When something goes wrong with your pet’s care, you expect the veterinary complaints procedure to help you get answers – to find out what happened, and why. You expect a process that protects animals, learns from mistakes, and puts things right.
But that’s not what we found.
Instead, we discovered a system built to protect itself – not the pets it’s meant to serve. This is the story of how that system failed our dog Coco… and what needs to change so it doesn’t keep failing others.
Disclaimer
This article reflects my personal experience with the veterinary care system, particularly related to the wrong diagnosis and treatment of my dog, Coco. The views expressed are based on my individual perspective and experiences, and not intended as a blanket judgement of all veterinary professionals or institutions.
Please note that this article includes discussions of my dog in pain and suffering, as well as references to euthanasia. Additionally, some content includes images and videos of Coco during a difficult time in his recovery. I understand that these topics may be sensitive for some readers, and I encourage discretion before proceeding.
Our Experience Of The Veterinary Complaints Procedure
When Coco was ill, it was one of the hardest times we’ve ever been through. His recovery was long and stressful, but we got there in the end. Once he was finally better, we started to reflect on everything that had happened – the misdiagnosis, the unnecessary treatment, the cost, and the emotional toll it took on all of us.
We assumed – naively, as it turns out – that there would be some kind of recourse. Surely if something went wrong, there must be a fair way to raise concerns and get accountability?
We soon found out how wrong we were.
Step One: The Vet Practice Complaint
We started with the vet practice itself. Their website laid out a complaints procedure in clear terms. At first glance, it felt reassuring – maybe this was the way to finally be heard.
It took time to write it all down. Going back through everything was emotionally draining, but eventually I submitted a detailed complaint outlining what Coco had gone through and how it had affected us.
Two weeks later, I got a reply from the practice manager requesting a phone call. To be fair, she did talk things through with me. She explained that they had been dealing with staff turnover — two vets had left, and they’d been relying on locums. A new clinical director was due to arrive in two months and things, I was assured, would improve going forward.
Which is all well and good. But it didn’t change what had already happened to Coco. And what had happened was nearly fatal. Coco didn’t just suffer — he deteriorated under the wrong treatment. We were told our only options were surgery or euthanasia. In reality, he needed neither. What he needed, as we later learned, was rest and anti-inflammatories for spinal pain — not pancreatitis treatment. We have kept detailed records and vet notes throughout this process, including the written recommendation that conservative treatment was ‘not an option,’ despite it ultimately being exactly what Coco needed to recover.
Deflection and Denial
Every concern I raised was met with a kind of polite deflection. When I pointed out that Coco’s symptoms had never changed – he was in pain, not vomiting or suffering diarrhoea – and that he hadn’t improved under pancreatitis treatment but did improve immediately under IVDD treatment, I was told Coco likely had both conditions at once.
When I questioned the odds of a previously healthy dog developing two unrelated serious conditions with the exact same symptoms, the response was along the lines of: “some dogs are unlucky like that.”
It became clear that I wasn’t going to get any meaningful acknowledgement. In the end, the practice manager said she would contact the referral clinic for their input and consult with the incoming clinical director. I didn’t feel satisfied with the outcome so far — but at least it felt like something might happen.
But ultimately, neither of those things did.
The Lost Email and the Misgendering
Months later, during a flare-up of Coco’s IVDD, I followed up. I was told the clinical director had sent an email — one I had never received. I checked every email address we’d ever used, including ones we hadn’t accessed in years (we’d been with this practice for two decades), but there was nothing. Eventually, I received a new reply.
The first thing I noticed was that Coco had been repeatedly misgendered — referred to as “she” throughout. It might seem like a small detail, but it felt telling. In a case where accuracy and attention to detail mattered so much, even something this basic being wrong spoke volumes.
What stood out even more was an attachment they included: a paper titled Pancreatitis vs Intervertebral Disc Disease by S. Khan and P. Freeman. Strangely, it supported many of the points I had raised. It even noted that the cPLI test — the very one used to diagnose Coco with pancreatitis — can also return elevated results in dogs with IVDD.
Staffing issues were once again cited:
“I also apologise for the lack of continuity throughout Coco’s illness. The practice was sadly in a period of staffing adjustments which left the clinic relying on locum relief.”
I responded with another detailed letter, outlining my concerns. This time, the reply I received was short and dismissive — essentially just directing me to escalate the complaint to the corporate group that owns the practice.
In other words, they were done engaging.
