Veterinarian Interview Questions

“I grew up helping on my uncle's smallholding, so I saw a vet at work early, and what stuck with me was how calmly she worked out a problem with a farmer standing over her. At vet school I found I liked the detective side most, taking a vague history and narrowing it down. My final-year rotations were mostly small animal, and I did a lot of my extra placement weeks in first-opinion practice because I like seeing the same clients over years. I applied here because you have a good mix of routine work and in-house emergencies, and your team runs a proper mentoring scheme for new graduates, which matters to me in my first couple of years.”

“Small animal pulls me more, mainly because I enjoy medicine and imaging, and I like the longer relationships with owners. That said, my farm rotation taught me a lot about thinking at herd level and about working with limited kit, and I'd happily keep doing some mixed work if a role offered it. The honest trade-off is that small animal can mean more emotional client conversations and more pressure around cost, and I'm ready for that. For my first two or three years I want broad first-opinion experience, a good grounding in anaesthesia and soft tissue surgery, and then I'd like to work towards a further qualification in internal medicine.”

“In my internship I spent two weeks with a district veterinary team during a vaccination drive, and it changed how I saw the job. One clinic visit helps one animal, but a well-run campaign or a quick outbreak report protects every farmer in the area and often protects people too. I like that the work covers disease control, meat and food safety, and advising farmers on keeping animals healthy, so it's medicine plus public health plus teaching. I'm comfortable in the field, I speak plainly with farmers, and I'm organised with records, which matters a lot when your reports feed into decisions above you. I also value that the role serves people who might never walk into a private clinic.”

“A straining male cat with a big, hard bladder is blocked until proven otherwise, and the danger is high potassium, which can slow the heart and cause fatal arrhythmias. So I'd check blood potassium, kidney values and an ECG straight away. If his heart rate is slow or the ECG is abnormal, I'd give calcium gluconate to protect the heart, and insulin with glucose to push potassium back into cells, alongside IV fluids and pain relief. Once he's more stable, I'd sedate or anaesthetise him, gently flush the urethra to clear the blockage, place a urinary catheter and collect urine for analysis. Afterwards I'd watch him closely for a large urine output as the kidneys recover, adjusting fluids to match. Longer term, we'd look at the cause, often urethral plugs, stones or stress-related cystitis, and talk about diet, water intake and reducing stress at home.”

“In an unspayed female a few weeks after her season, drinking more and off food, pyometra is top of my list. I'd check for vaginal discharge. If there is some, it's likely an open pyometra; if not, it could be closed, which is more dangerous because pus builds up in the uterus. I'd run bloods, looking for a high white cell count and kidney changes, and scan the abdomen, where a fluid-filled uterus is usually easy to see. If she's in shock or dehydrated, I'd stabilise her first with IV fluids and start antibiotics. The treatment of choice is an ovariohysterectomy, done soon after she's stable, especially if it's closed. For a valuable breeding bitch with an open pyometra who's otherwise well, there are medical options in some places, but I'd explain the risks and that it can come back.”

“I monitor the patient first and the machines second. For depth I check eye position, jaw tone and the blink reflex. For circulation I watch heart rate and rhythm, feel pulse quality, look at gum colour and capillary refill, and measure blood pressure, aiming to keep the mean pressure above about 60 mmHg. For breathing I watch rate and depth, oxygen saturation, and capnography, which tells me about ventilation and if the tube is still in place. And I keep an eye on temperature, because small patients cool quickly. Things that make me act are falling blood pressure, a sudden drop in end-tidal CO2, low oxygen saturation, a slow or irregular heart, or signs the patient is getting too light or too deep. Each gets a quick check of the patient, then a fix, and I make sure it's all written on the anaesthetic chart.”

“Before surgery I'd check consent, examine her, confirm she's been fasted, and plan the premed and pain relief. After induction and intubation, the nurse clips a wide area and preps the skin with an antiseptic, and I scrub, gown and glove, then drape to keep a sterile field. I make a midline incision, go through the linea alba, and find one uterine horn with a spay hook or my finger. I follow it to the ovary, break down the suspensory ligament, clamp and ligate the ovarian pedicle securely, and check it for bleeding before letting go. Then the same on the other side. I ligate the uterine body just above the cervix and remove the tract. Before closing, I check every pedicle again. I close the linea, then subcutaneous tissue, then skin, and make sure she has pain relief and is watched during recovery.”

“A senior colleague wanted to start a dog with a mild skin infection on a broad-spectrum antibiotic straight away, but it had already had two courses that year. I felt we should do cytology and a culture first. I didn't say it in front of the owner. I caught her between consults and asked whether a culture would be worth it given the history, and I pulled up our practice's own antibiotic policy on my phone. She agreed to take a sample and start a topical treatment while we waited. The culture showed a resistant bug that the first antibiotic wouldn't have touched. She thanked me, and it actually made it easier for me to ask her things after that, because she knew I'd come with a reason.”

