Woofstock

I wore my hair in pigtails for the event, with blue jeans and red flip flops. I was mightily perky on arrival and ready to sell sell sell. Had everything I needed to hit the ground running, except my darling Bluetooth. I would have loved to bring him, but alas, my munchkin is terrified of children. Thanks to a demonic little two-year old and her puppy strangling ways, he is forever scarred and unfortunately, crazily vocal around beings under four feet tall.

Woofstock is a weekend-long event that caters to people and their pooches. True to most overdone dog deals, it's all about the people. In most cases, I do think the dogs could care less.

There are lots of vendors, treats, and events, like the Stupid Dog Tricks contest, and a Doggie Fashion Show. Dog fashion shows? If you dress your greyhound up in a cheerleader outfit - I saw this, believe it or not - then in my mind, you have issues. If you dress up your chihuaha in a pink bonnet to match her pink ruffled dress - I also saw this - there should be men in white coats chasing you with butterfly nets.

Then again, who am I to talk since I love to spoil my dog? Bluetooth has a winter jacket. I have justified this in that it's black and very basic, and he's just a little 35lb guy in -35C windchill. Yes, my dog has boots. They are very simple and necessary because, sheesh, I can't make him go bare-pawed in salty, icy streets in that such weather.

Bluetooth also has a Manchester United jersey. I have justified this in that Man U is one of the most badass teams in the league, and a dog wearing their jersey becomes a conversation piece with random sexy British men. This has been proven. The day I find doggie Juventus, Rotterdam and AC Milan jerseys, he's getting those too.

Loulou is super talented, and a firm believer in durable, well made, contemporary garments with clean lines. No beading or feathers here. So far, the Biscuit Dog line is higher end hoodies, pea coats, trench coats and bags, all arranged on mint green, bone-shaped shelves. She set aside one shelf for me in our happy little booth near the entrance gates, where we waited for our onslaught of customers. That never came.

Saturday was mediocre at best. Loulou sold a very small handful of hoodies, and I sold an even smaller handful of treats. But Sunday, that was Loulou's day. Hoodies and pea coats were flying off the shelves, and she was very happy. I was glad too, there's such a shortage of decent dog stuff on the market. Plenty of poop, figuratively speaking; not much quality.

Sunday wasn't exactly bland for me, as it was a carbon copy of the day before. I made the exact amount of money both days which, I can assure you, was nothing to get excited about. The dogs loved the samples and plenty of people were taking the "free" stuff, but not many actually wanted to buy.

This had me stumped. I'd spent days making the healthiest, most unique treats that I could think of, and yet people were walking right on by. Not to stereotype, but if you are a city girl or a gay male, you know that buying for your canine is a half you, half dog experience. You want them to have healthy and tasty things; you also want the experience to be fun and unique for yourself. I buy Blue liver treats because he loves them. I buy him Scooby Snacks because he loves them, and I love saying, "Oh, I just had to hop out to get some Scooby Snacks."

Homemade, organic sweet potato maple treats, strawberry treats and banana treats fit my description of that bill. I suppose there just aren't many people out there like me.

In the middle of all this, I started to feel bad about myself. If you've ever been in that difficult place in life, where you've tried so much and achieved what feels like so little, you know exactly what I mean. You try and you fail, you try and you fail, and while you're always upbeat enough to pick yourself back up again, it gets to the point where you really want something to work. You need something to work.

On the upside, I ran into an aquaintance who runs a super successful dog store. So successful, they are flying in a New York stylist to groom the dogs of the area. How's that for insane? He was willing to take a look at my stuff, and told me not to worry if I achieved nothing from Woofstock. It was the aftermath, he said, that would matter. So, maybe mine and Loulou's 1000 flyers advertising doggie parties (yes, you heard that right) would veer towards some kind of future. It's still still too early to tell.

On another upside, for two consecutive days I was completely molested by puppies. Poodle crosses fell from the sky to cover my face in kisses; a two pound Schnauzer licked my chin, and a handful of Boxer bit my nose.

Puppies always make it better.