From Glitter Bombs to Cults—The Rise and Bark of Buttermilk
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Welcome to BarkCon
BarkCon. The Coachella of canine content. The Met Gala of mutts. The Super Bowl of sponsored squeaky toys.
Travis and Carlton arrived at the Los Angeles Convention Center dragging three suitcases, a ring light, and a mildly annoyed Buttermilk wrapped in a feather boa made from recycled tennis balls.
The line outside stretched around the block. A schnauzer breakdanced to EDM. A dachshund did a 360 spin in roller skates and landed in a pile of glitter. Someone crowd-surfed on a yoga mat.
"I feel like we're underdressed," Carlton whispered, adjusting his paw-print necktie.
"I feel like we should've brought bodyguards," Travis replied. "These chihuahuas are unhinged."
Inside, they received badges from a volunteer with a Bluetooth headset and the glazed-over expression of someone who'd been yelled at by too many Yorkies in bowties.
Travis's badge:
Name: Travis "Treat King" Malone
Affiliation: @ButtermilkUnleashed
Tier: Barkle Gold Tier 2 – Threat Level: Sassy
Carlton's badge:
Name: Carlton
Affiliation: +1
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The Pawffluencer Power Panel
The convention center was chaos. There were booths for doggy mascara, chewables that claimed to balance chakras, and pup-sized hoverboards.
Buttermilk immediately pooped on the red carpet in front of the RawFeast booth.
"Power move," Travis whispered.
Suddenly, silence.
Fabio arrived. Sparkling nails. Satin leash. Miniature fog machine at his paws, wielded by Pierre. Every step glittered. Four fans fainted. One pug passed out.
Pierre smirked. "See you on the panel. Bring more than peasant energy."
Then they vanished into the VIP tent marked: FUR ONLY.
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The main stage loomed with a neon sign:
"Barkle: Unleash the Brand Inside You"
Carlton peeked behind the curtain. "There are eight hundred people out there. And a bulldog DJ with a fog cannon."
"Good," Travis said. "We were born for this."
"No we weren't. We went to community college."
Buttermilk sat atop her podium, licking her paw like royalty who already knew she'd win.
The host, a Maltese with a suspiciously human voice, took the mic.
"On my left: Fabio. 10 million followers. Fashion icon. Known for his glare and refusal to drink still water."
"On my right: Buttermilk. Poodle princess of heartbreak and hope. Currently trending under #ButtermilkBetrayed."
Screams. Balloons. Barkle-branded confetti.
"Today's topic: Authenticity in the Age of Doggy Botox."
Pierre rose. "Fabio stays grounded by never following anyone back."
Oooooh.
Travis stood and clicked his presentation remote. Behind him:
1. Buttermilk in a bathrobe, holding a chew toy like it was a breakup letter.
2. A tweet: "He ghosted me… but I still got the treats. #SingleAndSnaccin"
3. A slow zoom of Buttermilk staring at the horizon, with Celine Dion barking faintly in the background.
The crowd wept. A Boston terrier removed his sunglasses.
Then—BOOM. Glitter bombs exploded from Fabio's collar.
"He's weaponized sparkle!" Carlton yelled.
Buttermilk didn't flinch. She turned… revealing a new outfit:
A bedazzled hoodie that read "I BARKED FIRST" in gothic font.
The crowd went feral. Chanting. Screaming. FaceTime calls to pets.
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The Aftermath
Backstage, they were swarmed by agents, press, and one extremely enthusiastic Dalmatian from BuzzFeed.
A Barkle executive handed Travis a check:
Amount: $15,000
Memo: "For emotionally devastating the crowd. You win."
Carlton blinked. "We won BarkCon?"
"No," Travis whispered. "We conquered it."
That night, they threw a victory party in their apartment. Most guests were dogs. Most passed out from jerky and excitement.
Carlton raised a juice box. "To Buttermilk. May she bark forever."
Travis raised a biscuit. "To going viral without losing your soul."
Buttermilk snored inside a designer tote bag.
