My spaniel, Pickle, used to wake the whole street at 3 a.m.–scratching, yelping, chewing her flank until the hair came off in tufts. The diagnosis? Nerve pain left behind by a bout of shingles none of us knew she’d had. Steroids barely touched it. Then our vet scribbled “Neurontin 100 mg, twice daily” on a pink sticky note and handed it over like contraband. Two weeks later she was sleeping through the night, and the neighbors finally forgave us.
Neurontin–yes, the same gabapentin capsule your aunt takes for sciatica–has quietly slipped into small-animal medicine. Vets reach for it when a limp turns out to be neuroma, or when a cat pulls out its belly fur after pelvic surgery. No flashy ads, no chewable bacon flavor; just a chalky tablet that costs pennies if you know which pharmacy will split the human blister pack into dog-size doses.
Will it zonk out my pet? Sometimes. Pickle wobbled like a freshman at happy hour for the first three days, then leveled off. Start low, creep up. Is it legal? Off-label, but vets prescribe it daily. How fast? Pain relief can show in 24 h; seizure control takes longer. Give with a dab of peanut butter, never the sugar-free kind (xylitol kills).
Side-watch: sleepy eyes, loose stools, a hint of wobble. Rare, but call the clinic if the pupils blow wide or the water bowl never empties. And if you’re already stuffing capsules into Pill Pockets, keep the bottle out of cat reach–one midnight raid and you’ll have a glassy-eyed tabby auditioning for a David Bowie biopic.
Recipe for sanity: weigh the animal, log each dose on the kitchen chalkboard, and reorder before you hit the last blister. Your neighbor will thank you; your carpet will too.
7 Vet-Approved Hacks to Turn Neurontin Into Your Clinic’s Quietest Profit Stream
Neurontin sits on the shelf like a wallflower–cheap, generic, easy to miss–yet every bottle holds a low-key cash tap most practices never twist open. Below are seven field-tested moves that quietly convert that dust-gathering stock into steady, margin-friendly revenue without sounding like a sales pitch to clients.
- Bundle the first week into post-op packs.
Dogs leaving with ortho repairs get a neat sleeve: three days of NSAID, three days of gabapentin, one night’s sedative. Everything is pre-counted, pre-labeled, pre-priced. Owners love the grab-and-go convenience, and you pocket an extra $18 per pack that used to walk out as a handwritten Rx for the pharmacy down the street. - Price by comfort, not by capsule.
A 100 mg capsule costs you about eight cents. Mark it to twenty-five and you’re still under human-pharmacy retail, yet your markup tops 200%. Post the fee on the exam-room wall as “Comfort dosing–$0.25 per 100 mg.” Clients see transparency; you see margin. - Let techs do the refill call-backs.
A two-minute phone script–“Hi Max’s mom, are we still doing two at breakfast, two at dinner? Great, bottle’s ready for pickup”–keeps 68% of chronic pain patients from drifting to chewy dot com. No doctor time burned, no free consult. - Repurpose expired stock for sedation trials.
Out-of-date gabapentin keeps 90% potency for at least two years past the stamp. Use it for in-house sedation challenges before you commit to pricier protocols. You save a $24 box of alprazolam and still bill the sedation code. - Pair with laser therapy in a single charge.
“Laser + Calm” package: 15 minutes of laser plus two days of gabapentin for cats with stomatitis. One bundled line item, one swipe of the card. The client sees $89, you see $58 profit because the laser is already sunk cost. - Sell the night-panic niche.
Old Labradors that pant at 2 a.m. rarely need full analgesia; they need sleep. Offer a tiny nine-pill sleeve–“Bedtime 300 mg, three nights, $19.” It feels like a mini-solution, not a drug sale, and it hooks owners who later upgrade to full chronic-pain plans. - Keep a locked “last-minute” drawer up front.
Friday 5:45 p.m., owner calls: flight leaves tomorrow and the sitter can’t pill the cat. One $42 emergency fee plus a 30-capsule bottle you grabbed in three seconds equals happy client and $31 clear profit. No pharmacist, no after-hours markup.
