Is an assistance dog "just" a dog? On duty of care, loss of function, and why context does matter.

When my assistance dog developed medical problems, I encountered something that many assistance dog users will recognize: in practice, an assistance dog is often treated as if it were “just a companion animal”.

And legally that is partly correct — but functionally, socially and humanly it is not correct.

Because an assistance dog isn't a hobby. Not a luxury. Not an "extra."

An assistance dog is an aid, a safety feature and for many people it literally makes the difference between being able to function independently or not.

The core of the problem

Under the Animal Welfare Act, a veterinarian has a duty of care. This duty of care is a so-called open standard: meaning its interpretation depends on the context.

This context includes, among other things:

- the purpose of use of the animal,

- the function the animal fulfills,

- and the consequences of loss of function.

For a companion animal, loss of function is distressing. For an assistance dog, loss of function can mean: no longer being able to go outside safely, no longer being able to function independently, an increased risk of falls or medical emergencies, and direct consequences for the owner's health and safety.

That's not emotion. That's practical reality.

Why I Don't Take Veterinarians Lightly

I don't take my dog to the vet anytime soon.

I have a paramedical background, come from a pharmacy, and am currently studying Basic Medical Knowledge for Dogs and Cats. That doesn't mean I want to solve everything myself—but it does mean I can assess symptoms, know the first steps, and recognize when something is no longer appropriate for the home environment.

That is precisely why I work in phases: first do what you can responsibly do yourself, and only scale up if that doesn't work.

What happened in practice

My dog has a dust mite allergy and is undergoing desensitization treatment. During allergic flare-ups, she receives a Cytopoint injection as needed. She also regularly experiences problems with her anal glands and can develop hot spots during flare-ups. Tablet medication isn't an option for her: she has difficulty swallowing it and often spits it out.

This time, when she developed a hot spot under her tail and was very itchy, I first treated her at home with hydrocortisone, as I had successfully done before. I did everything I could responsibly do for several days.

But this time it didn't work.

Despite that treatment, it didn't improve—it got worse. The itching increased, the area worsened, and eventually she even bit her own tail open.

That was the moment I went to the vet. Not too soon. Not to be on the safe side. But because what I'd done at home wasn't enough anymore.

And on top of that, there was something else: because of the itching and the pain, she could no longer function as an assistance dog.

So this was:

- a complaint that did not respond to initial treatment,

- which worsened,

- where the dog injured itself,

- and where there was immediate loss of function.

That's not a matter of "just waiting and seeing." It's both medically and functionally urgent.

“This is not an emergency”

Yet I was told several times, “This is not an emergency.”

If you just look at the animal, I might understand that reasoning: itching is not immediately life-threatening.

But an assistance dog is not an “ordinary dog”.

For me this means that my safety is immediately compromised, that I cannot function independently, and that the risk of falls and medical problems increases.

A service dog that is unable to function due to medical issues is no minor inconvenience. It's a functional failure.

And functional failure of an assistance dog is an emergency.

The question was: "Is the dog in mortal danger?" But not: "What are the consequences if this dog cannot function now?"

And that's exactly where things went wrong.

And then things got complicated

The clinic didn't have Cytopoint in stock. No alternative was suggested. The only option mentioned was oral medication, even though it was known that this didn't work for my dog. The message was: wait for the Cytopoint to arrive. That would take about a week.

Waiting a week with an assistance dog that bites itself open and cannot work is not a realistic option.

Because the situation kept stalling, I was finally able to arrange a Cytopoint injection. It was the 40 mg version, while my dog normally gets 30 mg.

I contacted my local veterinary practice about this. I didn't speak to a veterinarian, but rather a veterinary nurse. They told me this was "impossible" because "the dosage in one part of the bottle would be different than in the other."

That's not technically correct. Cytopoint is an injectable solution with the same concentration throughout. And more importantly, a veterinary nurse is not allowed to provide dosage recommendations. That's a medical decision that should only be made by a veterinarian.

Finally, another vet confirmed that my dog could receive the 40 mg without any problems. This is within the manufacturer's guidelines. And it turned out to be true: she received the 40 mg, and it worked just fine—even lasted a little longer.