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The Scandal: #GobblesGate
It started with a tweet at 5:04 a.m. from @DogTeaDaily:
> "BREAKING: 'Buttermilk' isn't even her real name. Records suggest she was once known as Gobbles. Former alley dog. Newark. Developing…"
Carlton did a spit-take all over her silk pillow. "TRAVIS! WE'VE BEEN DOXXED!"
Travis, in one sock and an open robe, gasped. "What did Fabio DO?!"
By 9 a.m., #GobblesGate was trending.
Reddit detectives uncovered grainy footage of a poodle stealing a hot dog in 2019. TikTok added dramatic music. Twitter exploded.
Headline: From Trash to Cash: Buttermilk's Bone-Chilling Secret Past
Travis paced the apartment. "We need to control the narrative."
"Say she was undercover?" Carlton offered.
"Getting warmer…"
"What if Gobbles was her origin story? The hot dog heist—her prequel. Buttermilk was born from that chaos."
Travis froze. "We leak it ourselves. A documentary."
"Three parts. Title: From Gobbles to Glamour."
Travis hugged him. "You beautiful genius."
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They filmed in 48 hours.
Chapter 1: "Alley of Dreams"
Buttermilk in a trench coat. Carlton voice-overing in a fake Morgan Freeman tone.
Chapter 2: "The Hot Dog Job"
Carlton playing the angry vendor. The hot dog was a sausage tied to string.
Chapter 3: "Becoming Buttermilk"
Travis applying conditioner as metaphor for rebirth.
They uploaded the video with one caption:
> "She didn't run from her past. She turned it into purpose."
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The Redemption Arc
Snoop Dogg retweeted:
> "We all got Gobbles in us. Let her live."
Oprah's dog trainer:
> "Courage is peeing where you once trembled."
Elon Tusk (yes, the bulldog CEO of Dogecoin):
> "We're renaming a park in her honor."
Then came the live press conference.
Pierre and Fabio stormed in: "She should be de-barked! Disqualified!"
Travis stepped up to the mic. "She's not just Buttermilk. She was Gobbles. And she's proud of it. Because every queen comes from somewhere."
Buttermilk barked once.
The crowd gave a standing ovation. Even the pug judge cried.
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The Sponsorship Wars
Three days later, Buttermilk had more offers than chew toys.
Guccidog: Fashion week in Milan
Dogflix: 10-episode docu-drama
Beefcoin: Crypto sponsorship (possibly edible)
AirPup One: Jet named after her
Kibbles & Tycoon: $1M in tennis balls
Carlton, however, was suspicious. His corkboard of brand CEOs had grown. Red strings connected terms like "mind control" and "ferret pyramid schemes."
Then came the black envelope.
Canine & Claw:
> We want Buttermilk as the face of our 'Elite Essence' scent. $30 million. One condition—she must never bark again.
"She's… a dog," Carlton muttered.
"They want silent elegance," Travis read. "No bark. Just… gaze."
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The Cult Reveal
At Canine & Claw HQ—bone-shaped building, robotic reception, espresso bar for poodles—they met Miss Pawtoria, sunglasses indoors.
"She will glow," Pawtoria said.
Back home, they turned on the TV. Breaking news:
"Canine & Claw Accused of Silencing Influencer Dogs. Cult Allegations Arise."
A German shepherd blinked slowly on screen: "I miss barking."
Travis dropped his chew-stick latte. "We almost joined a bark cult."
Carlton pointed. "That's the bowtie from my conspiracy board!"
They sent a single
The next day, Buttermilk went live on stream.
She barked. Loudly. Proudly.
One commenter wrote: "My dog barked along. It was spiritual."
As the stream ended, Travis turned to Carlton.
"Maybe we don't need a yacht."
"Maybe," Carlton said, "we just need this poodle, a camera, and enough jerky to survive the algorithm."
"But maybe," Travis added, "we do get a second ring light."
"Yeah. That last one caught fire."
Buttermilk sneezed, licked her paw, and barked once.
They were ready for whatever came next.