Webkinz Nation

Ace, a tan, bug-eyed Chihuahua, is snoring. He’s snuggled up in his

doggie bed, snoozing in a blue room with wooden floors. The dog is tuckered out from an afternoon of jumping on trampolines, riding skateboards and eating plates of enchiladas.

Sounds like a high-risk pet with a lot of vet visits in its future. But Ace isn’t your typical pup. He’s a Webkinz, a redhot line of plush stuffed animals that stores have had trouble keeping in stock.

Big deal, you say. After all, stuffed animals aren’t anything special. They don’t move, talk or squeak. But they’re not, in and of themselves, the craze. It’s the corresponding online avatar — a virtual version of the animal — that keeps kids glued to the computer in a world of skateboarding Chihuahuas and basketball-playing frogs.

Kids purchase their $10-$15 plush pet in stores, then go to the Webkinz Web site with a “secret code” — attached to the stuffed animal’s leg — to access their online pet.

Tanner Howard, 12, said his 9-year-old sister, Emma, dotes over her online pet, a monkey, as often as she can.

“She’s on there at least two hours a day,” Howard said. “I think she really likes the online (part), being able to get together with her friends.”

It’s the online games that pull in most fans, said Megan Arnold, 15, who owns eight Webkinz.

“It’s not fun, per se, but they’re addicting,” she said.

So addicting, in fact, that local stores are selling the toys by the dozens — and selling out. The product is moving so quickly that many stores nationally can’t keep the shelves stocked.

“I think that’s the big thing that took over for the Beanie Babies,” said Lorraine DelMonte, gift shop manager at the Antlers Hilton hotel. “When we get them, we sell out within probably a week.”

Months-long shipment delays also didn’t help, and many local store owners are finally receiving orders they placed as far back as January. Ganz, the company that owns Webkinz, ran into some problems in China with production during the Chinese New Year, but production glitches have been fixed, said spokeswoman Susan McVeigh.

“Mostly it’s been simply getting enough of the supply in a short period of time to meet the overwhelming demand,” she said. “I think the intensity of the demand and acceptance in such a short period probably caught everyone by surprise.”

The demand is undeniable. Customers are rabid for the toys. Some stores even insist on keeping Webkinz behind the counters to prevent theft. Others have started call lists of kids waiting for the next shipment.

“We get more requests for that than anything else,” said Zoe Miller, assistant manager at Little Richards Toys and Books for Kids.

But it’s not just young kids pounding at the door — it’s teens and parents. Eileen Arnold, who manages Toys 4 Fun off Academy Boulevard, said dozens of adults have asked for the stuffed animals and admitted to playing the online games after the kids go to bed.

The parents even gripe about the Web site shutting down at 10 p.m., she said.

But why Webkinz?

Who knows. Why Beanie Babies? Why Tickle Me Elmo? Why any toy that takes off in a crazy cultlike fashion and has parents driving across town and fistfighting to get one?

“It’s very hard to project the fickle taste of today’s kids,” said Julie Livingston, spokeswoman for the Toy Industry Association. “They are certainly very immersed in new technology and pop culture and they’re growing up faster than I did, certainly.”

But toy companies have caught on to the popularity of an online component, Livingston said, and store owners are seeing the results. Arnold predicts the next hot toy will be “Shining Stars,” a line of stuffed animals from Russ that allows kids to go online, name a star and interact with their online avatar.

Toys 4 Fun recently started stocking the line, but Arnold guessed it would take a few months for kids to catch on. It took months for stores to stock Webkinz, which were released in April 2005, and even longer before the items moved.

Toys 4 Fun even offered a “buy two get one free” sale to push the line after it sat untouched for at least six months, Arnold said.

“We were giving them away,” she said. “And now you can’t find them to save your soul.”

CONTACT THE WRITER: 636-0152 or melissa.cassutt@gazette.com