Venice boardwalk with what I hoped was only heat prostration. When her tail suddenly became uncurled the next day, I rushed her to Bel-Air Animal Hospital. Norman Weiner, my vet of 12 years, suggested a geriatric physical, an in-depth examination that costs as much as a major tuneup. He explained that it could prolong Bess’ life.

Now what was a little thing like my bank balance compared to that?

Alas, vets, like mechanics, tend to find other things to do once they’re under the hood. Dr. Weiner recommended a teeth cleaning, which cost as much as an alignment and steering adjustment. “Why does Bess need this now?” I asked.

“The plaque bacteria could get into her bloodstream and affect her heart,” Dr. Weiner replied.

As long as he was knocking Bess out for her teeth cleaning, I suggested, he should implant an ATM slot so that I wouldn’t have to see the bill. “They do make implants now that send off a signal in case you lose your dog,” said Dr. Weiner. But even he feels that’s a little much.

“It’s probably manufactured by the same people who do the Lojack tracking system for cars,” Duke said later.

Despite Bess’ medical treatment, I remained concerned. A week later, her tail was still flopping lifelessly. But on the day my check cleared, Bess’ tail miraculously re-curled. So I guess my money was well spent.

And it could be worse. “My son’s nanny is living in a little guest house that I could easily use as my office,” says a friend, who is too embarrassed to let me use her name. “Only my son doesn’t need a nanny anymore. And I need an office.” So why doesn’t my friend ask Nanny to move?

“Well, because our old, rickety dog loves her,” she says sheepishly, “and it would be hard for him to adjust to a new pet-sitter. So my husband and I are spending a great deal in construction so our grouchy pet can have a live-in nanny.”

Makes sense to me. I’ve just noticed that Stella, my fawn pug, has another eye infection. Mind you, this is in spite of the prophylactic prescription drops (at $11 a bottle) that I’ve been putting in her eyes three times a day for the past six months. I love Stella, but the last thing I want to do right now is drive her to the vet.

So here I am in a modern quandary. On the one hand, I have Roy’s warning that my car radiator could blow at any minute (naturally, he couldn’t get around to fixing it for the next two weeks). And on the other hand, I have the image of a blind pug with a cane and a cupful of pencils.

Excuse me, I’ve got to find Stella’s leash.