El Salvador Pet Prosthetics Turn One Dog’s Pain into Policy

A baby stroller replaces a dog’s legs, but its owner keeps pushing, insisting on hope where care and dignified options are lacking. In El Salvador, a small veterinary prosthetics project offers more than a remedy for pets; it sparks questions about care, affordability, and the deeper value society grants to animal life.

A Stroller, a Leash, and a Decision Not to Quit

The stroller is the first thing you see, because it is not supposed to be part of this picture.

Pepito, a dog, rides in a baby stroller pushed by his owner, Lorena Hernández. His body remains alert, as if expecting to walk. The leash is present not for walking but as a meaningful ritual people cling to when the body fails.

Lorena watches him, carrying the heavy hope that he will walk—something she has never witnessed.

“I want to see him walking. I have never seen him walk,” she told EFE, visibly emotional.

This statement reflects the central argument: the level of medical and orthopedic care pets should receive, who should have access to it, and how society responds when options are limited.

Many owners fear euthanasia as the only alternative. Prosthetics or orthotics can help some avoid putting their pets to sleep after limb loss or progressive mobility conditions.

The challenge lies in the gap between the desire to provide better care for pets and the costs it may entail for owners. This divide not only affects individual families, but also drives the ongoing policy conversation about whether society should support broader access, even in the absence of formal government legislation.

From Human Orthopedics to a Dog Named Grace

The project at the center of this story, Orth-vetgrace, was built out of necessity, not branding.

Marta de Ponce, a Salvadorean specialist in human orthotics and prosthetics, and her husband started the venture to help their dog, Grace. At six years old, Grace needed orthotics on all four legs due to arthrosis and hyperlaxity, which impaired her tendons and stopped her from walking and jumping.

“Two years ago, my dog was diagnosed with arthrosis and hyperlaxity in her legs, and she lost the natural angle of her legs because her tendons genetically did not develop well, and she stopped doing normal activities, like walking and jumping,” she told EFE.

Such ventures in Latin America often begin not with venture capital but with a family problem and a refusal to accept helplessness. Medical skills for humans are adapted to animals.

Marta and her husband chose to specialize in biomechanics and anatomy to develop orthopedic devices for Grace, addressing the lack of custom pet orthopedic solutions in El Salvador.

The principle is simple yet challenging: if the system fails, build your own.

Out of that came an idea that sounds modest and is actually radical in its implications: give pets a second chance and improve their quality of life. Marta also offered a wider diagnosis of the region. She said neither El Salvador nor Central America has a specialization in pet-specific orthopedics, and she attributed this to Latin America being behind in pet awareness and care.

“Neither El Salvador nor Central America has a specialization in pet-specific orthopedics because in Latin America, we are a bit behind in awareness of pets and their care,” she told EFE.

This dispute is about more than logistics—it’s a question of what societies believe animals deserve and the lasting effects of that belief.

Trust, Process, and the Cost of a Second Chance

Orth-vetgrace operates through a process that draws on clinical disciplines because the stakes are not sentimental. A poorly made device can harm an animal. A good one can change the arc of a life.

Marta adapted her human orthopedic knowledge to the world of prosthetics for dogs and other pets, with advice from experts in the United States. When people request the service, they submit photographs, videos, and a history of the pet’s conditions. There is also a clinical analysis in a veterinary clinic to understand the animal’s situation. With veterinary approval, Marta designs and builds the device.

The prosthetics are made with high-end materials and come with a one-year guarantee, according to the notes.

“Our goal is to design and give the best orthopedic device,” she told EFE, and she emphasized that this kind of service is only offered in Mexico, Colombia, and the United States.

That comparison matters. It places El Salvador in a regional map of pet care where solutions are concentrated in a few countries, and where cross-border travel can become a hidden requirement for medical dignity. For many families, traveling for a pet’s prosthetic is not realistic. So local innovation becomes more than convenience. It becomes accessible.

Marta said that since the service became known through social media, they have had a different case every month, and demand has continued. She said clients give them the trust to do the work.

Trust is the currency here because regulation and specialization are limited. People are entrusting an animal’s future to a small venture built around one dog’s original need.

Then there is money—not an abstract concept but a tangible obstacle.

Pepito’s story makes that clear. When he was nine months old, his back legs were amputated because of a malformation. He has veterinary approval to use prosthetics. His owner says she will do whatever is necessary to raise the funds so he can walk.

Here, a personal medical story becomes social. When prosthetics exist, the question shifts from possibility to affordability. Moral pressure grows as owners feel compelled to try and families begin budgeting.

Another dog, Nemo, shows what happens when the process works. Nemo was born without a leg and now has a prosthetic made through Marta’s work. His owner, Melisa Peña, said she initially planned to get a prosthetic for Nemo in Mexico, but chose Marta after learning about her service.

“On social media, I saw the Orth-vetgrace ad. I wrote, we started talking, and we met to start the process,” she told EFE.

Nemo has been using the prosthetic for about three months and is still adjusting. Melisa described animals as resilient, noting that while Nemo always tried to move, the prosthetic provides greater stability and support. I did everything I could to move, but the prosthetic gives him more stability, and you can see him lean on it. He has been getting used to it,” she told EFE.

The lesson is clear: animals adapt, and people do too when the right tools are available.

The larger dispute is whether the region will regard those tools as unnecessary luxuries or as essential to responsible care. A stroller rolling through a street is not simply an image of hardship; it also asserts the right to dignity and normalcy.

Not a promise. Not a slogan.

A decision, made each day again, to try.

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