I ended up administering the injection myself. Not because I "like doing it myself," but because waiting wasn't an option anymore.

And yet there was time for peripheral matters

What made it extra bitter: in the consultation room there was indeed room for advice about… diet food.

The idea was that my dog should actually be put on an anti-allergy diet, “to prevent her from developing other allergies later on”.

But she doesn't have a food allergy. She has a dust mite allergy—an inhalant allergy. Other allergies have been ruled out.

There was no medical indication to put her on a diet. In fact, with an assistance dog, unnecessarily restrictive feeding is actually risky. The more restrictive your diet, the greater the risk of creating new food sensitivities.

And besides that: at that time there was no preventive long-term question on the table.

There was a dog that had bitten itself open, was no longer responding to treatment, and could no longer work.

Then it's not about hypothetical future problems. It's about: this needs to be solved now.

A polite email, not an attack

After this whole situation, I didn't send any angry or emotional emails. I drafted a polite, concise, and substantive email with questions about what exactly had happened, why certain choices had been made, and, most importantly, how we could prevent this from happening in the future.

No reproaches. No accusations. Just ask.

That email was not taken as an attempt at improvement.

The questions were not addressed substantively. The outcome was that the treatment relationship was terminated.

“The treatment relationship is disrupted” — except in emergencies

The reason given for terminating the treatment relationship was that it had been "disrupted." At the same time, it was stated that I would still be welcome in case of emergency.

Those two things are difficult to reconcile.

Because if a treatment relationship is so disrupted that normal care is no longer possible, how can that same relationship be sufficient when dealing with time pressure and stress? Emergency care requires trust, collaboration, and good communication.

The fact that I could go to an emergency clinic, but not to regular care, shows that this wasn't a truly unworkable or unsafe situation. It was a selective termination of the care relationship.

In other words, the relationship was apparently not too broken to provide care—just too broken to have the conversation.

And this shouldn't happen this way

There is something else fundamental that needs to be mentioned here.

In healthcare—including veterinary medicine—a client may not be refused or removed from the register simply because they file a complaint or ask critical questions. Filing a complaint is a right, not grounds for sanctions.

Termination of a treatment relationship may only take place for compelling, objective reasons and must be done carefully, be well-substantiated, and with an eye for continuity of care (transfer/referral).

In my case, the opposite happened: after asking critical questions and sending a polite, substantive email requesting an evaluation, the treatment relationship was terminated and any attempt at conversation was refused.

That is not how a professional healthcare system should function.

“We treat all animals equally”

That was one of the sentences I heard most often: “We treat all animals equally.”

It sounds fair. But it isn't.

Duty of care depends on context. The law requires that you consider the animal's intended use, its function, and the consequences of loss of function.

An assistance dog isn't the same as a companion animal. Not because it's "more valuable," but because the consequences of failure are far greater.

Equal cases should be treated equally. Unequal cases should be treated unequally. If you don't, you're doing injustice.

In a society where every dog is a “child”

We live in a time when dogs are increasingly humanized. Every pet dog is sacred. Every dog is "a child."

That in itself is not the problem.

The problem is that in that same movement, the distinction between companion animals and assistance dogs is disappearing.

An assistance dog is increasingly seen as: “just a dog”.

But an assistance dog is an aid, a safety feature and for many people a prerequisite for being able to function.

When that nuance disappears, so does the urgency, the understanding, and the willingness to look differently.

And you see that in situations like this.

Why I'm sharing this

When I finally contacted the professional body, I was told that they had “never encountered such a situation before”.

That didn't surprise me.

Many assistance dog users do not have the energy to investigate this, fight it out and legally substantiate it.

I do.

And then I thought: since I'm going to be the first, I'll definitely look into it properly. For others too.

Because this isn't about one clinic. This is about a systemic problem.

Finally — and this isn't over yet

This blog post isn't a conclusion. It's the beginning of a larger conversation.

If you're in a care situation—with an assistance dog or with yourself—and you feel something's not right, speak up. Ask questions. Keep asking.

Filing a complaint or expressing criticism should never be a reason to exclude you.

And no: the last word has not yet been said on this.