Paying Your Dues

Hands up who pays their vet bills straight away? Hands up who pays them eventually? Hands up who pays them... never?

One of the hardest things in veterinary practice is getting the money in. Particularly hard for us as vets as we have received next to no financial management training. Most of us are, in truth, pretty bad business people. But then we didn't choose this career because of our outstanding financial acumen. And we definitely didn't pick it because we thought we'd get rich. There is an inbuilt sense of guilt amongst vets about actually asking for money. Being seen as caring, and demanding money for our services, seem like rather uneasy bedfellows.

For some reason horse-owners in particular are remarkably bad payers. They are renowned for their delaying tactics and dodges. We understand that emergencies happen and are sympathetic to the sudden unexpected big bill, but a lot of our outstanding debts are for things like vaccinations. Really? We even have a policy of asking for payment at the time of routine treatment, but there is all too often an excuse, and once we're already at your yard it would seem churlish to drive off again without vaccinating your horse just because you 'forgot your wallet' - after all we've already booked that time slot to you and used the petrol.

Most of these people do pay eventually, some spontaneously, some with a little gentle coercion from our office staff. Occasionally, however, there is a client who walks off and abandons their debt completely - this is a little harder to swallow, and I think the tale below is one of the ones that has stung me the hardest.

Poppy was a little old pony with chronic lung disease. Poppy was retired and living out her life quite contentedly. We'd discussed finances with her owner, but to be honest, even with a lottery win there would be no miracles for Poppy. She managed OK day to day on a cocktail of steroids and various other drugs which, while not cheap, were in the grand scheme of vet bills a drop in the ocean. Poppy's owner managed to keep chipping away at her bill - every time she got paid she'd send us a cheque and while her bill never got fully paid off I appreciated her difficulties and her efforts to keep on top of it. Inevitably the time came that we could do no more for Poppy. It was time to let her go. I had actually taken a rare day off the day the call came, but because I had been responsible for Poppy all through her treatment the owner wanted me and only me to be present at the end, and I felt it was doing my best to both the owner and the pony for them to have a familiar face there at such a stressful time, regardless of the inconvenience it personally caused me. The deed was done and the owner was, understandably, very upset. I sat on the ground in the paddock with her for over an hour talking with her about her pony's life and confirming that her decision had been the right one for the pony. I then sent the owner home with a friend to have a cup of tea whilst I waited for the knackerman to come and take Poppy away. I helped him load her up, closed the gate and drove home, physically and emotionally drained.

Perhaps I was naive, but I expected the £50 cheques to keep appearing until the debt was cleared. However the moment I squeezed the owner's shoulder and helped her into her friend's car was the last I ever saw or heard from her. The remainder of the bill for the drugs (not a huge amount) has never been paid and I have never received a penny for my services that day in putting Poppy to sleep. Our letters are returned as 'not at this address', the phone number is no longer connected, the debt collection company have drawn a blank and to all intents and purposes Poppy's owner has disappeared into thin air. I'll be honest, it feels like a kick in the teeth. I have invested years and many thousands of pounds in my education and training. The drugs cost the practice money and have all been bought and paid for. The cost of the drugs used to put Poppy to sleep is not insubstantial without even factoring in my time and petrol. I have to say that the emotional hit is worse than the financial hit. I put a lot of myself into caring for Poppy and supporting her owner. I fielded long telephone calls debating treatment options and prognoses at the expense, often, of my own free time. In short, I cared.

Now I'm sure most of you find the actions of Poppy's owner abhorrent. It is, after all, theft. Without factoring in any professional time we are probably around £300 out of pocket as a result of drugs and fuel not paid for. I have decided that there is little I can do except take it on the chin. However if you ever see a moment's doubt or hesitation in my eyes when you ask if you can pay your bill in installments you know why. Once bitten...

A Case of Neglect?

Some days in this profession are a delight – uplifting, inspiring, motivating. Others are just plain depressing and upsetting. Both can, in their different ways, produce professional satisfaction, even if they don’t both produce quite the same spring in your step. 