“A cow down a day after calving, with cold ears, a dull look and an S-shaped bend in her neck, is very likely milk fever, which is low blood calcium as milk production suddenly starts. I'd give calcium borogluconate slowly into the vein, listening to her heart the whole time, because calcium can cause dangerous rhythm changes, and I'd stop or slow down if the heart becomes irregular. Many cows respond fast, with trembling, burping, and passing dung, and some stand within the hour. I'd follow up with oral calcium. If she doesn't respond, I'd rethink: low magnesium, toxic mastitis, nerve damage from calving, a fracture or a uterine problem. I'd make sure she's propped up on her chest and not left flat on her side. Then I'd talk to the farmer about prevention, mainly the diet in the weeks before calving.”

“Both show a swollen left flank and distress, but the cause is different. Frothy bloat is when gas gets trapped in a stable foam, usually after grazing lush clover or lucerne, and it often affects several animals. If I pass a stomach tube, very little gas comes out, and I might see froth. The treatment is an anti-foaming agent, such as poloxalene or a vegetable oil, given by tube. Free-gas bloat is a pocket of gas the cow can't burp up, often because something is stuck in the oesophagus, like a potato or a piece of apple. Passing a stomach tube releases the gas quickly and also tells me if there's a blockage. If a free-gas case is collapsing, a trocar in the left flank gives quick relief. A trocar doesn't work well on froth, because the foam blocks it, so a collapsing frothy case needs an emergency incision into the rumen. Then I'd talk about managing pasture to prevent it.”

“I'd take a very quick look at both. The cat is walking and alert, so unless its breathing or gums worry me, it can wait a few minutes. I'd ask the nurse to put a pressure bandage on the paw, get the cat into a kennel with oxygen nearby, and I'd give it pain relief as soon as I can. The dog is the emergency, because unproductive retching and a swollen belly in a large dog is a suspected GDV until proven otherwise. I'd place one or two large IV catheters in the front legs, start shock fluids, and decompress the stomach, by passing a tube or by trocarising through the side if a tube won't go down. I'd call the backup vet early, because a volvulus needs surgery and I can't operate and watch the cat alone. Then a right lateral radiograph to confirm, and a frank talk with the owner about the plan and the risks.”

“I'd start by taking their worry seriously, because nobody likes cleaning up after a poorly dog. Then I'd explain that for a dog who's bright, eating and has mild diarrhoea, antibiotics usually don't speed things up, and they can upset the gut further and help resistant bacteria grow, which matters for the dog and for people. I'd give them a proper plan instead: small bland meals for a few days, plenty of water, maybe a probiotic or a gut-support paste. And I'd be clear about the signs that change things, like blood in large amounts, vomiting, not eating, lethargy or no improvement in a few days, and tell them to come straight back if they see any of those. Most clients are fine once they feel they've been given a plan, not a no.”

“I start with an accurate weight, weighed that day if I can. The dose in milligrams is the weight in kilograms times the dose rate. So for a 20 kilogram dog and a drug given at 2 milligrams per kilogram, that's 40 milligrams. Then I divide by the concentration on the bottle. If it's 10 milligrams per millilitre, 40 divided by 10 is 4 millilitres. Then I sense-check it: does 4 millilitres look reasonable for a dog that size and that drug? I watch the units carefully, milligrams versus micrograms is the classic mistake, and a tenfold error is easy with a misplaced decimal point. For high-risk drugs or very small patients, I ask a nurse or colleague to check my sum before I draw it up.”

“Cats are poor at a liver process called glucuronidation, so some drugs are cleared slowly or turn into toxic by-products. The classic example is paracetamol, also called acetaminophen. Even a small dose can damage red blood cells, causing methaemoglobinaemia, so the cat's gums go brown or blue, and the face and paws can swell. The antidote is acetylcysteine, along with supportive care. Another common one is permethrin, found in some flea products made for dogs. If an owner puts a dog spot-on on a cat, it can cause tremors and seizures, so we wash it off and control the tremors. NSAIDs also need care in cats: I only use products licensed for cats, at the right dose, and I avoid them if the cat is dehydrated or has kidney problems. I always tell owners never to give their own medicines to a cat.”

“I try to tie learning to what I'm actually seeing. If I have a case I'm unsure about, I'll read around it that evening, usually a review article or a trusted textbook chapter, and then I come back to the case with a question for a senior colleague. I keep a simple log of my continuing professional development, because most professional bodies expect a set amount each year, and it helps me spot gaps. I do a couple of webinars a month and I'd like one proper practical course a year, probably in ultrasound first. I also value practice case discussions, especially the ones about cases that didn't go well, because that's where I learn the most. When I pick up something useful, I'm happy to share it at a team meeting.”

