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Robert Price: Taking inventory for some California pet-trust planning
| Saturday, Aug 2 2008 4:35 PM
Last Updated: Monday, Aug 4 2008 1:30 PM
Last week I called a meeting of everyone living under my roof to talk about the new state law that makes it possible for Californians to establish trusts for all family members, regardless of species.
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I was especially interested in hearing from Molly and Edgar, who stand to benefit most from the law, which takes effect Jan. 1: Should my wife and I contact an attorney, I asked, and try to set up something that'll ensure that all of the mammals in our household are cared for in the event of our passing?
Molly, our 21⁄2-year-old golden retriever, deposited a slobbery tennis ball at my feet and sat down, stood up, sat down, and stood up again. Clearly she was not taking this discussion seriously. So I turned to Edgar, our 21⁄2-year-old Chihuahua-squirrel-retriever mix, who promptly rolled onto his back, hoping for a belly scratch.
Fine. Once again, I will play the adult.
For your information, I told them, Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger signed Senate Bill 685 last week. When it takes effect Jan. 1, California pet owners will have the right to set up legally enforceable trusts to care for dogs, cats, horses and other creatures. Pet trusts in California have always been "honorary" — meaning pet owners must hope their designated trustee has the decency to follow through on their wishes, however lavish or oddball.
But now (or soon), pet owners will be able to provide a specified sum of money for a pet's care if the owner dies or becomes incapacitated.
The gold standard for providing for orphaned pets was established last year by the late Leona Helmsley, the Manhattan real estate magnate who by all accounts was unusually mean to other humans and unusually nice to canines — and, in particular, to Trouble, her beloved white Maltese. She left the dog $12 million — or precisely $12 million more than she left to two of her grandchildren. (A judge later cut the dog's share of Helmsley's $2.5 billion estate to a mere $2 million.)
No, I don't know why a dog would need $2 million either, much less $12 million, but I decided this might be a good time to take inventory. Maybe I was grossly underestimating their needs.
Other than a daily walk, I asked Molly, what must you have? She tapped the tennis ball toward my feet with her nose and looked up hopefully. OK, wet, drool-y ball — check. If each ball lasts a week before it's chewed to pieces, what does that add up to over, say, 12 years? This was turning into a math problem, so I guessed. A thousand dollars sound about right, Moll? She flopped out her tongue in agreement.
Edgar, who joined the brood six months ago from the Wasco animal shelter (ostensibly as "Molly's dog," though the organizational chart seems to have reversed itself), grew impatient waiting for his belly-scratch and trotted off.
I promised him I would take his needs into account as I jotted down their combined requirements. Lamb-and-rice formula kibble, food bowls, flea collars, shampoo, leashes — check. Dog-bone-shaped name tags — check. (Edgar already needs a new one, his original tag dubbing him "Mini-Me" having been rejected by other family members.) Annual dog license renewals, annual vaccinations, assorted squeaky toys — check.
That's the obvious stuff. Only someone who has dealt with young golden retrievers (and this is our second), or dogs of similar temperament, can fully appreciate the hidden costs.
* Shoes and flip-flops. Leave your footwear abandoned in the backyard for more than five minutes and it becomes a foot-scented chew toy.
* Landscaping. No planting, be it flower, shrub or potted exotic, lasts a day without violent inspection. Only the strong survive. The others are Molly's property.
* Vet bills (above and beyond the routine). Some objects make better rawhide substitutes than others. That glass candle holder was a poor choice, Molly, as those $250 stitches in your lip attest.
* Medical devices. Grandfather's $800 hearing aid, the neighbor kid's $200 eyeglasses. Thank goodness for understanding guests — and homeowners' insurance.
* Paint. Yes, paint. When things get dull, Molly chews on the house.
Then there are the stolen hamburgers, licked beer glasses, shredded trash bags, clogged vacuum-cleaner bags, pool filters choked with fur. The joy never stops.
The final tally, based on my calculations: $12 million. Leona Helmsley may have been the Queen of Mean, but her accounting skills were spot-on. I'd appeal to that judge.
Reach Robert Price at rprice@bakersfield.com or 395-7399.