Even in the states I use a vet that comes to the house. Why?
I have cats. Had three, now two.
Here was the routine (because we always did their annual checks at the same time) when we used to go to the vet:
1. The night before, put the carrier in the car - the carrier lives outside. We learned this the hard way. Marge, my nervous girl, would hear us move the carrier and hide. Sometimes behind the refrigerator, sometimes under the couch. Where ever she was it was nearly impossible to retrieve her - she's acutally left scratch marks under the couch when we've tried to drag her out.
2. Just before we are about to leave for what we would call "the spa", my husband would pick Marge up (she's partial to him), stroke her, make her purr, while ever so slowly walking towards the door - now the minute the door opens she struggles to get away from him but not before he literally tosses her into the car and shuts the door. She immediately goes right into the carrier.
3. Next is Fred. He's not as tough but doesn't like to be told what to do so again, pick him up - fine. Open the door - fine. Walk to the car - struggle. This is a 15 pound cat who then gets heaved into the car, slamming the door behind us. He sniffs around a bit then goes into the carrier and proceeds to sit on Marge.
4. Stewart was easy. He always sat on my lap in the car, sometimes wandering over to Les'. Of we go.
5. I'm not sure who starts it - Marge or Fred - but the song begins. A wailing/groaning song and within no time they are all singing. Kinda like the obnoxious horns at Rebel Salute. This continues for the 20 minute drive to the vet.
6. We "organize" Marge and Fred so that Fred is not squishing Marge and close the carrier door. Les takes the carrier - that has 25 pounds of cat in it. I take Stewart, who, upon seeing the building wraps his paws around my neck baby-style only he has his claws fully distended and embedded in my neck.
7. Once in the examining room Stewart is left to his own devices (usually lies down under the bench in there) and Marge is extracted from the carrier. Before we had Fred and she had that whole thing to herself she would somehow "glue" herself to the rear of the carrier and we'd have to turn the thing upside down and shake her out. Marge is the most cooperative because she is the most nervous. She flops at the hand of the vet, takes her shot and makes a beeline back to the carrier.
8. Now its Fred's turn. Fred turns into a wilderbeast. He hisses. He growls. His tail swells to 4x its original size and every piece of fur is standing on edge. He is placed on the scale, hissing and growling and being ferocious. The vet looks at me and asks "is he a nice kitty?" Yeah - generally. He struggles through the entire procedure, spilling the injection half way through, etc. We get a cardboard carrier because we are afraid he'll eat Marge and he gets placed in there still growling and hissing.
9. We have to pry Stewart from under the bench. This take a good 5-7 minutes. He completely misbehaves - doesn't growl but moves around, also spilling the injection, biting, trying to scratch.
10. We leave, Stewart in my arms, basically exhausted from the ordeal. Fred is STILL growling.
These days, 10 minutes before the vet is due to arrive we gather the cats and put them in the bathroom. They don't seem to mind this. The vet comes into their world - and they are great with her. No more drama.
Yay for house-call vets!!!