Old Dog, New Tricks Review 2025 Tv Show Series Cast Crew Online
Old Dog, New Tricks arrives with a deceptively simple premise: a rural veterinarian named Antón, struggling amid the decline of traditional farm clients, reluctantly transitions to working in a city pet boutique run by his niece Uxía. That pivot — from fields to polished storefronts, from beasts of burden to pampered companion animals — underlies much of the tension and humor in the show. The juxtaposition of rural pragmatism and urban pet-culture excess is fertile ground for conflict, and often the series mines that well. In its better moments, the show is a gentle satire of pet owners and of modern consumer culture, asking what it means to care for animals in an environment that often places more value on aesthetics than substance. The fish-out-of-water setup is not new, but the cultural and geographic specificity — set in Galicia, Spain, with the production leaning into regional authenticity — gives it color.
Luis Zahera’s casting as Antón is one of the show’s stronger cards. He comes with gravitas from a career of dramatic roles, and seeing him wrestle with comedic discomfort — adjusting to pet boutique norms, grappling with eccentric clients, negotiating the clash between his old-school veterinarian instincts and delicate urban sensibilities — brings credibility to what could otherwise be farce. Lucía Caraballo as Uxía also plays well as the more modern, optimistic foil: she wants to build a business in the new world, but still feels tethered to familial and rural roots. Their tension (and occasional alliance) drives much of the show’s emotional grounding.
One of the show’s virtues is how it does capture, at times, the slow fade of rural life: small farms shutting down or consolidating, long distances, client thinness, declining resources. Antón’s predicament (his clients paying in eggs, or defaulting, or simply vanishing) feels rooted in real pressures facing rural veterinarians. But the show sometimes undercuts that realism by shying away from deeper economic or political forces: the rural exodus, regulation, climate stress — most of these remain background hints rather than core conflicts. Critics have noted that the rural Spain setting, while invoked, is under-explored; beyond a few farms and the quirks of Antón’s household (e.g. lack of reliable warm water), the show rarely probes structural tensions in the countryside.
That said, the show leans more comfortably into comic episodes about pet owners, bizarre client requests, eccentric demands, and the everyday absurdities of contemporary pet culture. Many episodes follow a pattern: a hyperprecious pet owner shows up with unrealistic expectations; Antón tries to assert rational veterinary judgment; conflict ensues; resolution arrives, often by compromise or reassessment. Over time, that formula can feel repetitive — some reviewers have complained that the show “falters” in places and recycles tropes about pet parents who cannot let go and who micromanage animal care to an absurd degree. Occasionally the humor borders on caricature rather than satire.
Where the show is more ambitious is in the interpersonal dynamics and character arcs. Antón, in many scenes, is forced to confront his sense of professional pride, identity, and the risk of irrelevance. Uxía, on her side, must mediate family expectations, modern business pressures, and reconciling her rural roots with entrepreneurial dreams. Secondary characters, including Uxía’s romantic interests, farm neighbors, and pet boutique staff, are given occasional moments of depth — although some remain underwritten. The tension between work and family, between loyalty to place and adaptation, gives the show some emotional stakes beyond pet hijinks.
One challenge the show faces is tonal balance. At times it leans too light, too episodic, offering charming but forgettable vignettes. At others it hints at deeper weight — for instance, Antón’s anxieties, threatened inspection or regulatory pressures, and the emotional cost of starting over — but does not always follow through. The contrasts in tone sometimes feel abrupt: a comedic dog-salon scene might be followed by a serious family conversation that feels underprepared. Some critics have observed that the show sometimes feels “incomplete,” as though certain plot threads are set up and then not fully resolved. Over the first season (or early episodes), it can feel like the show is still learning its own limits: which threads to follow, how much to lean into satire versus character drama.
Nevertheless, the acting tends to be a redeeming anchor. Even when scripts are uneven, the ensemble delivers. The chemistry between Zahera and Caraballo grounds many of the emotional beats: frustration, pride, empathy, reluctant partnership. Their ability to carry scenes of confrontation or quiet introspection helps smooth over some structural flaws. Reviewers often cite that the show is “saved” by its performers. The supporting cast sometimes feels more in the service of plots than as fully dimensional characters, but they help maintain momentum.
In terms of pacing and structure, the show is moderately breezy. Episodes are not overly long, and the rhythm prefers resolution within or near each installment, rather than sprawling arcs. That makes it friendly for casual viewing — a “weekend escape,” to borrow one review’s phrase — though it may not sustain bingeing for those seeking complex, serialized storytelling. The lighter tone and episodic design means stakes rarely feel existential, which is fine for viewers wanting something warm and pleasant, but may frustrate those seeking sharper drama.
Visually and atmospherically, the show does well in glancing detail: the contrast between rustic countryside and polished urban pet boutique— set design, costuming, the clutter of a rural home versus the stylized shop — helps reinforce the world clash. The Galician backdrop is more than decorative: the regional flavor seeps in, though not always fully exploited. The show’s aesthetic often favors warmth and everyday texture, rather than flashy cinematics, which suits its tone.
A few recurring weaknesses bear mention. One is predictability: many episodes follow familiar arcs (pet crisis → owner meltdown → tempering → reconciliation). Once you’ve seen a few, the reversals and miscommunications can feel mechanical. Another is that thematic overlap sometimes occurs — too many episodes emphasize the same conflicts (owner overreach, Antón’s pride, urban vs rural values) without enough variation. This leads to a sense of diminishing returns. Reviewers have argued that the humor sometimes runs dry because the “bizarre pet parent” motif is stretched too far. Finally, deeper character arcs (economic pressures on rural life, family legacies, generational divides) are too often sidelines rather than integrated into the main tension.
Still, Old Dog, New Tricks has genuine charms. It is rarely forced or preachy; most of its moral weight is earned through character struggle rather than overt statements. It offers kindness, small growth, and humor alongside occasional wistfulness. It’s not afraid of quiet scenes or acknowledging that new circumstances can make one feel unmoored. For viewers who appreciate shows about place, identity, and incremental adaptation, it has appeal. It is not spectacular — it doesn’t reinvent the formula — but it’s amiable, often funny, and softened by sincere human moments.
In conclusion, Old Dog, New Tricks (2025) stages a modest but emotionally grounded collision between rural and urban life through the lens of veterinary practice and pet boutique commerce. Its strengths lie in the casting (particularly Zahera and Caraballo), its moments of cultural specificity, and its balance of humor and pathos. Its weaknesses lie in structural predictability, underdeveloped arcs, and occasional tonal unevenness. As a series, it may not leave a lasting imprint on the medium, but it offers a pleasant, thoughtful experience — one that reminds us that even older practitioners in old trades can learn new ways (and that sometimes new tricks come with awkward adjustments). If you’re in the mood for something light but with heart, this might be a show you’d enjoy watching through.
