Pawsionate Hands Veterinary Clinic - Maliwalo, Tarlac City

Pawsionate Hands Veterinary Clinic - Maliwalo, Tarlac City Pawsionate Hands: Compassion in Every Touch. ✨

📢 Announcement 📢Pawsionate Hands will be closed on August 22, 2025 due to a scheduled power interruption.We sincerely ap...
21/08/2025

📢 Announcement 📢

Pawsionate Hands will be closed on August 22, 2025 due to a scheduled power interruption.

We sincerely apologize for the inconvenience and appreciate your understanding. For any concerns, kindly send us a message.

Thank you! 🐾

One year ago, the clinic doors opened carrying your mother… but it was too late. She was gone.Minutes later, her fur par...
13/08/2025

One year ago, the clinic doors opened carrying your mother… but it was too late. She was gone.

Minutes later, her fur parent called us, voice trembling, asking if we knew anyone who could adopt four tiny, 3-day-old puppies. She said she couldn’t bear to hear your cries, because each sound shattered her all over again.

Without a second thought, we said, “Kami na po sa clinic.”

For weeks, we woke up every few hours to feed you—like caring for newborn babies. Sleepless nights, countless feedings, and whispered prayers that you’d survive.

And now… you’re no longer fragile. You run, you play, and you fill every corner of the clinic—sometimes with joy, sometimes with chaos. You’ve become our little troublemakers… our miracles.

That day, you lost your mother.
But you gained a family.
And without knowing it… you gave us back a piece of the love we lost. 🐾❤️💙

👩🏻‍⚕️🫶🏼
09/08/2025

👩🏻‍⚕️🫶🏼

This was written by a veterinarian.

I once stitched up a dog’s throat with fishing line in the back of a pickup, while its owner held a flashlight in his mouth and cried like a child.

That was in ’79, maybe ’80. Just outside a little town near the Tennessee border. No clinic, no clean table, no anesthetic except moonshine. But the dog lived, and that man still sends me a Christmas card every year, even though the dog’s long gone and so is his wife.

I’ve been a vet for forty years. That’s four decades of blood under my nails and fur on my clothes. It used to be you fixed what you could with what you had — not what you could bill. Now I spend half my days explaining insurance codes and financing plans while someone’s beagle bleeds out in the next room.

I used to think this job was about saving lives. Now I know it’s about holding on to the pieces when they fall apart.

I started in ’85. Fresh out of the University of Georgia, still had hair, still had hope. My first clinic was a brick building off a gravel road with a roof that leaked when it rained. The phone was rotary, the fridge rattled, and the heater worked only when it damn well pleased. But folks came. Farmers, factory workers, retirees, even the occasional trucker with a pit bull riding shotgun.

They didn’t ask for much.

A shot here. A stitch there. Euthanasia when it was time — and we always knew when it was time. There was no debate, no guilt-shaming on social media, no “alternative protocols.” Just the quiet understanding between a person and their dog that the suffering had become too much. And they trusted me to carry the weight.

Some days I’d drive out in my old Chevy to a barn where a horse lay with a broken leg, or to a porch where an old hound hadn’t eaten in three days. I’d sit beside the owner, pass them the tissue, and wait. I never rushed it. Because back then, we held them as they left. Now people sign papers and ask if they can just “pick up the ashes next week.”

I remember the first time I had to put down a dog. A German shepherd named Rex. He’d been hit by a combine. The farmer, Walter Jennings, was a World War II vet, tough as barbed wire and twice as sharp. But when I told him Rex was beyond saving, his knees buckled. Right there in my exam room.

He didn’t say a word. Just nodded. And then — I’ll never forget this — he kissed Rex’s snout and whispered, “You done good, boy.” Then he turned to me and said, “Do it quick. Don’t make him wait.”

I did.

Later that night, I couldn’t sleep. I sat on my front porch with a cigarette and stared at the stars until the sunrise. That’s when I realized this job wasn’t just about animals. It was about people. About the love they poured into something that would never live as long as they did.

Now it’s 2025. My hair’s white — what’s left of it. My hands don’t always cooperate. There’s a tremor that wasn’t there last spring. The clinic is still there, but now it’s got sleek white walls, subscription software, and some 28-year-old marketing guy telling me to film TikToks with my patients. I told him I’d rather neuter myself.