“Drooling, lameness and mouth blisters in several cattle make me suspect a vesicular disease, and foot-and-mouth is top of my list until it's ruled out. That's notifiable almost everywhere, so I would not treat and leave. I'd stop and phone the official veterinary authority right away, following whatever the reporting rules are in that country. While I wait, I'd ask the farmer to stop all animals, vehicles, milk collection and people leaving or arriving, and to keep the affected animals apart. I'd stay on the farm unless told otherwise, and I wouldn't take samples unless the officials asked me to. Before I leave I'd clean and disinfect or change everything, and I wouldn't go to another farm that day. I'd also explain to the farmer, calmly, why this matters and what happens next, because they'll be frightened.”

“My first concern is the child. I'd tell the client that the child's family should see a doctor today, because whether the child needs rabies treatment is a medical decision and it's time sensitive. I'd mention that washing the wound well with soap and water helps, but it doesn't replace seeing a doctor. For the dog, I'd follow local rules, which usually mean reporting the bite to the relevant authority and keeping the dog under observation for a set period, commonly ten days for a dog. If it stays healthy through that period, it's very unlikely it could have passed on rabies at the time of the bite. If it shows any signs, it's assessed by the officials and tested, and the doctors treating the child are told straight away. I'd write all of this in the record and, afterwards, talk to the owner about vaccination.”

“It depends on the area, but the ones I think about most are rabies where it's present, leptospirosis in dogs and farm animals, ringworm, salmonella, and on farms brucellosis and Q fever, especially around birthing and aborted material. Toxoplasmosis matters for pregnant staff and clients handling cat litter, and psittacosis for anyone treating pet birds. In the clinic the basics do most of the work: handwashing, gloves and aprons, an isolation ward for suspected infectious cases, careful handling of urine in a suspected lepto dog, and eye protection when there's splash risk. On farms I'd wear gloves and a mask for calvings or abortions and handle placentas carefully. Where it applies, staff get pre-exposure rabies vaccination. For clients I give specific advice, like wearing gloves for the litter tray and washing hands after handling reptiles.”

“I saw a middle-aged dog with a few days of vomiting and a slightly tense belly, and I put it down to a dietary upset because the owner said he'd been into the bin. I gave anti-sickness medication and fluids and sent him home. He came back two days later still vomiting and now not eating, and this time I took radiographs and found a foreign body, a corn cob, in the small intestine. We got it out surgically and he recovered well, but I'd lost two days. What I learned was to not let a neat story from the owner close my thinking. Now, if I send a vomiting dog home without imaging, I give a clear recheck deadline and tell the owner exactly which signs mean come straight back.”

“An elderly cat came in with advanced kidney disease. She'd stopped eating, she was badly dehydrated and her bloods had worsened despite treatment. The owner had had her for eighteen years. I sat down with him in a quiet room rather than talking over the exam table, and I said plainly that her kidneys were failing and that the treatments we had left would not make her feel well again. I told him euthanasia was a kind option but that it was his decision, and that he could take some time. When he was ready, I explained each step, the sedation first and then the injection, and that her eyes might stay open or she might take a reflex breath after she'd gone. I let him stay with her, and afterwards I gave him time alone before we talked about aftercare.”

“A young dog came in lame on a back leg, and my gold-standard plan was sedated radiographs and possibly a referral for a cruciate problem. The owner told me straight away that money was very tight. Instead of just listing prices, I talked through the options. We could start with a careful orthopaedic exam, which suggested a partial cruciate tear, then strict rest, pain relief and a recheck in two weeks, with radiographs only if he didn't improve. I was clear about what we'd be missing by not imaging and which signs meant he needed more. He improved enough on rest that the owner was able to save up and have surgery a few months later. What I took from it is that a stepwise plan is still good medicine when it's honest.”

“I'll be honest, it does get to me sometimes. On my final-year rotations I had one day with three euthanasias and a very angry client, and I went home and couldn't switch off. Since then I've built a few habits. I take two minutes between a euthanasia and the next consult, even if it's just washing my hands slowly and having a glass of water. I talk hard cases through with a friend from my year, who gets it. Outside work I run, and I protect one evening a week that's just mine. And I've learned to tell a senior colleague when I'm struggling rather than wait until it's bad. I'd rather ask early than make mistakes because I'm worn out.”

