I launched Bark Pouch almost ten years ago with two lovely business partners who signed over ownership to me five years ago to focus on their families. I laugh now, thinking that making 100 pouches was such a big deal, and I once tracked inventory in a note on my phone.

On so many levels, it’s been exhausting. I’ve thought about giving up many times. There were years when I tried to make the product shelf-stable, and I trudged to an ice cream shop to pack orders in dry ice that I could only ship on Mondays, so there was no risk of it dissipating in a warehouse over a weekend.

And, in the past couple of years, every time I felt like I had staff trained and that we were finally ready to start pushing our pouch-making volume to the point that we could sell what would pay us all a livable salary, something would break, or the power would go out, or someone would need to leave. Then, we’d spend all our energy pivoting and re-grouping to ensure we had stock for our long-term, frequent customers.

I’ve never wanted to grow to a point where I can’t honor my commitments to my subscribers if I can’t procure all the ingredients (which happens a lot). I’ve never wanted to feel pressure or stress out my team on days when we know we have to throw out product due to equipment issues and worry we won’t be able to fill projected orders. And I’ve never wanted to be miserable while working. I do it too much. And, to be cliche, life’s too short.

Well, we’re FINALLY, ten years later, ready to take on wholesale customers in retail stores and training centers only in the following states: IL, IN, KY, MI, NY, OH, PA, VA, & WI. We’re still paying a premium for shipping, and I want to grow with integrity, not taking on more than we can handle, even on mishap days.

On the homefront, Mabel and I are doing amazingly well. She’s snoring louder, more profound, and less inclined to follow me when I get up and go to another room. I’ve even caught her napping belly up during her home-alone training. And, just the other day, as I was scrubbing the crevices of her lick mats and meal-enrichment toys, it didn’t feel as arduous, nor did I wish for a dishwasher for the first time.

So, thank you for supporting my teeny tiny (for now) business. And I genuinely hope your holiday weekend is lovely, in whatever way matters most to you.