by Jerry Rade
As part of my training business, I usually travel for work by myself a couple of times a year. This time we all went. At first we were concerned about Cookie missing out on her physical therapy. But as it turned out, there is a wonderful clinic that does physical therapy right where we are staying, which is fantastic.
Cookie's sessions are quite long which fosters conversations on a variety of topics.
Last week our chat led us to a discussion about what it's like to run a small veterinary clinic. Having worked closely with a number of vets, we have a pretty good idea what it entails.
"I bet I know what car you drive," I said.
This received an appropriate level of curiosity. "Okay, what car do I drive?" asked the vet, intrigued.
I didn't hesitate in the least. "That's easy, a Subaru.” And I watched their surprised faces.
"I bet you won't guess the model, though," the technician challenged me.
"An Outback, of course,” I replied.
"Well, you must have seen it, then," was their response. But no, I have not seen it. There is a small parking lot in the front of the building, dedicated to the customers. The hospital staff parks somewhere in the back where I've never been and never looked. So how the heck would I know?
"You must really know your cars," said the technician, impressed.
"No. I know vets," I said and went on to explain.
Whenever we go to a small vet clinic that is well equipped and has a reasonable number of staff, the vet owns a smaller, more economical vehicle. Which makes it a Subaru nine times out of ten. It's a pretty decent economy vehicle. And Outback because it has the most space. Simple.
At a clinic that’s a bit larger one may find the owner driving a Ford Explorer.
It’s expensive to run a clinic. To me, what they drive shows where their priorities are.
By time you pay for the facilities, utilities, taxes, staff, etc. it takes a big chunk out of the earnings. Then add the cost of inventory and equipment - it doesn’t leave a lot of money left over for the owner’s wages. Particularly when the vet spends more than 10 minutes per appointment, which frankly, would not be enough to learn anything, so all good vets do.
I am not trying to type-cast this way, it's just an observation.
Articles by Jerry Rade:
The Ups And Downs Of Dog Ramps
Living With The Dog Mamma: (Part 1) The Rest of the Story
Living With The Dog Mamma: (Part 2) A Dog In The House
Living With The Dog Mamma: (Part 3) Maybe Having A Dog In The House Isn't Such A Bad Idea After All
Living With The Dog Mamma: (Part 4) The New Puppy
Living With The Dog Mamma: (Part 5) Big B
Living With The Dog Mamma: (Part 6) JD
Living With The Dog Mamma: (Part 7) It's A Male Thing
Living With The Dog Mamma: (Part 8) Females Versus Males
Living With The Dog Mamma: (Part 9) You Can Train A Woman
Retirement By Mr. Dawg Momma
How Far Would You Go for Your Dogs?
As part of my training business, I usually travel for work by myself a couple of times a year. This time we all went. At first we were concerned about Cookie missing out on her physical therapy. But as it turned out, there is a wonderful clinic that does physical therapy right where we are staying, which is fantastic.
Cookie's sessions are quite long which fosters conversations on a variety of topics.
Last week our chat led us to a discussion about what it's like to run a small veterinary clinic. Having worked closely with a number of vets, we have a pretty good idea what it entails.
"I bet I know what car you drive," I said.
This received an appropriate level of curiosity. "Okay, what car do I drive?" asked the vet, intrigued.
I didn't hesitate in the least. "That's easy, a Subaru.” And I watched their surprised faces.
"I bet you won't guess the model, though," the technician challenged me.
"An Outback, of course,” I replied.
"Well, you must have seen it, then," was their response. But no, I have not seen it. There is a small parking lot in the front of the building, dedicated to the customers. The hospital staff parks somewhere in the back where I've never been and never looked. So how the heck would I know?
"You must really know your cars," said the technician, impressed.
"No. I know vets," I said and went on to explain.
Whenever we go to a small vet clinic that is well equipped and has a reasonable number of staff, the vet owns a smaller, more economical vehicle. Which makes it a Subaru nine times out of ten. It's a pretty decent economy vehicle. And Outback because it has the most space. Simple.
At a clinic that’s a bit larger one may find the owner driving a Ford Explorer.
It’s expensive to run a clinic. To me, what they drive shows where their priorities are.
By time you pay for the facilities, utilities, taxes, staff, etc. it takes a big chunk out of the earnings. Then add the cost of inventory and equipment - it doesn’t leave a lot of money left over for the owner’s wages. Particularly when the vet spends more than 10 minutes per appointment, which frankly, would not be enough to learn anything, so all good vets do.
I am not trying to type-cast this way, it's just an observation.
Articles by Jerry Rade:
The Ups And Downs Of Dog Ramps
Living With The Dog Mamma: (Part 1) The Rest of the Story
Living With The Dog Mamma: (Part 2) A Dog In The House
Living With The Dog Mamma: (Part 3) Maybe Having A Dog In The House Isn't Such A Bad Idea After All
Living With The Dog Mamma: (Part 4) The New Puppy
Living With The Dog Mamma: (Part 5) Big B
Living With The Dog Mamma: (Part 6) JD
Living With The Dog Mamma: (Part 7) It's A Male Thing
Living With The Dog Mamma: (Part 8) Females Versus Males
Living With The Dog Mamma: (Part 9) You Can Train A Woman
Retirement By Mr. Dawg Momma
How Far Would You Go for Your Dogs?
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