None of these tricks needs extra equipment, no CE courses, no cold-call marketing. Just tweak the workflow once, print new labels, and watch the same bottle that used to expire quietly start paying its rent–and then some–every single month.
How to dose Neurontin for 3 kg Chihuahua seizures without guessing–exact mg chart inside
My friend Lena texted me at 2 a.m. last winter: “Peanut just convulsed for 30 seconds, vet says give Neurontin, but the bottle says ‘adjust per body weight’–how much for 3 kg?” I grabbed a pen, did the math I’d learned while working nights at the emergency clinic, and sent her a single line: 12 mg every eight hours to start. Peanut stopped shaking within 36 hours and now sleeps through the night. Below is the same cheat-sheet I gave her, tweaked for a tiny 3 kg Chihuahua and checked against the 2022 WSAVA neurology notes.
Exact mg chart for a 3 kg dog
First week (loading phase): 12 mg per dose, three times daily = 36 mg total per day.
Week two onward (if no breakthrough tremors): 10 mg per dose, three times daily = 30 mg total per day.
Breakthrough seizure within 30 days: jump back to 12 mg, call your vet next morning.
Those numbers look small, but they land at 4–4.5 mg/kg, right where canine studies show gabapentin blood peaks above 4 µg/ml–enough to quiet ectopic electrical firing without turning your pup into a furry noodle.
How to give it without the drama
Neurontin capsules are bitter; Peanut once foamed like a rabid squirrel after I tried the “open capsule over food” trick. Now I poke a 100 mg capsule, squeeze out the powder, and divide it by eye into eight tiny piles on a dark plate. One pile = 12 mg. I mix that into ½ tsp of cream cheese, roll it into a ball, and hand it over like it’s a treat. If you hate eyeballing, ask the chemist to make 10 mg chicken-flavored chews; most compounding pharmacies will do 30 chews for under twenty bucks.
Missed a dose? Skip it–never double up. Gabapentin has a short half-life in dogs (3–4 h), so an extra hit can drop blood pressure and turn your Chi into a wobbly drunk. Set three phone alarms; Chihuahuas love routine more than they love you.
Compounding loophole: turn 400 mg human capsules into chicken-flavored 25 mg pet chews in 8 min
My Saturday started with a 90-pound Labrador drooling on my sneakers and a vet bill for $180. The prescription? Neurontin 25 mg twice a day. The pharmacy wanted two weeks to order “canine strength” and another $120 for the privilege. I had a bottle of 400 mg human capsules in the glove box–leftover from an old nerve-pain script–and a wife who once made wedding-cake fondant shaped like corgis. We figured, “How hard can it be?”
Turns out the trick is math, a $7 silicone paw-print mold, and a packet of Watkins chicken stock powder. Here’s the drill we’ve repeated every month since:
- Count. One 400 mg capsule = sixteen 25 mg doses. I line up sixteen little paper soufflé cups, the kind diners use for ketchup.
- Pop. Twist the capsule, dump the white fluff into a glass shot glass. It looks like powdered sugar that’s lost its will to live.
- Cut. 8 mL of warm water, stirred with a bamboo skewer. The powder vanishes in thirty seconds.
- Mix. Stir in 4 mL of melted coconut oil and a heaping ½ teaspoon of the chicken stock. The smell makes the neighbor’s beagle appear at the back door like a fuzzy tax collector.
- Pour. Divide the slurry evenly into the mold’s paws. Each cavity holds 0.75 mL, giving 25 mg per chew once it sets.
- Chill. Freezer, 6 minutes. They pop out like rubber ice cubes.
Total active time: 8 minutes, including the argument about who lost the mold last month. Chews keep for ten days in the fridge, longer if you vacuum-seal and freeze. The dog thinks they’re treats; I think they’re $1.20 for the whole batch instead of $4 a pill.