Escalating to the corporate group and their indemnity insurer
So I did escalate. I wrote directly to the corporate group that owns the vet practice, outlining everything Coco had been through. I included video and photo evidence showing how he had been left struggling to walk, and detailed the misdiagnosis, the treatment failures, and our concerns about what had gone wrong.
But before I even received a proper reply from the corporate group, an unexpected email arrived – this time from their professional indemnity insurer. I had never heard of them before. There was no prior warning that they’d be involved, and their sudden appearance felt jarring and intimidating.
Their email came on 13 January.
The next day, I finally received a response from the corporate group. It read:
“Thank you for your email and please accept my apologies for the delay in responding to you.
In light of the contents of your email, we have forwarded your concerns onto our professional indemnity insurers who will handle this matter on our behalf, and they will be in touch with you in due course.”
That was it. No real acknowledgment of what had happened. No indication that they’d reviewed the videos, the photos, or the records I’d taken the time to compile.
They weren’t going to engage at all.
Instead, the matter was handed straight to their legal defence body – a group whose role, as I would soon learn, wasn’t to investigate what went wrong, but to protect those involved from the suggestion that anything had.
The Insurer’s Response and “Hello Team”
The practice’s indemnity insurer requested Coco’s full records and asked for permission to contact the referral clinic. By now, I’d discovered that the referral clinic was also owned by – you guessed it – the same corporate group that owns the original practice.
I agreed, but on the condition that I be copied into the request. It already felt like everyone else was on the same side, and I needed to see what was being said. I was copied in, and after a long delay, the referral clinic finally responded. Their reply began:
“Hello Team,”
That one line said everything I’d suspected. Nothing quite like “Hello, Team” to make you feel like everyone else is on the same side. And you are on your own.
The Final Response: “No Merit”
A few weeks later, the practice’s insurer came back with their official position. They stated there was no merit to the complaint and denied any liability.
- Coco resented abdominal palpation (justifying pancreatitis),
- There was “noted inappetence” during hospitalisation,
- He “initially improved” under pancreatitis treatment,
- Two cPLI tests supported the diagnosis,
- And overall, the vets’ approach was “logical and rational.”
Our Response to the insurers
We strongly dispute these claims – here’s why:
- Abdominal Pain vs Spinal Pain:
The Referrals clinic report clearly indicated that Coco’s pain originated from spinal palpation, not abdominal. Misinterpreting thoracolumbar pain as abdominal undermines the entire justification for diagnosing pancreatitis. This was a critical clinical error. - “Inappetence” Misrepresented:
The only clinical note referring to appetite was: “not interested in food here today.” That’s it — one line. Meanwhile, we repeatedly told the clinic Coco was eating well at home. We even purchased the special food they recommended. To frame this single note as “noted inappetence during hospitalisation” is disingenuous and misleading. - Alleged Improvement Under Pancreatitis Treatment:
The record says Coco was “doing well” over the weekend, but “shaky again” soon after. This improvement coincided with the administration of pain relief, not a cure for pancreatitis. The pain relief most likely masked the spinal pain temporarily, and the symptoms returned because the real issue (IVDD) had not been addressed. - Reliance on cPLI Tests:
The cPLI test alone does not diagnose pancreatitis, especially when vomiting or diarrhoea aren’t present. It’s well-documented that cPLI can also be elevated in dogs with spinal issues. Yet, the vets relied almost entirely on this test, ignoring its limitations and other potential diagnoses. - Dismissal of IVDD Despite It Being Proposed:
The insurer’s letter even admits that spinal pain was suggested as a possible cause as early as 25 January. So why was it not investigated further? The veterinary literature we cited, including Khan and Freeman’s own article, outlines how often IVDD is misdiagnosed and why cPLI is not enough on its own. This guidance was ignored. - Missing Information in the Records:
Key things we told the vets — like Coco yelping when touched, not improving, and having a visibly stiff neck — are not even in the notes. We have photo evidence of his posture that we see now clearly points to spinal pain. The omission of this from the record matters.
After We Responded
After we raised these detailed and evidence-based concerns with the practice’s indemnity insurer, their response was… predictably impersonal.
In essence, they reiterated that diagnosis is “rarely an exact science,” and that even a misdiagnosis or delay is not necessarily considered negligent – provided the approach was deemed “reasonable.” They emphasised that vets are not expected to be right all the time, only “reasonable under all the circumstances,” as judged by their peers in general practice, not by specialists.
