I Will Still Protect You, Sus.🐾

(Oishi narrating)

Susan has been sleeping on the couch all day.

I’ve already eaten.

Then napped.

Then eaten again.

Then went outside to argue with the annoying cat.

Then came back inside because boredom is exhausting.

When I returned, I heard Susan snoring.

Naturally, I went to check if she was still alive.

She sometimes sleeps like she’s holding a siopao hostage in her mouth. You can never be too careful.

She was fine. Loud, but fine.

As I sat there watching her chest rise and fall, I remembered the first day we met.

It was raining. I had wandered too far and ended up hiding under a tree, soaked and shaking. Then I saw her running toward me — in slow motion, like in the movies. I panicked. Susan is very large when you are small and wet and afraid.

But instead of grabbing me, she opened an umbrella. She dried me. She scooped me up like I weighed nothing.

And she said words I still remember clearly:

“I got you, buddy.”

I didn’t know what buddy meant.

But it sounded safe.

After that, life became loud.

Susan overreacted to everything.

Our kitchen was often covered in flour.

Fish jumped out of pans.

We went on park walks, food trips, Christmas dinners, New Year countdowns, birthdays, and places I couldn’t pronounce but enjoyed anyway.

She laughed. She cried. I stayed.

Today, while she slept, I whispered a prayer.

“God, thank You for giving me this hooman.”

And I made a promise to myself.

I will still protect Sus when we’re old.

We will drink coffee together.

Watch sunsets.

Maybe Boyo will join us.

I don’t know what the future looks like, but I know where I belong.

Somewhere nearby, I felt a calm presence.

I think Jesus was watching us — smiling — like He understood something I didn’t need to.

And for some reason, that made me peaceful.

Susan stirred.

Still snoring.

I stayed.

The end. 🐶🤍

Still Rising. Still Barking.