Legal? Our vet shrugged and said, “You’re not selling them, and the active ingredient is identical.” Still, check state rules–some boards hate kitchen alchemy. Store the original capsules in their bottle with the prescription label; if TSA ever opens the cooler on a road trip, you’ll want paperwork.
Pro tip: run a quick potency check every third batch. Dissolve one chew in 10 mL water, dip a urine-test strip for gabapentin (yes, Amazon sells them), compare the color block. If it’s half-shade off, adjust your volume next round.
We refill the 400 mg script once a year for $13 at Costco. The silicone mold has outlasted two coffee makers. And the Lab? He now queues by the freezer at 7 a.m., tail thumping like a metronome. Cheaper, faster, and no more begging the compounding pharmacy to please, please rush the order before the weekend.
Instagram-ready before/after: film a post-op cat’s pain score drop from 8 to 2 on Neurontin–script provided
Your followers scroll past perfect lattes and sunset reels; stop them with a 15-second clip of a cat who can finally breathe without flinching. Shoot this on the clinic floor, no filter needed.
Shot list & captions (copy-paste ready)
Clip 1 – 0:00-0:03
Close-up on the chart: “Pain 8/10–hissing, pupils blown, won’t bear weight.” Voice-over: “Three hours post-spay, Miso’s score is red-zone.”
Clip 2 – 0:03-0:06
Squirt 10 mg/kg Neurontin onto a teaspoon of Churu. Record the lick, the swallow, the tiny pink tongue. Caption: “One dose, chicken-flavored.”
Clip 3 – 0:06-0:10
Split-screen. Left: same cat crouched, ears flat. Right, 90 minutes later: she’s sitting, tail curled, eyes soft. Overlay text: “Pain score now 2/10–vet confirmed.”
Clip 4 – 0:10-0:13
Slow-mo head bump against the technician’s hand. Add the heartbeat SFX you normally save for puppies–it works here.
Clip 5 – 0:13-0:15
Selfie with patient in lap. Say: “Gabapentin isn’t just for seizures–ask your vet if your cat’s hurting.” Hashtags: #CatPainFree #NeurontinWorks #VetMed #BeforeAfter
Pro tips that keep the algorithm happy
Film in 9:16, natural light from the kennel window. Keep the phone vertical; TikTok crops anything else. Tag the drug name plus your state–owners search “Neurontin for cats Texas” at 2 a.m. when their own kitty limps home. Post the pain-scale sheet in Stories; saves you fifty DM explanations. If the owner says yes, pin the reel to your profile–new clients book consults straight from that clip.
Price shock fix: compare Pfizer vs. 4 generic suppliers–save 42 % and keep margins at 68 %
Last month a clinic in Oregon paid Pfizer’s list price for 100 ct 300 mg Neurontin: $ 412. The same carton of gabapentin, same strength, same chicken-flavored coating, left four different generic factories for $ 239. That 42 % gap is not a typo; it is the difference between breaking even and finishing the quarter with a 68 % gross margin on the product you dispense most.
How the numbers stack up
| Supplier | Price per 100 ct 300 mg | Shipping to USA | Payment terms | Rebate after 500 ct |
|---|---|---|---|---|
| Pfizer (Neurontin) | $ 412.00 | included | Net 30 | none |
| Aurobindo | $ 239.00 | free > $ 1 k | Net 60 | 5 % |
| Amneal | $ 242.00 | $ 18 flat | Net 45 | 3 % |
| Sun Pharma | $ 238.00 | free > $ 1.5 k | Net 30 | 4 % |
| Marksans | $ 241.00 | free > $ 800 | Net 15 | 6 % |
Pick any of the four generics and you land between $ 238 and $ 242. Add your usual 2.2 × markup and you still undercut the Pfizer carton by $ 68 while pocketing $ 166 profit on every bottle. Move 150 bottles a month and you have bought yourself a new ultrasound without touching the equipment budget.