We used to use instinct. Now it’s all algorithms and liability forms.

A woman came in last week with a bulldog in respiratory failure. I said we’d need to intubate and keep him overnight. She pulled out her phone and asked if she could get a second opinion from an influencer she follows online. I just nodded. What else can you do?

Sometimes I think about retiring. Hell, I almost did during COVID. That was a nightmare — parking lot pickups, barking from behind closed doors, masks hiding the tears. Saying goodbye through car windows. No one got to hold them as they left.

That broke something in me.

But then I see a kid come in with a box full of kittens he found in his grandpa’s barn, and his eyes light up when I let him feed one. Or I patch up a golden retriever who got too close to a barbed fence, and the owner brings me a pecan pie the next day. Or an old man calls me just to say thank you — not for the treatment, but because I sat with him after his dog died and didn’t say a damn thing, just let the silence do the healing.

That’s why I stay.

Because despite all the changes — the apps, the forms, the lawsuits, the Google-diagnosing clients — one thing hasn’t changed.

People still love their animals like family.

And when that love is deep enough, it comes out in quiet ways. A trembling hand on a fur-covered flank. A whispered goodbye. A wallet emptied without question. A grown man breaking down in my office because his dog won’t live to see the fall.

No matter the year, the tech, the trends — that never changes.

A few months ago, a man walked in carrying a shoebox. Said he found a kitten near the railroad tracks. Mangled leg, fleas, ribs like piano keys. He looked like hell himself. Told me he’d just gotten out of prison, didn’t have a dime, but could I do anything?

I looked in that box. That kitten opened its eyes and meowed like it knew me. I nodded and said, “Leave him here. Come back Friday.”

We splinted the leg, fed him warm milk every two hours, named him Boomer. That man showed up Friday with a half-eaten apple pie and tears in his eyes. Said no one ever gave him something back without asking what he had first.

I told him animals don’t care what you did. Just how you hold them now.

Forty years.

Thousands of lives.

Some saved. Some not.

But all of them mattered.

I keep a drawer in my desk. Locked. No one touches it. Inside are old photos, thank-you notes, collars, and nametags. A milk bone from a border collie named Scout who saved a boy from drowning. A clay paw print from a cat that used to sleep on a gas station counter. A crayon drawing from a girl who said I was her hero because I helped her hamster breathe again.

I take it out sometimes, late at night, when the clinic’s dark and my hands are still.

And I remember.

I remember what it was like before all the screens. Before the apps. Before the clickbait cures and the credit checks.

Back when being a vet meant driving through mud at midnight because a cow was calving wrong and you were the only one they trusted.

Back when we stitched with fishing line and hope.

Back when we held them as they left — and we held their people, too.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned in this life, it’s this:

You don’t get to save them all.

But you damn sure better try.

And when it’s time to say goodbye, you stay. You don’t flinch. You don’t rush. You kneel down, look them in the eyes, and you stay until their last breath leaves the room.

That’s the part no one trains you for. Not in vet school. Not in textbooks.

That’s the part that makes you human.

And I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐓𝐢𝐤𝐓𝐨𝐤 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬. It’s not funny because every VIDEO NORMALIZES ABU...
28/07/2025

𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐓𝐢𝐤𝐓𝐨𝐤 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬. It’s not funny because every VIDEO NORMALIZES ABUSE.

In today’s world of tech and awareness, ask yourself, how far will we let cruelty go?
We are their voice. 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐏 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭.

They can’t speak for themselves
𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐀𝐍.

SHARE this now.

24/07/2025

Good news, furparents! 🛁✂️ Our grooming services are now back! Pamper your pets—send us a message to book your appointment. ❤️💙

Hello, furparents! 🐾 We’re open to serve you today, but please note that grooming services are still unavailable. Stay t...
23/07/2025

Hello, furparents! 🐾 We’re open to serve you today, but please note that grooming services are still unavailable. Stay tuned for updates! ❤️💙

22/07/2025

🚨 WEATHER-RELATED CLOSURE NOTICE

Due to the current severe weather conditions, our clinic is closed today to ensure the safety of our team, valued clients, and dear animal patients.

