Heather Massey brought Ladybird to the vet when the 9-year-old mutt she started having seizures. A scan from an MRI machine revealed bad news: brain cancer.
With the bleak prognosis, Ms. Massey decided against further treatment at the animal hospital near her home in Athens, Ga., and Ladybird died four months later. The MRI and related care had cost nearly $2,000, which Ms. Massey put on a specialty credit card she had learned about at a previous vet visit.
This was in 2018. He is still paying off the debt, with over 30% interest.
“Could I do that? Not really,” said Ms Massey, 52, who is disabled and out of work. “Was it worth it for me? Yes.”
Ms Massey’s experience shows the exact new reality of pet ownership. For decades, veterinarians routinely operated their own clinics, shepherding generations of pets from birth to death. They spayed, vaccinated and de-thorned their feet and noses. When animals became seriously ill, veterinarians often had little to offer beyond condolences and a humane death.
But in recent years, as people have become more attached to their pets — and more willing to spend money on them — animal medicine has turned into big business that looks a lot like its human counterpart. Many veterinary offices have been replaced by hospitals equipped with expensive MRI machines, sophisticated laboratory equipment and round-the-clock intensive care units. Dogs and cats often see highly trained specialists in neurology, cardiology and oncology.
This high-tech care has fueled a booming market. Prices of veterinary products have risen more than 60 percent in the past decade, according to federal statistics. Private equity firms and major corporations have bought hundreds of facilities across the country, an acquisition spree reminiscent of corporate mergers of medical practices.
Veterinarians across the country told The New York Times that their company executives are pressuring clinics to become more efficient profit centers. Vets were often paid based on the money they brought in, creating an incentive to see more pets, order more tests, and sell wellness plans and food.
The result is an increasingly unsustainable situation for pet owners, most of whom do not have pet insurance.
The Times asked readers to share their stories about expensive vet bills, and hundreds responded. Sophia McElroy of Denver said she donated blood plasma and did extra freelance work to pay for her dog’s ongoing expenses.
Nancy Partridge of Waynesville, NC, said months after her cat was diagnosed with an inoperable tumor, she was still destroying the $1,500 bill. “We have a dead cat and we’re still paying,” he said.
In 2015, Claire Kirsch was making less than $10 an hour as a veterinarian in Georgia when her own dog, Roscoe, and horse, Gambit, had medical emergencies, resulting in bills totaling more than $13,000. Ms Kirsch said her animals would have died had she not opted for the extra care.
“I knew I could never forgive myself if we didn’t try,” she said.
Ms. Kirsch paid off a credit card, tapped into her husband’s retirement account and took out a personal loan. Roscoe lived another three years and Gambit is still alive.
In interviews, veterinarians said that pet owners who complained about the cost of care did not appreciate the difficulties of running a clinic. Veterinarians make much less money than human doctors and are often charged by years of training. Their prices have risen in part because of the rising cost of drugs, vaccines and other supplies, as well as paying workers in a tight labor market.
And because of more advanced medical offerings, pets today can survive serious illnesses, such as cancer, that would once have been unthinkable. They have access to surgeries and medications that can greatly improve their lives.
“We live in the most technologically advanced age in human history, and how wonderful is that?” said Dr. Tracy Dewhirst, a veterinarian in Corryton, Tenn. “But it comes at a cost.”
Even occasional visits can rack up big bills. Dr. David Roos, an 86-year-old veterinarian in Los Altos, California, said he decided to retire one day in 2014 when he checked on a dog whose owners were longtime clients. The animal had been admitted for vomiting. Dr Ross said he would normally tell the owner to take the dog home and give him sips of water. Instead, another vet had ordered x-rays, blood tests, IV fluids and a hospital stay. Dr. Ross knew the owners could not afford the bill.
“At that stage I realized that veterinary medicine had changed to the point where I no longer wanted to be a part of it,” Dr Ross said.
With pet ownership on the rise and surveys showing Americans are willing to go into debt to pay for their animals’ care, veterinary clinics are becoming increasingly attractive to investors. About a quarter of primary care clinics and three-quarters of specialty clinics are now owned by companies, according to Brakke Consulting, which focuses on the animal health industry.
In 2015, a major player, Mars – known for selling sweets and pet food – acquired a specialist veterinary hospital chain, BluePearl, for an undisclosed sum. In 2017, it acquired another hospital, VCA, for $9.1 billion. The trend peaked in 2021, with more than 200 private equity deals, according to Pitchbook.
Several veterinarians who have worked in corporate practices said they were pressured to drive more business. A California vet said she quit her job after being told her “cost per client” was too low. Another, from Virginia, said she was told she had to see 21 animals a day. A third, from Colorado, said she was surprised to hear a manager say that some of the vets in her office needed coaching to “convince the client to yes.” Those vets asked that their names be withheld because they were concerned that speaking out could jeopardize future job prospects with private equity practices.
Other vets said corporate ownership had no effect on the care they provided. But Dr. Andrew Federer, medical director of a clinic in Mentor, Ohio, owned by a chain called National Veterinary Associates, said when someone’s pay is tied to the number of procedures and exams they perform, motivation can be difficult. to ignore, especially for vets just starting out.
“The more they bring to the hospital over and above their current salary, the more production bonus they will receive,” he said.
Only about 4 percent of pet owners have insurance, and even for them, options are limited. Pet insurance often excludes pre-existing conditions and costs more for older pets who are more likely to get sick.
Companies can also change the terms. This spring, insurer Nationwide notified thousands of pet owners that it was discontinuing their coverage, leaving them scrambling to sign up for new plans that excluded pets’ pre-existing conditions. About 100,000 plans are being discontinued, said Kevin Kemper, a Nationwide spokesman.
Stephanie Boerger of Royal Oak, Mich., said Nationwide covered her cat’s chemotherapy but told her it would not renew her plan when it expired in August. The treatment, which costs about $1,000 every other month, will not be covered by any available plan.
“Now I feel like I have to choose between paying for my cat’s chemotherapy or letting her die,” said Ms. Boerger, who was able to find new coverage through a competing company.
In a statement, a Nationwide spokesperson cited the rising cost of veterinary care. “We’re making these tough decisions now so we can continue to be here for even more pets in the future,” she said.
Many vets offer specialty credit cards sold by outside companies, such as the CareCredit card used by Ms. Kirsch and Ms. Massey. Last year, the Biden administration warned that these medical credit cards — which were also promoted by doctors and dentists — were driving many consumers into debilitating debt. A CareCredit spokeswoman said about 80 percent of cardholders paid off their debt before the interest-free introductory period ended.
Some groups, including the American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, are researching how veterinarians can perform common procedures more cheaply. And many vets say they try to offer a “spectrum of care,” a nonjudgmental way of discussing less expensive options.
For many people, the companionship of a pet is invaluable.
After Ladybird died, Mrs. Massey adopted Lunabear, a lab mix she jokes is “allergic to the very air we breathe.” Lunabear needs prescription food that costs $6 a can and takes a $3 allergy pill three times a day. Last year, he had surgery on his leg.
Those costs total nearly $4,000, much of which has been charged to the high-interest credit card. But Mrs Massey, who suffers from severe depression and lives alone, said her dogs were a top priority. “I pay my bills and then I buy food,” she said.
Ben Casselman contributed to the report.