A recent afternoon was, unfortunately, an example of the latter sort of day. Two ponies to euthanase, two completely opposing sets of circumstances.  The contrasts may sound a little apocryphal, too convenient and ‘pat’ to be true, but I promise this was a real day. There is no need for embroidered story-telling when life throws up such handy situations all on its own. 

The first pony came care of a telephone call from the council. It had been abandoned in a narrow strip of woodland at the side of a busy A-road with HGVs thundering past. Not tethered or haltered, just abandoned loose. Quite apart from the abject cruelty of the situation, the carnage that could have been caused should this pony have stepped out in front of a queue of 60mph traffic didn’t bear thinking about. Nor did the condition of the pony. She was a cob filly, 3 years old at most, and had had a foal recently. She inevitably had no microchip. Her body condition was best described as ‘emaciated’, in the same way that children seen on news-footage from some far-flung famine can be described as ‘emaciated’. She was severely anaemic, probably in part due to the external parasites that were so thick on her coat that you could barely see her white skin beneath. She had old wounds which had become fly-struck. She also had enough spirit left to give the men from the council the runaround when they tried to catch her. I sedated her and ended her life with as much dignity and respect as I could give her, accompanied by the continuous roar of trunk-road traffic. 

From there I drove straight to the home of a nicely well-to-do family who had some years ago purchased a Shetland pony as a companion for their other horses. Unfortunately years of grazing the wide expanses of rich grass afforded to the hunters had taken their inevitable toll on the pony’s waistline and feet and he had suffered from chronic laminitis for some time; the latest bout of which had come to spell the end of the road. He was the polar opposite of the filly – fat as butter, belly virtually scraping the ground. His bulging eyes told of the unbearable pain in his feet. I ended his life with as much dignity and respect as I could give him, accompanied by the noise of his owners wailing for the loss of their beloved pet. 

Back at the office I pondered the two ponies – two lives cut short by human neglect. The case of the first pony  was clear cut criminal neglect. The only reason that it wouldn’t end in court was the sheer impossibility of finding the owner of the pony. Had this been possible there would certainly have been a prosecution and a lengthy ban from keeping animals. I would have stood up in court and detailed the suffering this pony had endured. The photos would have horrified and convinced any jury that the animal had suffered criminal neglect at the hands of the owner. 

The case of the second pony is a little harder to untangle. Morally the owners believed they had looked after their pony to the best of their ability. They were ‘good owners’. The pony had love, expensive vet treatment, luscious grazing as far as the eye could see, company and shelter. What the owners didn’t have, despite many, many explanations, was an understanding of the needs (or lack of needs) of a small native pony designed to live on barren scrubland. They couldn’t bear to see him looking miserable in the carefully designed starvation paddock so let him back out in the knee-high grass with the end result of inflicting an excruciatingly painful and drawn-out death. 

I apologise for starting this blog with such a gloomy tone and for focusing on the low points of this job. I went home that day pleased that I had been able to act as an advocate for these two ponies who had suffered enough.  I also went home angry at people who were not prepared to look after the needs of animals they had chosen to take responsibility for. But most of all I went home confused as to which of the two cases I found most distasteful. Oddly, I think it may be the second.

Not Quite James Herriot...

Did you want to be a vet when you grew up? Maybe you are a vet. Or a vet student. Or a client. Maybe you're none of the above but are browsing the web on your coffee break, wondering whether anyone else is having a day at work as bad as yours. Rest assured, I probably am.

This is the blog of an equine vet working somewhere in the UK. I have had many years in the profession - plenty of time to hone my cynicism and bad sense of humour. In order to protect my clients, their horses and of course myself, I have chosen to remain anonymous. If you think you recognise yourself in any of my anecdotes, relax. It's probably not you!

This is a chance for me to show people the life of a vet from the other side of the stethoscope. My chance to refute all the claims of 'money-grabbing, heartless, blah blah blah'. Or perhaps my chance to simply lay my stories in front of you and let you make your own mind up.

Either way, clear the detritus of yesterday's lunch from my passenger seat, ignore the wet dog nose poking curiously in your ear and join me on my rounds. Probably best fasten your seatbelt though.