This decision was made out of caution and care, as we prioritize everyone’s well-being during unpredictable weather. We understand this may cause inconvenience, and we sincerely apologize. Rest assured, we will resume operations as soon as it is safe to do so.

If you have ongoing treatments or appointments, please stay tuned for updates or feel free to message us for rescheduling and assistance.

Thank you for your kind understanding. Please stay safe and take care of yourselves and your furry companions!

— Pawsionate Hands Veterinary Clinic

📢 AnnouncementPlease be advised that there will be no grooming services today.We apologize for any inconvenience and app...
21/07/2025

📢 Announcement
Please be advised that there will be no grooming services today.
We apologize for any inconvenience and appreciate your understanding!

— Pawsionate Hands Veterinary Clinic 🐾

𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐌𝐢𝐚 – 𝐅𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐃𝐨𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐓𝐕𝐓Mia is a female dog previously diagnosed with 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐕𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐓𝐮𝐦𝐨𝐫 (𝐓𝐕𝐓),...
19/07/2025

𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐌𝐢𝐚 – 𝐅𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐃𝐨𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐓𝐕𝐓

Mia is a female dog previously diagnosed with 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐕𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐓𝐮𝐦𝐨𝐫 (𝐓𝐕𝐓), a contagious cancer commonly affecting the external genitalia of sexually active dogs. She initially presented with visible vaginal masses and occasional serosanguinous discharge.

Mia successfully completed 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 using 𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐥𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐞, the standard treatment for TVT. She responded 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐲, with complete tumor resolution and full recovery. As of her latest check-up, Mia is 𝗰𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗰𝘂𝗿𝗲𝗱 and in 𝗿𝗲𝗺𝗶𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻, with no signs of recurrence. Continued routine monitoring is still advised to ensure her long-term health.

At 𝐏𝐚𝐰𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬, we’re committed to providing quality care and early intervention to give pets like Mia the best chance at recovery. If you notice unusual lumps or discharge in your pet, don’t wait—𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐚 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤-𝐮𝐩 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐮𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲!

🐾 🐾 𝐃𝐢𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰?A wagging tail doesn’t always mean a dog is happy!Dogs use their tails to 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 — and th...
19/07/2025

🐾 🐾 𝐃𝐢𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰?
A wagging tail doesn’t always mean a dog is happy!
Dogs use their tails to 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 — and the 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐞𝐝 of the wag give more clues:

👉 A 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐱𝐞𝐝, 𝐰𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐠 usually means they’re friendly and happy.
👉 A 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐚𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐥 might signal uncertainty or insecurity.
👉 A 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐟, 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐥 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐢𝐝 𝐰𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 can be a sign of agitation or even aggression.
👉 A 𝐭𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐥 shows fear or submission.

So next time, look at the 𝐰𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞 — not just the wag! 🐶🧠💬

🐾 𝐃𝐢𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰?Dogs dream just like humans! 😴💭During REM (Rapid Eye Movement) sleep, their brains become active — that’s...
18/07/2025

🐾 𝐃𝐢𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰?
Dogs dream just like humans! 😴💭
During REM (Rapid Eye Movement) sleep, their brains become active — that’s why you might catch them 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐩𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐰𝐬, 𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐥-𝐰𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 while asleep. They could be dreaming about chasing toys, playing fetch, or cuddling with you!

📸 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐮𝐬!
Have you caught your dog doing something cute or funny while sleeping?
👉 Drop a photo or tell us in the comments! We’d love to see your furbabies’ adorable sleeping moments! 💬🐶💕

You can visit us from 9am to 6pm, Monday to Sunday at Unit 2, Fairview Maliwalo Building, Zone 1, Maliwalo, Tarlac City....
16/07/2025

You can visit us from 9am to 6pm, Monday to Sunday at Unit 2, Fairview Maliwalo Building, Zone 1, Maliwalo, Tarlac City.

For inquiries, you may reach us at 0919-385-5281 or through this page.

We are all willing to assist you especially on your pet's concern. See you! 🐾

Address

Fairview Maliwalo, Zone 1, Maliwalo
Tarlac
2300

Opening Hours

Monday 9am - 6pm
Tuesday 9am - 6pm
Wednesday 9am - 6pm
Thursday 9am - 6pm
Friday 9am - 6pm
Saturday 9am - 6pm
Sunday 9am - 6pm

Telephone

+639193855281

Website

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