For Anton, life hasn't been easy. He's a veterinarian and almost never receives cash. He only receives money in kind, and to be more precise, in cartons of "eggs." This isn't enough to pay for gas, electricity, water, or food. What does he do then? He's forced to work as a veterinarian at Kawanda, a pet shop run by Uxía, his niece, despite his reluctance. And from here, we see a comedy of errors.
It's clear that Anton, known for his tenderness toward animals and his sharp tongue toward owners, struggles with pet owners who don't allow him to perform his duties according to his specialty. Together, Uxía and Anton form a team, despite their opposing personalities. Uxía tries to convince other staff members to be a little more lenient with Anton. What gives a slightly different flavor to Anton's characters is that he is portrayed as selfish. For example, he even abandons Kawanda to prove to his neighbors that he's a decent veterinarian. On the other hand, Uxía is one of those people who believes in teamwork.
Stars: Luis Zahera, Lucía Caraballo, Nuno Gallego
While the plot is entertaining, there are many episodes where it falters. This leaves us with nothing new to watch and makes us feel incomplete. The humor also feels repetitive, as it ends up following a pattern. For example, the series is filled with Anton dealing with pet owners who act strangely overprotective of their pets. This is repeated episode after episode, which in turn becomes boring. This also causes overlapping themes. The fact that all the pet owners expect Anton, a qualified pet, to work according to their instructions is what fills the main premise. I also think rural Spain could have been explored quite well, but it wasn't. Except for a few farms and the fact that Anton's house barely receives hot water, it doesn't truly portray the Spain they wanted us to see. Online TV streaming services.
However, the performances are a plus. The entire cast, including Luis Zahera and Lucía Caraballo, are fantastic with their comedic timing and the wave of emotions their characters demanded. It's a pleasure to watch them bring the characters of Uxía and Antón to life. I think it's thanks to their performances that these flaws can be ignored to watch the series. In short, the series is a good choice. For the weekend, it's short and sweet. We see rural Spain and quirky pet owners, which makes you laugh out loud. It might not leave a lasting impression, but it will certainly help you forget the sadness of the week. Don't expect anything spectacular. In fact, the key to watching this series lies in the small scenes that make you laugh.
The series' success rests almost entirely on the wonderfully uneven dynamic between its central couple, a relationship cemented by exasperation and grudging affection. Luis Zahera's Antón is a magnificent creation of pure grumpiness. He's a man who approaches a Pomeranian anxiously, as if it were a broken-down tractor, seeking the most direct solution without regard for its owner's delicate sensibilities.
His approach to patients is that of a disgruntled badger. This refusal of the performative empathy characteristic of modern customer service provides an endless source of comic tension. He not only resists his new surroundings but philosophically opposes them, and his straightforward assessments of both pets and people serve as the show's sharpest satirical weapon. His cynicism and occasional selfishness aren't presented as simple flaws, but as a coherent, if deeply impractical, worldview that is constantly being tested.
Uxía, played by Lucía Caraballo, brings the warmth and drive necessary to keep the show from descending into pure cynicism. As Kawanda's manager, she is the eternal mediator, the cultural translator between her uncle's brusque pragmatism and the emotional needs of her clients. She's competent, empathetic, and possesses a powerful instinct for saving everyone and everything around her, a trait that often complicates her life. Uxía isn't a mere foil; she's the embodiment of the new world Antón rejects.
She believes in teamwork, in branding, in the idea that a pet store can be a community center. Her constant efforts to smooth over the social chasms created by her uncle are both funny and slightly tragic. Their relationship is a complex tapestry of shared history and current conflict. Beneath the bickering over proper doctor's etiquette lies an unspoken familial bond that gives their interactions a depth that elevates the series beyond a simple workplace sitcom. They are a chaotic but strangely effective unit, navigating the absurdities of their profession together.
The comedic engine of Old Dog, New Tricks lies in its deadpan tone, a dry and sober style that extracts humor from Antón's awkward silences and disappointing reactions. The series avoids over-the-top punchlines, opting instead for the slow-burn comedy of a situation that gradually spirals out of control.
It finds a promising target in the modern phenomenon of anthropomorphizing pets, using Antón as a reflection of the audience's potential bewilderment over concepts like gluten-free dog biscuits and acupuncture for small animals. The satire is gentle but persistent, a commentary on the shifting values that separate a practical, rural past from a sentimental, urban present. The humor is almost entirely character-driven, rooted in how this immovable man responds to the unstoppable force of contemporary pet culture.
This reliance on a specific comedic formula is both a strength and a weakness in the series' narrative structure. The series thrives on its episodic, "weekly case" format, which allows for a steady stream of new animals and their eccentric owners, who complement Antón's unwavering personality. These standalone stories are concise, funny, and fit perfectly with the show's core concept. Where the series falters is in its attempts at serialized storytelling.
The overarching plot threads that connect the episodes often feel underdeveloped or fall apart. One particular narrative, about Antón's attempts to win back his former clients, feels more like a distraction than a meaningful development. The show's pacing falters when it strays too far from its central premise: the workplace. The repetitive nature of Antón confronting yet another strange client can be tedious, but the performances are solid enough to keep the formula fresh for most of its run.
The series is anchored by the masterful work of Luis Zahera, who makes Antón feel like a fully realized person, rather than a set of grumpy quirks. He finds the subtle notes beneath the surface, communicating a deep weariness, a flash of wry wit, or a moment of unexpected tenderness with little more than a grunt or a shift in his gaze.
It's a performance of immense control and charisma, transforming a difficult man into someone strangely likable. Lucía Caraballo offers a vibrant and energetic counterpoint, ensuring that Uxía is a capable and intelligent character, not just a reactive victim of her uncle's mood swings. Their chemistry feels earned and authentic, the fruit of a shared and untold history.
The direction and cinematography effectively translate the series' thematic concerns into a visual language. The two Spains are represented in distinct color palettes: the rural world is all damp greens, rich earth tones, and cluttered, lived-in spaces, while the Kawanda pet shop is a world of bright whites, clean lines, and a careful, almost clinical order. This visual contrast is a constant, subtle reminder of the cultural gulf Antón is trying to bridge.
Director Víctor García León employs a light touch, allowing humor to emerge naturally from the actors' interactions. The pacing is patient, allowing scenes to breathe and giving deadpan jokes the space they need to work. The play is a polished, unpretentious work that understands its own strengths. It doesn't pose grand questions about the human condition, but it does leave one wondering about the existential state of a man who understands all animals except those of his own kind.
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