I hired a relief veterinarian to fill in for me today so that I could get caught up on some personal business. When I stopped
in at my usual morning coffee place wearing blue jeans, the counter clerk seemed shocked not to see me wearing a tie and khakis
on a Tuesday. I told her that I had the day off, and immediately a worried expression crossed her face. "Oh, no!" she declared.
"An unexpected day off! That's bad! Your job isn't laying off, is it?"
I assured her that all was fine, but this morning's coffee experience brought home to me once more how the fragile economy
has caused many people to look differently at circumstances that a decade ago would have seemed routine. Five years ago when
everyone's house was worth double what it was really worth, convenience store clerks viewed a day off as a blessing. Five
years ago when everybody's 401(k) was flush with cash, folks called in sick at the convenience store without having to think
about whether they'd have a job when they recovered.
Now we're at the point where the coffee lady is worried about the veterinarian losing his job. And why not? Every other person
who stops in for gas or a Twinkie is either looking for a job or underemployed.
And the store clerks are right to worry about us. The mere fact that we in the veterinary profession have eight-plus years
of education in no way guarantees us the employment circumstances of our dreams—or even employment at all.
Making credentials a curse
Ironically, the addition of supplemental training, including board certification, may result in more job insecurity, not less.
In my legal consulting practice I'm seeing more and more instances in which the veterinarians in multidoctor hospitals who
are most at risk for cuts in hours, caseload or compensation are the more experienced and highly credentialed doctors rather
than their less-experienced, less-well-trained—and less-expensive—counterparts.
For example, in circumstances where there is only enough work for one-and-a-half specialists, an emerging trend is to make
the more highly compensated specialist switch to part time while adding extra cases and hours to the person who makes less
per hour, per case or per year. Nobody loves this situation, but I see it on a regular basis. Add in just one more factor
and this trend becomes a devastating situation for associates. What happens, say, if the highly paid veterinarian who gets
forced into a reduced schedule also has a strict noncompetition clause controlling her ability to moonlight or to move to
a nearby practice more capable of supporting her salary needs?
It could happen to you
The problem is real, not theoretical. There often is a fairly aggressive noncompetition framework built into the typical employment
contract for experienced and boarded veterinarians. The theory is that doctors who develop loyal followings throughout years
of client contact or who possess special and unique training present a greater threat to the employer's practice than practitioners
with only minor connections to the practice's client base.
So what happens when the experienced or boarded veterinarian, perhaps working on a percentage-based or commission-based compensation
scheme, suddenly experiences a caseload reduction because the practice has hired a young associate on salary? When that doctor
is no longer assigned enough cases to permit him to generate sufficiently high revenue to result in his expected salary (the
salary on which his lifestyle depends), he may well need to start looking to do some work on the side or seek a different
In his nervousness about his diminished caseload, this highly trained veterinarian goes to read the noncompete language in
his employment contract. He discovers that he is not permitted to moonlight at another hospital to supplement his flagging
income. Nor is he allowed to make some extra money doing consulting or even routine practice, either inside or outside his
noncompete region. Worst of all, he discovers that he has agreed to noncompete terms of long duration and a substantial distance
from his current workplace. To find a different job in his specialty, he has to move away.
This veterinarian is in a world of hurt. He can't afford to move but he can't afford to stay either. Least of all can he afford
to litigate the terms of that noncompete he signed when times were good and specialty cases were plentiful.
All of which raises a central question: Is it time to begin thinking of noncompetition contractual language in a different
way? Is the design of competition protection too archaic for the economic and demographic realities of the 21st century?
There's no question in my mind: Yes.