Pets provide impetus for Pupperware parties
At “Pupperware” parties, pets haul in the goods
Nicole McBride sprayed a fine mist of Aromutt Therapy Spritzer on Charlie, a Weimaraner-black Lab mix, then smoothed out her dog apron and smiled.
“I’m not the type of person that goes out and buys perfume for my dogs,” she said. “Really.”
Still, there McBride was, the canine equivalent of the Avon lady, demonstrating an array of high-end pet products to an enchanted audience of eight women and five dogs at a Pupperware party at the home of Karen Perjon.
The newest twist in the $35 billion-a-year pet industry, such parties bring to the comfort of your living room $40 Tiara Hairpins for Tiny Dogs, $100 Dog-Tired Heated Beds with removable faux fleece, and $165 Pet Strollers.
These in-home product pitches are the brainchild of Andrew Shure, who in 2003 founded Shure Pets, a Chicago-based direct-sales company that sells stuff for dogs, cats, ferrets, rabbits, birds and horses. Its consultants peddle the goods through the Internet and via Shure Pets’ slick catalogs, though home Pupperware parties are the most popular sales venues.
The company expects more than $1 million in revenues this year, officials said.
“When we started, I just saw a huge void out there,” Shure said. “I’m very intrigued with how we interact with our pets, and I felt that selling products through a party plan would give like-minded people an opportunity to network together.”
This year has been one of explosive growth for the company. There are nearly 900 consultants nationwide – the number has doubled since the spring, when McBride bought a Shure Pets grooming product for one of her five dogs at the Super Pet Expo in Edison, N.J., and signed on herself.
And while Shure Pets offered just 27 items when the company began, it now sells more than 200.
“For lots of reasons, people are spoiling their pets,” Shure said.
” … We are finding that the people who get involved with us treat the pet as part of the family.”
McBride, who works for a Labrador retriever rescue that serves most of Pennsylvania and New Jersey, said finding Shure Pets has been a revelation for her.
“I never went to demonstrations when I was invited before,” she said. “But my friends and I get together and do things with our pets. This works for me.”
Now, she might do two or three parties a month, plus coordinate Internet sales on her Shure Pet Web site.
At the Pupperware party at Perjon’s house, the pooches took center stage. Magic and Sugar Bear (Perjon’s dogs), Tugger and Charlie (who belong to Perjon’s daughter Kim DiValerio), and Frieda (the pet of friend Cathy Matilumos) jumped on laps, played with toys, sniffed the merchandise and chased one another.
After Perjon set out a spread for her friends – trays of fruit and vegetables, chips and salsa, cans of soda, and dog biscuits – McBride got down to business.
She handed out catalogs to the guests, telling them about toys that can withstand chewing Rottweilers and wall clocks available in albino-ferret and green-budgie designs.
There were a few pauses to break up squabbles between dogs or to answer questions about emu-oil conditioning spray for dry doggie skin, but the women were mostly clamoring to buy.
Terry Plandowski doesn’t even have a pet at home anymore. Hers have passed away. But she oohed and aahed over a $10 jar of paw softener and a $14 monkey tug toy, so she filled out an order form full of products for her five granddogs.