What vets actually see
Dogs do not read labels. The seizure beagle on 10 mg/kg tid has the same plasma curve whether the capsule says “Neurontin” or “Aurobindo”. The only time the brand matters is when a client insists; hand them the package insert and 9 out of 10 walk out with the generic once they see the receipt side-by-side. One practice in Phoenix printed both prices on the invoice–generic sales jumped 87 % in six weeks.
Stock trick: order 600 ct bottles instead of 100 ct. They cost 9 % less per cap and you cut your tech’s refill runs in half. Split them into amber vials, slap your own label, done.
Bottom line: switch four SKUs, keep the same shelf, same protocols, and you stop bleeding $ 1,800 a month on one drug. That is a year of free pizza lunches for the whole team, or the down-payment on the digital dental unit you have been eyeing.
Client compliance trick: one text template that boosts refill rate from 34 % to 79 % in 30 days
Most clinics send the usual “Time to refill Neurontin” email and wonder why two-thirds of clients ignore it. We stole a trick from online retailers and rewrote the message into a 42-word SMS that feels like it came from a neighbor, not a server. The numbers jumped in four weeks; here’s the exact copy-and-paste we used and why each line works.
The template (98 characters fits any phone)
- “Hi Jess, Buddy’s 100-mg Neurontin runs out Friday. Reply 1 and I’ll have it at desk tomorrow–no visit needed. -Ava at Oakview”
Four parts, zero fluff:
- Name of owner + pet creates a micro-bond in the first two seconds.
- Exact strength and day supplies urgency without sounding like a sales pitch.
- “Reply 1” is the lowest possible friction; clients don’t need to open an app or find a link.
- Signature from a real tech, not “the clinic”, adds human accountability.
How we rolled it out
- Exported patients due within 14 days, filtered for Neurontin scripts older than 21 days.
- Split the list: A group got the old email, B group got the SMS above.
- Used the practice management “two-way chat” number so replies landed in the same inbox.
- Techs checked the queue at 8 a.m. and 3 p.m.; every “1” was converted to an invoice before lunch.
Results after 30 days
- Group A (email): 34 % refill rate, 12 % bounce, 3 angry “stop spam” replies.
- Group B (SMS): 79 % refill rate, 1 % opt-out, five clients asked to add gabapentin for the other cat too.
- Average days between scripts dropped from 37 to 29, adding 2.4 extra fills per patient per year.
Three tweaks that paid for themselves
- We added the pickup deadline “before 7 p.m.” on Fridays; Monday morning clutter disappeared.
- Clients who didn’t reply within 24 hours got a single follow-up: “Still need it? Text YES.” No second follow-up–respects the quiet nos.
- For patients on both Neurontin and NSAIDs, we alternated which drug we mentioned, preventing message fatigue.
Copy/paste checklist for your team
- Use the pet’s call name, not the chart name “Fluffykins McDougal III”.
- Never add a web link; every extra tap bleeds 30 % of responders.
- Send between 10 a.m. and 5 p.m. local time; outside that window response halves.
- Keep the refill ready for 48 h; broken promises train clients to ignore the next text.
We turned one boring sentence into a quiet little habit. Try it for a month, count the vials you hand across the counter, and thank Ava–she’ll be the one waving from the pharmacy window.
DEA myth busted: why Neurontin isn’t a controlled drug–shipping rules you can forward to worried owners
“Will the DEA break down my door if I mail this to my sister in Texas?”
That text lands in my clinic inbox at least once a month. The answer is short: Neurontin (gabapentin) is not on the federal controlled-substance list, so you can overnight it to Aunt Linda without triggering a SWAT team. Here’s the longer version you can copy-paste to clients who’ve fallen down a Reddit rabbit hole.
What the DEA actually says
Gabapentin lives in the “prescription-only” bucket, same as antibiotics or heartworm chews. The Controlled Substances Act never added it to any of the five schedules. Translation: no DEA 222 forms, no quota limits, no locked vault in the back room. Some individual states (Kentucky, Michigan, Tennessee, Virginia, West Virginia) have slapped it into their own “schedule 5” for human pharmacies, but that restriction stops at the state line and does not apply to veterinary dispensing or to interstate courier shipments of animal-labelled product.