“I'd treat the dog first, pain relief and the fracture, just as I would any case. I'd ask open questions, like how the older injuries might have happened, without any accusation, and I'd write down exactly what the owner says. I'd keep the radiographs and take photos of any other marks, and note things like the dog's behaviour around the owner. Healed rib fractures of different ages with no history is a red flag, but there can be innocent explanations too, so I'd stay open-minded. I'd then talk to the senior vet, and follow our practice policy and our professional body's guidance, which in many places says a vet can share concerns with a welfare authority or the police when an animal is at risk, even though client confidentiality normally applies. My job is to protect the animal and be accurate, not to be the investigator.”

“As a new vet, I know the nurses often have years more experience than me with handling, anaesthesia monitoring and spotting a patient going downhill, so I listen when they flag something. When it's busy, I try to be very clear: which patient, which drug, what dose, and I'm happy for them to read it back to me. In an emergency I'd rather say one clear instruction to one person than shout to the room. I also try not to treat them as just an extra pair of hands. If I've got two minutes, I'll help clean a kennel or restrain a patient. And I say thank you at the end of a hard shift. On my placements, the vets the nurses trusted most were the ones who did those small things.”

“On my farm placement a sheep farmer was losing condition in a group of lambs, and a few had died. Rather than treating one lamb, we looked at the whole group: weights, grazing history and worming records. The lambs had been grazing the same field as last year's lambs and had been wormed on a fixed calendar with the same product for years. We took faecal samples for egg counts before and after a dose, and the counts barely dropped, which pointed to wormer resistance. We switched to a product from a different class, checked with another egg count that it worked, planned safer grazing for next year's lambs, and agreed to worm based on egg counts rather than the calendar. A few weeks later the lambs were gaining weight again.”

“The first thing is the dog, so I'd phone the owner straight away, tell them not to give another tablet and ask how many have been given and when. Then I'd work out the risk for that drug at that dose, using the data sheet, a colleague and a poisons advice service if needed. If there's any real risk, I'd ask them to bring the dog in now for monitoring or decontamination. I'd be honest with the owner: I made a dosing error, I'm sorry, and here's what we're doing about it. I'd tell the senior vet, write it in the clinical record, fill in our incident report and let my indemnity provider know if our practice requires it. Then I'd look at how it happened, maybe a decimal point or a label, and suggest a check that stops it happening again.”

“Every drug licensed for food animals has a withdrawal period, which is how long after the last dose the milk, meat or eggs must be kept out of the food chain. I'd use a licensed product for that species wherever I can and follow the label exactly. If I have to use a drug off-label, many places set a minimum withdrawal period for that, or I'd get expert advice on a safe one. Some drugs aren't allowed in food animals at all, so I'd check the local rules. The practical side matters just as much. I give the farmer the withdrawal dates in writing, I make sure treated animals are marked, for example with leg bands or spray, and that it's all in the farm's medicine records and in our clinical notes. I also make it clear to the farmer that sending milk too early can cost them far more than the treatment saved.”

“I'd start with the numbers: how many animals of the target species in each village, from the latest census and local workers, so I know how much vaccine and how many teams I need. I'd time it before the season when the disease usually spreads. Then logistics: a cold chain that holds the vaccine at the right temperature from the store to the needle, with cool boxes and a plan for power cuts. Before we arrive, I'd work with village leaders and farmer groups so people know the date, why it matters and that it's safe. On the day, each team vaccinates, marks or tags the animals, and records owner, animal and batch. Afterwards I'd check coverage village by village and go back to gaps, log any reactions, and where possible sample some animals later to confirm they've responded, then plan boosters.”

“First I'd try to understand why. Often it's guilt, or they're not ready, or someone at home isn't on board. I'd listen before arguing. Then I'd be clear and kind about what I'm seeing: that she can't stand, she's not eating and her pain isn't controlled even on strong medication. A simple quality-of-life scale can help an owner see it for themselves. If they need time, I'd offer the strongest palliative plan I can, with a short, agreed recheck and clear signs that mean it's time. I'd offer a second opinion from a colleague too. I'd write all of this down carefully. If the animal was suffering badly and the owner still refused, I'd involve the senior vet and follow our professional body's guidance and local welfare law, which in many places allows action to prevent suffering. But that's a last resort, not an opening move.”

“During a dental on an older spaniel, the nurse told me the blood pressure had dropped well below where we want it, and the heart rate was low too. I paused the procedure and checked depth first: the jaw tone was very loose and the eyes were central, so he was too deep. I asked the nurse to turn the vaporiser down, and we gave a fluid bolus while I checked the monitor readings were real by feeling the pulse. The heart rate stayed low, so after talking with the senior vet we gave an anticholinergic, and the pressure came back up. We finished the dental quickly. In the debrief we agreed that older patients on that list would have a lower premed dose and blood pressure checks from the start of induction.”