They also dismissed any suggestion that the case should be reassessed, framing our continued pursuit of answers as inevitable dissatisfaction rather than a legitimate call for accountability. The letter concluded by inviting us to provide an independent expert opinion – but until then, their position remained unchanged.
This response, frankly, speaks volumes. It shifts the focus away from what actually happened to whether the actions taken could be defended by others in the same industry. “Reasonableness” is positioned not as a duty of care to the animal or their family, but as a legal standard to be met in theory.
What’s left unspoken is just as telling: there’s no genuine engagement with the core concerns we raised, no acknowledgement of what Coco went through, and no recognition of the fact that this misdiagnosis – whether “reasonable” or not – nearly cost him his life.
This is what the complaints system amounts to. Not answers. Not learning. Just a closed loop of professional self-protection.
My Last Words
At the conclusion of my complaint, I wrote a final message to the insurer – not to persuade them, but to leave a record. I didn’t expect a reply, and I didn’t need one (and I didn’t get one). I needed to speak for Coco, for what he endured, and for what we nearly lost. That message wasn’t about proving a point; it was about making sure someone, somewhere, saw Coco as more than just a case file. Because he was more – and he still is.
That message was my way of saying: I know the system failed us. But I won’t stay silent about it.
As I wrote then:
“We are talking about a life. A life that was suffering. A life that nearly ended. And one that didn’t need to.”
And yet — he’s still here. Still wagging, still silly, still showing us his favourite plushie.
That’s what we hold on to.
And that’s what we fight for.
What This Process Really Shows
What this process shows is that the system isn’t built for pets — or for the people who love them.
This is what the veterinary complaints process looks like in real life:
Long delays. Closed ranks. Corporate handoffs.
And no real accountability.
It’s not about learning from mistakes or improving care.
It’s about limiting liability and protecting reputations.
There’s no independent ombudsman.
No meaningful oversight.
No proper regulation.
And the ones most affected – the animals and the families who love them — are left on the outside.
It’s a system that doesn’t ask, “Was this animal harmed?”
It only asks, “Can the vet’s actions be justified in theory?”
In Coco’s case, that meant ignoring clinical signs. Relying too heavily on a single test. Continuing a treatment path that was making him worse.
None of that is in dispute anymore – and yet still, the system says:
No fault. No failing. No reform.
Throughout the process, the language used wasn’t meant to clarify or comfort.
It was meant to protect. To deflect.
Phrases like “reasonable under the circumstances” are used to close the door – to make families like ours feel wrong for even asking questions.
Wrong for wanting better.
It makes you feel like the burden is on you.
Not just to prove harm – but to justify why you even care.
Why you’re still speaking.
Why you haven’t just let it go.
We were made to feel like a nuisance.
Like an inconvenience.
When all we ever did was try to save our dog – and ask why no one else did sooner.
And after everything – the trauma, the waiting, the pain of reliving it all – it ends in silence.
No apology.
No accountability.
No change.
Not because we won.
But because we didn’t –
And that’s the problem.
So what’s left for us?
For Coco?
For other pets like him?
The system says: nothing.
But we say: not yet.
Coco on 30 March 2024, after six weeks of strict cage rest.
Back to his playful, wiggly self. Full movement. Full spirit.
This is what we nearly lost — to a wrong diagnosis, delayed care, and the looming threat of euthanasia.
What You Can Do
This shouldn’t be the end of the story – for Coco, or for others like him.
If you believe animals deserve more than property status…
If you believe their lives, their pain, and their families matter…
Then we need your voice.
Here’s how you can help:
✅ Speak Up: Share Coco’s story. Talk about what happened. The more people know how the system works — and how it fails — the harder it is to ignore.
✅ Support the Campaign: Follow Coco’s Campaign and help us call for:
- Legal recognition of animals beyond “property”
- Stronger consumer protections for pet owners
- Transparency and reform in the veterinary complaints system
- Accountability and ethical standards that truly prioritise animal welfare
✅ Demand Change: Write to your MP. Ask for the creation of an independent veterinary ombudsman. Ask why there are no real safeguards for pet families — when the consequences of misdiagnosis can be life or death.
✅ Sign and share Coco’s Change.org campaign
👉 Support Coco’s Campaign Here
Read more about Coco’s campaign and it’s cores here >>
Join the Movement: This isn’t just about one dog. It’s about every animal who’s been failed by the system. And every person left to pick up the pieces.
Coco is still here.
We’re still standing.
And we’re not done.
For Coco.
For all of them.