Shipping 101 for owners
- USPS: Declare “prescription animal medication” on the customs form if you cross borders, keep it in the original vet vial, and add a copy of the prescription label. No extra permits needed.
- FedEx/UPS: Both carriers ask for a vet’s name and phone number on the outer box. That’s it. No hazardous-material sticker, no adult-signature surcharge.
- On-board luggage: TSA sees gabapentin capsules every day. Keep the pharmacy label with the pet’s name and you’re through the X-ray in under thirty seconds.
The one thing that will get you in trouble
Reselling your leftover 300 mg caps to a coworker. Once the drug changes hands without a prescription, it becomes “misbranded” under the Food, Drug & Cosmetic Act–felony territory. Remind owners: if Fluffy no longer needs it, bring the bottle back to the clinic for safe incineration; don’t turn it into neighborhood currency.
Quick reply template
Feel free to forward this:
“Hi! Neurontin for pets is NOT a federally controlled drug. You can legally mail it anywhere in the U.S. as long as the package shows the vet prescription label. Double-bag it, add ice if it’s summer, and ship Priority. No DEA paperwork required.”
End of panic attack. Now hit send and go walk the dog.
Bundle therapy: pair Neurontin with laser sessions–charge $120 extra per package and outsell competitors
Clients walk in clutching a shaking beagle or a cat that won’t jump on the couch anymore. They’ve already tried three clinics and a Facebook group remedy that smelled like peppermint. Hand them a flat-fee bundle–Neurontin tablets plus six low-level laser slots–and they stop shopping around. You pocket an extra $120 above your normal neuropathic pain plan, and the pet sleeps through the night starting day four. That’s the story one Memphis practice emailed us last quarter: same vets, same rooms, revenue up 18 % without adding a single new patient.
How the math works
Neurontin 100 mg, 30 ct, lands at roughly $38 wholesale. A six-pass laser block retails for $150. Package both at $269, advertise it as the “Comfort & Calm Bundle,” and the markup sticks. Clients see one clear price on the exam-room iPad; no line-item shock, no “maybe later.” The red laser light calms inflamed nerves while gabapentin keeps serotonin and norepinephrine from throwing a party in the spinal cord–classic synergy, zero extra explanation needed.
Script you can steal
“Mrs. Lee, we can either chase this nerve pain month by month, or we can hit it with a paired punch right now. Bundle covers meds and six laser visits; if you don’t see Finn wagging easier in two weeks, we tear up the invoice.” Say it while scratching the dog’s chin–sign-up rate jumps to 73 %, according to the Memphis crew.
Quick setup checklist
- Pre-label amber prescription vials with bundle stickers so techs don’t hand out singles by mistake.
- Block two 15-minute laser slots every morning and two at dusk; sell them first, use walk-ins for overflow.
- Update your online booking tile: “Laser + Neurontin Bundle – $269, click to reserve.” The algorithm loves plain keywords.
- Shoot a 20-second reel: tech circles the laser probe over a dachshund’s lower back, cut to the same dog trotting outside seven days later. End frame: price and phone number.
What competitors miss
They quote gabapentin alone, then tack on laser later–clients feel nickel-and-dimed. You front-load the value, lock in six visits, and the front desk schedules follow-ups before the owner reaches the parking lot. By the time the clinic down the road mails its 10 %-off coupon, Max is already halfway pain-free on your table.
Risk notes you’ll be asked
Neurontin is extra-label in animals, so chart dose (5–10 mg/kg BID to TID) and owner consent. Laser goggles for everyone–yes, even the cat. No NSAID washout needed, but warn them of mild sedation; some dogs prance like they’ve had two beers. If renal values are sketchy, halve the dose and charge the same bundle price–your margin just widened.
Roll it out on a Tuesday, watch Thursday’s calendar fill with bundles, and leave the peppermint-pushers in your rear-view.