Why Don’t Vets Treat All Wildlife for Free? And Why Should They?

It’s a question that floats around often—sometimes whispered in frustration, sometimes shouted in grief: “Why don’t vets treat our wildlife for free?” Or more pointedly: “Why should they?”

Let’s start with the heart. Most vets chose their profession because they love animals. Deeply. They believe every life matters—furred, feathered, scaled, wild or domestic. They study for years, sacrifice sleep, endure heartbreak, and open their doors to creatures great and small.

But love doesn’t pay the bills.

Running a veterinary practice isn’t just about compassion—it’s about survival. There’s insurance, staff wages, professional development, equipment, vehicles, payroll tax, and more. And while dogs, cats, horses, and livestock usually have owners who take financial responsibility, wildlife do not.

So who owns our wildlife? No one. And yet—we do. As carers, we step in. We nurture. We heal. We hold space for the broken and the wild. But when they get sick or injured, who pays?

In truth, it should be our government. They regulate us, license us, demand compliance and reporting—but they don’t fund the care. Not even the basics. So the burden falls on carers. And often, on vets.

Most vets will triage wildlife brought in by the public for free. Many offer generous discounts. Some donate their time, their skills, their hearts. But do we really expect them to get out of bed at 1am for a distressed animal—and not be paid? To leave a family gathering on a Sunday because a joey stopped eating—and not be compensated?

We shouldn’t.

As carers, we must be willing to shoulder that responsibility. If we can’t—or won’t—we have no right to take on a wild life. Because caring isn’t just cuddles and good intentions. It’s commitment. It’s cost. It’s showing up, even when it hurts.

And yes, it means many people who have the heart may not be able to be carers. But they can help in other ways—donating, volunteering, supporting. If that’s you, reach out. I’ll help you find your place.

Another painful truth: some carers avoid vets altogether. “They’ll just kill it.” “They don’t care about wildlife.”

But they do. You don’t think a vet sheds tears when a joey comes in too broken to fix? When a majestic bird arrives with shattered wings and poisoned lungs? When they have to euthanise an animal while the carer pleads, “Please, you have to fix it.”

Most wildlife come in after motor vehicle accidents. Broken legs. Pierced lungs. Dehydration from lying roadside for hours—sometimes days—while cars speed past. Joeys left in decomposing pouches. Kangaroos tangled in fences with dislocated hips and shattered limbs.

The goal is always release. But when that’s not possible, euthanasia is the kindest option. And it’s far better done gently, by a vet, than after days or weeks of silent suffering.

So be kind to our vets. Most of them love our wildlife. Most of them do what they can, where they can. And they carry the grief too.

To the Vets Who Care

You are the steady hands behind the healing, the quiet presence in the chaos, the ones who meet broken wings and shattered limbs with skill, grace, and a heart that still aches.

You don’t just treat the wildlife— you see them. You honour their wildness, their pain, their dignity. And you see us too— the carers who arrive with trembling arms and tear-streaked faces, hoping for miracles, bracing for loss.

You give what you can, when you can. Discounts, time, wisdom, comfort. You answer midnight calls, step away from family dinners, and carry the weight of every life that couldn’t be saved.

You don’t ask for applause. But you deserve it.

Thank you for standing with us. For believing that every life matters. For treating not just the wounds of the wild, but the hearts of those who love them.

You are part of the story— and we couldn’t write it without you

This is Katie—a joey who danced on the edge of death for months. There were 1am visits, Sunday callouts, 5am heartbreaks. “We don’t think we’re going to win this one, Maggie,” they said in the quiet hours. But we did. She was cared for with everything we had. And so were we

“Inspiring hope and healing for Australia’s wildlife, one rescue at a time.”