I pulled into that strip mall on 41st — the one with the coffee shop and the yoga studio — not really knowing what I was walking into. Roxi & Co takes up more space than you'd think, and the second you open the door, three things hit you: the smell of bulk treats in wooden bins, a wall of toys that looks like someone raided a carnival, and this overwhelming sense that someone here actually gives a shit about dogs.
The staff knows regulars by name — the dogs' names, not the humans'. I watched a woman in a Roxi apron crouch down to greet a nervous shepherd mix, completely ignoring the owner until the dog relaxed. That's the vibe. It's a pet store, sure, but it's run by people who'd rather talk about your anxious rescue's food sensitivities than upsell you on something you don't need.
They've got the premium stuff — raw food, grain-free kibble, those boutique treats that cost more per pound than my own lunch — but they'll also just tell you what works. No judgment if you're not feeding your cat like it's training for the Westminster Dog Show. I've seen them spend twenty minutes with someone comparing brands, actually reading ingredients, explaining why one fish oil is worth it and another isn't.
The one honest thing: it's not cheap. You're paying for curation and for staff who know the difference between a probiotic and a prebiotic. If you're looking for forty-pound bags of grocery-store kibble, you're in the wrong place.
But if you want to stop guessing what's actually in your dog's food, or if you need someone to help you figure out why your cat keeps throwing up on your Whittier bungalow's only decent rug — this is where you go. It's a neighborhood spot that happens to have a thousand five-star reviews because it earned them one anxious pet owner at a time.
— Grace
I pulled into that strip mall on 41st — the one with the coffee shop and the yoga studio — not really knowing what I was walking into.