September 21, 2007
Pupperware' parties a treat for owners and their pampered pets
By Cynthia Hubert - Bee Staff Writer
Kristina Andersen sure knows how to bring a party to life.
"Carrot, vanilla or peanut butter?" she shouts, holding up cellophane bags of bone-shaped cookies.
Immediately, Andersen is mobbed. A barkfest breaks out. Laughter fills the room.
Pupperware, anyone?
Andersen, a perky Citrus Heights animal lover, is hoping to cash in on America's obsession with its pets.
People have long sold cookware and cosmetics in their homes, she reasons. Why not leashes, squeaky toys and doggie breath mints?
The time is right, say industry insiders.
According to the American Pet Products Manufacturers Association, domestic critters inhabit 63 percent of households in the country, or more than 71 million homes. This year, Americans will spend an estimated $41 billion on their animal companions, nearly double the amount we shelled out a decade ago.
Our powerful bond with pets is not lost on the nation's business moguls. Upscale hotel chains such as Kimpton now plug their pet-friendly policies. More mainstream companies, from Omaha Steaks to Old Navy, are marketing pet products. At specialty stores and even at Target, customers can buy all manner of doggie and kitty couture, from hipster lumberjack vests to fetching Halloween costumes. There are feline spas, canine yoga sessions and designer cages for very special birds.
One of the hottest new concepts in Critterland is the home pet party, a gathering of animals and the people who are willing to open their wallets for them. The events are ringing up revenues for companies like Shure Pets, based in Chicago, and, Andersen hopes, for individual sellers like herself.
"The pet economy is on fire," says Andrew Shure, president and founder of Shure Pets.
"Our society is more affluent, people are marrying later and maybe not having kids, and they tend to treat their pets like their children," says Shure, whose mixed breed dog, Caillou, comes to work with him most days. "We want to pamper them."
Shure launched his company in 2003 and has seen revenues increase every year, he says. Shure Pets has 1,600 "independent pet consultants" throughout the country, in all 50 states. "We're growing, though we're still a tiny company," he says.
On average, parties ring up about $400 in sales, says Shure, and consultants such as Andersen earn 25 percent commission. Party hosts earn credits toward merchandise.
Andersen is throwing her debut party on a warm Saturday afternoon at her sister's home in Antelope. Human guests have been encouraged to bring well-behaved pets, who are allowed to sample some of the wares.
Among the attendees are a tiny black pug puppy wearing a collar studded with roses, a 160-pound mastiff, a glossy Weimaraner whose toenails are painted pink, a Doberman pinscher and a miniature dachshund.
"Someone asked about bringing a cat, but I didn't think it was a good idea," muses Sherry Langbein, Andersen's sister and proud owner of Chloe, the sweet but massive mastiff.
Inside Langbein's living room, guests munch on snacks and sip punch, keeping an eye on their animals while perusing the 2008 Shure Pets Cat-alog. They find shampoo for dogs, cats and even ferrets. Scented spritzers to freshen stinky canine coats. Pet dental kits and "calming elixirs." Signs that announce "It's the Cat's House." Bowls and beds and brushes and chew toys.
"This is the best day of my whole entire life!" Andersen gushes, standing behind a table where she has laid out a sampling of products. "I am so excited!"
She extols the virtues of several items, including a sturdy plush tug toy that she claims has far outlasted similar items she has purchased elsewhere for her two Chihuahuas, Chico and Chewy.
"These guys can tear up anything," she says. "Most toys don't last two hours in my house." Yet Tango the Tug Monkey is still intact after two months, she boasts. At $15, she says, Tango is the bargain of the century.
Andersen holds up a yellow Frisbee-like "fling thing" that even her pit bull, Dallas, has been unable to shred. She urges guests to sniff mastiff Chloe's coat, as she has just had a bath with Vivid Vanilla Therapy shampoo and smells heavenly.
Though she has never been an Avon lady or sold Amway, Andersen seems to know how to work a crowd. She tells her audience of a dozen people that many Shure Pets products are organic and all natural, and most are made in the United States.
"Let's buy American!" she says.
Her pitch seems to be working.
Amy Shafer, a pet sitter and dog walker by profession, fills out an order form, purchasing everything from super-absorbent towels to spray-on "boo-boo bandages" for a few of her more than 100 clients.
Business at her company, About a Dog, is booming, she says. Her clients include nurses who work 12-hour shifts and busy attorneys who are more than willing to spend money on their four-legged pals.
Kristen McCullough, whose Weimaraner, Misty, has enthusiastically devoured several "jerky log dogs" at the gathering, is ordering a sturdy new brush and a container of waterless shampoo.
"It's just what we need," says McCullough, whose family includes a Queensland heeler, Bella, and a cat, Lily.
"We all love our animals," she says, as Lucy the pug zips past her in a blur. "This is a really fun way for everyone to shop for them."
At the kitchen table, Andersen is presiding over a growing pile of orders and a stack of greenbacks. She's sold $600 worth of products, has booked two more parties and earned her sister $80 in credits.
"I feel really good!" she says. "I feel great! Now, I'm gonna go home and collapse."
