Spain's veterinarians earn just €22,838 gross after four years

Veterinarians: The most expensive degree with the lowest pay

A paradox persists: veterinary medicine is currently the lowest-paid degree in Spain for recent graduates, with an average salary of €22,838 gross per year four years after finishing, while simultaneously requiring some of the highest entry grades in the university system. This contradiction has fueled a long-running debate over the last two years, highlighting recurring issues: a proliferation of veterinary schools, clinics unable to absorb so many graduates, and working days that in practice stretch up to twelve hours.

The discussion was sparked by an article in El País alongside a radio interview with a veterinarian, Carlos Rodríguez, describing the sector's working conditions. From there, the diagnosis has branched out: some blame the oversupply of graduates, others point to the structure of clinics, and some directly target the university system.

The rise of veterinary schools in Spain and why they are opening more

The debate over the number of faculties is the most prominent. Contrary to the idea that it is a niche field, it is noted that the Zaragoza faculty dates back to 1847 and the Córdoba one to around 150 years ago, while the Madrid faculty is even older, dating to 1835 and linked to the Complutense University. In other words, the profession has been established in public universities for over a century.

What has changed is something else. In recent decades, private centers have multiplied, and there are projects to open faculties in regions with significant livestock activity, such as Castilla-La Mancha. The most frequent criticism is that Spain is training more veterinarians than the labor market can accommodate, and that this excess is driving wages down. Comparisons are often made with other European countries, where the number of faculties per country is much lower.

One nuance should not be missed: in areas with slaughterhouses and livestock farming, the veterinarian is a key figure in quality control. The problem is not an abstract surplus of professionals, but rather an excess in the specific segment that everyone wants to enter.

Working 12-hour days for €900: How money is split in a clinic

This is where the issue becomes tangible. One specific case mentioned in the conversation: a twelve-hour workday paid at €900 per month. The immediate response from others is that twelve hours is only a part-time shift and that €900 for part-time work is "not that bad." The disagreement is not about the figure, but about what is considered normal.

Ownership structures explain a lot. In many small clinics, the owner is the head veterinarian, who may wander around while the recent graduate handles on-call shifts, Saturdays, and emergencies. The last one to leave is always the newcomer. This, it is argued, is not new; what is new is that the situation persists over time and ceases to be a learning stage.

Added to this is the 21% VAT on veterinary services, which increases the bill for the client and narrows business margins. When a client receives a €1,400 invoice and sees that €243 is tax, the conversation about price breaks down before it even begins.

Why are veterinarians leaving Spain to work abroad?

Because they get paid more and are exploited less. That is the short answer. Thousands of Spanish veterinarians work in other EU countries and the UK, with the recurring argument being that the profession is better respected and better compensated there. An example from Northern Europe: in remote areas, they offer between €5,000 and €6,000 per month to tend to livestock, including night emergencies, Sundays, and holidays. No one wants those positions. The conclusion is uncomfortable: the problem is not just how much is paid, but where and under what conditions.

An objection to this narrative also exists: those who leave often go to small animal clinics with office hours, not to farms in the middle of nowhere. Supply and demand work, but only if you accept the full package.

It is not just about salaries: taxes, housing, and fixed costs

One line of analysis suggests that salary is the symptom, not the cause. The argument: taxes and housing consume any pay increase, and setting up a business in Spain involves a tax and fixed-cost burden that prevents raising wages even if turnover is good. Self-employed social security fees (cuota de autónomo), rent, payroll, administrative fees, insurance, suppliers: the list is recited in detail, and the full calculation, item by item, leaves a margin that surprises those who only look at the consultation price.

There is a direct counter-argument: if the clinic owner owns the premises and lives above them, rent is not a real cost and the margin is much higher than claimed. This tug-of-war between "costs are suffocating us" and "costs are being exaggerated" runs through much of the discussion without resolution.

The graduate bubble: more graduates than jobs

The most widespread diagnosis does not speak of veterinary medicine, but of the model itself. There is no industrial fabric or enough companies to absorb the number of graduates coming out every year, and that applies to veterinary medicine, biology, chemistry, and a long list of others. The warning is directed at those entering university now: you can study whatever you want, but it is worth knowing that the market waits for no one.

Parallels with other regulated professions appear several times. Pharmacists, for instance, operate under the same logic: the owner of the pharmacy makes money while the assistant handles the on-call shifts. A degree guarantees nothing on its own.

The advertising campaign encouraging people to study veterinary medicine because "hundreds of pets need you" receives the most cynical comment of the entire exchange: someone admits they were almost convinced. And then, the reminder that a bubble of graduates looks very much like any other bubble.

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How many Spanish veterinarians are actually needed and how many are being trained? No one in the conversation has the figure. What exists is an uncomfortable consensus: the market does not absorb those who graduate, small clinics cannot pay more, and those who go abroad do not always return.