When does an upset client cross the line into abuse?
A reminder that compassion matters.... but so do boundaries, and veterinary teams should never be someone’s emotional punching bag..


The Customer Is Always Right… Right?
Wow. So today I caught a stray.
And honestly? Fine.
It started with a client who was upset following his dog’s visit a few days earlier. He was concerned that his dog was in pain, which is completely understandable. If you think your pet is hurting, I expect you to be worried. I expect emotion. I expect frustration.
What I don't expect is for that frustration to become a free pass to verbally abuse my team.
At some point during the phone call, the client began cussing at our receptionist.
She is not a confrontational person, and my team has always been given very clear instructions: if a conversation crosses the line from an upset client into verbal abuse, you are allowed to end the call.
So she did.
Eventually, the client’s partner called back in an attempt to continue the conversation because the original caller was still extremely upset.
As luck would have it, I happened to be sitting in the doctor’s office when our receptionist came in to explain what was happening and communicate the concerns about the patient.
I could sense the hesitation in the room about calling this client back.
And our receptionist was apologizing to me because she had hung up on him.
That bothered me.
I told her she had absolutely nothing to apologize for. She didn't deserve to be spoken to that way, and I didn't blame her for ending the call.
So I volunteered as tribute.
I called him.
My intention was genuinely to figure out what was happening with his dog, hear his concerns, and determine what we could do to help.
I stayed calm. I listened.
Then I made what I thought was a pretty reasonable statement:
We needed to maintain professional communication with our team.
That was it.
Apparently, those were fighting words.
The conversation went from angry to absolutely unhinged at impressive speed.
What followed was an impressive Rolodex of profanity, misogynistic insults, homophobic slurs, and enough variations of the word “bitch” that I briefly wondered if he was being paid per use.
And I wish I could tell you I had said something inflammatory to provoke this reaction.
I hadn't.
I had essentially said, “You need to maintain professional communication with my team.”
That was apparently his villain origin story.
The yelling continued, along with more insults, until eventually he threatened to come down to the hospital to “get this fixed.”
At that point, the conversation was over.
I informed him that his behavior was abusive, that I train my team not to tolerate abuse, and that because of his conduct, we would no longer be able to provide services for him.
And boy, did that go over well.
Afterward, I followed up in writing, reaffirmed what had been communicated over the phone, and provided the patient's most recent records so he could establish care elsewhere.
But somewhere in the middle of his verbal demolition derby, he said something that stuck with me.
He told me I work in an industry where "the customer is almost always right."
My response?
“I work in an industry where the science supports the medicine.”
And maybe that's the bigger conversation we need to have.
The Customer Is NOT Always Right
I genuinely believe the phrase “the customer is always right” has done some damage.
Of course customer service matters.
Communication matters.
Listening matters.
Empathy matters.
And yes, veterinary professionals make mistakes. Sometimes clients have legitimate complaints. Sometimes we need to apologize, fix something, communicate better, or simply admit that we could have handled a situation differently.
There should be a healthy balance.
But being a paying customer does not purchase unlimited access to another human being’s dignity.
You can be angry.
You can disagree.
You can question a recommendation.
You can ask for clarification.
You can get a second opinion.
You can even decide that you never want to come back.
What you cannot do is verbally abuse the receptionist because you’re angry.
You cannot threaten the technician.
You cannot scream at the veterinarian.
And you cannot unleash every profanity you've learned since middle school on the practice manager and then hide behind “customer service” when someone finally tells you to stop.
The Part That Actually Made Me Sad
The strange thing is, I wasn't really angry afterward.
I was sad.
Partly for him.
Imagine becoming so consumed by anger that a stranger saying, “Please speak professionally to my team,” sends you completely over the edge.
But mostly, I was sad for the patient.
There was a dog at the center of this entire situation who may genuinely have been uncomfortable.
That's what I was calling about. I wanted to help.
That's what the receptionist was trying to communicate.
That's what the doctor needed to know.
And instead of talking about the dog, we spent the conversation managing a grown adult's behavior.
Now that patient’s care may be delayed while the owner finds another veterinary hospital willing and able to take over.
Nobody wins.
“But You Handle It So Well”
Here's another thing I've been thinking about.
Very little that a stranger calls me over the phone is going to hurt my feelings anymore.
I've worked in veterinary medicine too long.
I've been yelled at, insulted, threatened, blamed, accused, and called enough colorful things that at this point you'd probably need to get creative to surprise me.
And apparently, some people are willing to accept that challenge.
But my ability to tolerate abuse does not make the abuse acceptable.
That's important.
Because managers can easily fall into this trap.
Just transfer them to me.
I'll handle it.
Don't worry about it.
And yes, sometimes that's our job.
But if we continually absorb abusive behavior because we're “better at handling it,” we're still teaching clients that someone in the building is available for verbal target practice.
We're also teaching our teams something.
We're teaching them what we believe they should tolerate.
I don't want my receptionist apologizing to me because she hung up on someone who was verbally abusing her.
I want her to know that I meant what I said when I trained her:
You do not have to accept abuse to work in veterinary medicine.
We Have to Stop Normalizing This
Veterinary medicine already asks a tremendous amount from its people.
We deal with grief.
Fear.
Financial limitations.
Emergencies.
Death.
Impossible decisions.
Emotional exhaustion.
And yes, sometimes very upset humans.
Compassion absolutely belongs in this profession.
But compassion and boundaries can exist in the same room.
We can acknowledge that someone is scared about their pet while still saying:
You cannot speak to our staff that way.
We can empathize with frustration without accepting intimidation.
We can provide excellent customer service without becoming emotional punching bags.
And collectively, I think veterinary leaders need to become much more comfortable coaching our receptionists, assistants, technicians, veterinarians—and ourselves—to recognize when a difficult conversation has crossed the line into abuse.
Then we need to actually support them when they enforce that boundary.
Because a policy that says “we don't tolerate abusive behavior” means absolutely nothing if the minute someone enforces it, management makes them call the client back and apologize.
Today, my receptionist hung up.
I backed her up.
Then I called the client myself and gave him another opportunity to communicate his concerns appropriately.
He chose not to.
That's where customer service ended.
And boundaries began.
Because no—
the customer isn't always right.
Sometimes they're scared.
Sometimes they're frustrated.
Sometimes we're wrong.
Sometimes they're wrong.
And sometimes they're just behaving like an asshole.
Being worried about your pet deserves compassion.
Being abusive to the people trying to help them does not.
Good luck to this man future veterinary care provider.
Practical tips, honest insights, and gentle support for veterinary professionals navigating the realities of clinic life.
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