09/22/2025
Tom Kortie (Thanks for the great question, Tom!) posted a question regarding our annual budget of $120,000. It's a pertinent question that really takes a lot of thought, so I thought it might be of interest and value for others, so I share my reply here: You must be one of those guys like my late uncle who, in the early 1980s, would take three of four quarters I left as a tip for our waitress at coffee and hand them back, saying, “that’s too much money.” He was born in 1906, so maybe he could be excused for not grasping that a dollar in 1982 wasn’t the same as a dollar in 1922.
Every single day, we care for thirty dogs. Not for a week, not “until adopted,” but their whole lives. That means premium food—when we have to buy at retail, it’s Purina Pro Plan at around $80 a bag, or Victor, slightly less. Half of our dogs are seniors over eight, several have chronic medical issues needing medication or procedures, and all of them receive routine dental care (which, unless you’ve been in a coma for twenty years, you know isn’t exactly free).
The dogs live on ten fenced acres divided into three areas: two grass pastures that need mowing, seeding, w**d control, and equipment upkeep, plus a wooded lot with a pond that drops thousand-dollar bills every time a tree comes down. All ten acres are treated three times a year for fleas and ticks. Add in 500 feet of gravel drive, 300 feet on a steep grade that needs grading with a tractor and sixty tons of stone every other year. That’s before you even glance at the buildings: one pole barn, one steel maintenance building, a 1500 sq. ft. house we share with the dogs, and a 25x50 food storage building—all requiring painting, repairs, rodent and insect control.
We keep three older pickups (so that when one breaks down in the middle of hauling gravel, we aren’t stranded) and an SUV for vet runs. They’re all insured, of course. We’re surrounded by woods with coyotes, bobcats, and—yes—one mountain lion sighting on trail cam, not to mention the occasional human who believes private property is a suggestion. That’s why we have a dozen security cameras with cloud storage. Add property insurance for the buildings, kennel liability insurance, and general coverage. None of it comes with a “we’re a sanctuary” discount.
And then there’s labor. I’m almost 70. What used to be weekend projects with my own two hands now means hiring help. Again, not free.
So when someone squints at our $120,000 annual budget and thinks it sounds extravagant, here’s a quick refresher in the real world: $120,000 in 2025 buys what about $60,000 did in 1998. Prices overall have doubled. Veterinary care—our single largest line item—has gone up nearly 300% since the late 1990s. Property and kennel insurance is up 165%. Lawncare labor costs are up 200%. Even pet food is up nearly 90%. Those are not “my” numbers; they’re Bureau of Labor Statistics indexes.
Translated: if we were running this sanctuary for $5,000 a month in 1998, we’d need about $10,000 a month today just to keep even. And because the things sanctuaries rely on most (vet care, insurance, labor) have outpaced “normal” inflation, our real costs are actually higher than the simple doubling suggests.
So yes, $120,000 a year might sound like “a lot” if you’re still tipping dimes like it’s 1955, but in the actual world we live in, it’s the bare minimum to keep thirty living beings safe, fed, and cared for on ten acres of land with multiple buildings, vehicles, and constant repairs. I suppose if we cut out veterinary care, stopped insuring anything, let the fences rot, parked the trucks, and stopped feeding premium diets, we could get it down closer to your comfort level. But then again—we’re a sanctuary, not a hobby.
