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Category: Susan & Oishi: The Melodramatic Hooman and Her Little Stoic PhilosoFurr

  • Susan’s Romance Fever (And My Burnt Chicken)

    Susan’s got a romance fever, and I (Oishi) am the collateral damage. Milk on my head, burnt chicken in my bowl, and zero park trips for two weeks — all because of a pocketbook and some French guy with a jawline sharp enough to cut siopao. When I finally staged a hostage crisis with the book, Susan snapped back… sort of. Boyo showed up with chicken (praise be), and Sus prayed for a “ride or die.” Me? I just want my siopao back.

    Oishi Narrating

    For the past few weeks Susan has been ignoring me. She’s hooked on this little book and can’t put it down. The other day she even poured milk on my head without noticing! She cooks without looking—left hand holding the book, right hand stirring the pot. Guess what happened? My chicken got burnt. And then she had the audacity to say, “Oishi, just eat your dog food!”

    Excuse me? Dog food?! She has always called me badoodle or baby fur. Now suddenly I’m dog? The nerve. And those kibbles taste like sand, thank you very much.

    The laundry is piling up, the house is a mess, and she hasn’t taken me to the park in two weeks. Two. Weeks! But the last straw wasn’t even that—it was when she kept giggling at night, flipping her hair, whispering that she felt like Madeleine. Who the heck is Madeleine?

    Last night I couldn’t take it anymore. I bit the book and ran. Susan yelled, “Oishi, give that back!” But I stood my ground, clutching it in my teeth like a hostage situation. She finally surrendered, scooped me up, and said, “Okay badoodle, I’ll tell you the story.” She was flipping her hair like she was in a dog shampoo commercial.

    She began “This is called a pocketbook, badoodle. Mostly romance.”

    (Like I care—but fine, maybe this will get her back to normal.)

    Then she added with a dramatic hair flip:

    “This book—The Tower, the River, and the Jawline—is a romance masterpiece.”

    She continued: “Paris, 1950. Madeleine, with long wavy hair, luscious lips, lashes for days…” She glanced at me and whispered, “Like me.” I gave her a blank stare.

    Madeleine, apparently, was waiting for a man—steady, brave, confident, godly. (Susan sighed loudly at this part. Dramatic much?)

    Then came François. Crisp white shirt, suspenders, broad shoulders, jawline sharp enough to cut siopao. Susan was floating as she described him. I barked to break the spell.

    “He sat by the Seine River, gray eyes brooding, and said, ‘Somewhere between the silence and the stars I will find you.’”

    Susan jumped, checked the mirror, picked me up, put me down, paced to the toilet like she was possessed.

    Then she whispered, “And badoodle, Madeleine met François mid-road and he said, ‘Every step through silence led me to you.’”

    Susan clutched her chest and sighed: “How I wish I could meet a man like that. Someone who treats me like a princess.”

    I thought: Exaggerated princess, sure.

    Just then, Boyo barged in with siopao, milk tea, and chicken (finally, someone useful). My ears perked up—chicken trumps romance any day. Boyo spotted the book and asked, “Love story? Any good?”

    Susan retold the whole thing while Boyo nodded and yawned. I didn’t care. I was busy demolishing chicken. At least Susan snapped back to reality. She started cleaning again, Boyo helped with dishes, and she tucked me into bed later, whispering, “Even if I don’t have a companion just yet, badoodle, I’m happy because I have you.” Then she glanced at Boyo and muttered, “…Fine. And Boyo too.”

    But then Boyo said:

    “Sus, find a man who’ll cherish you no matter what, who stays through happy and hard times, who gives as much as he receives. A relationship is a partnership. Your ride or die.”

    To my surprise, Sus nodded. She even asked, “Anything else?” Paw-to-forehead!

    Later that night, she tucked me in and whispered, “Don’t tell Boyo, but I agree with him. Oh Oishi, how I wish I could find someone like François…”

    She prayed that night, asking God for her ride or die. A man steady in faith, someone who would cherish her and keep God at the center. And, of course, she asked for a sign—like flickering my toy lamp three times.

    Paw to forehead. Classic Sus.

    Still Rising. Still Barking ❤️🐾

  • Susan & Oishi in the 1950s: A Vintage Glimpse

    Ever wondered what Susan and Oishi might’ve looked like in the 1950s? We took a playful trip back in time to imagine their everyday lives in a simpler, sassier era — when feather dusters were weapons of housewife pride, phones had rotary dials, and televisions had antennas you had to bite (well, if you were Oishi).

    Here’s a peek at their retro routine: Susan in full housewife mode doing laundry and cleaning in heels, dolled up at the diner while Oishi steals her burger, and of course, barking at furnitures.

    Set in a time of pastel kitchens, vinyl booths, and Saturday cartoons, this vintage-style series celebrates the timeless chaos of fur and friendship — no matter the decade.


    Susan, armed with sass and a feather duster.

    Susan: dolled up. Oishi: full belly. The date? Never showed up.

    Laundry day blues, 1950s edition

    When your dog thinks the TV antena is edible

    Susan’s trying to gossip with the neighbors… meanwhile Oishi is eating the telephone chord like it’s spaghetti. 📞🐶🍝

    And that’s your glimpse into the world of Susan & Oishi — 1950s edition.

    StillRising. StillBarking 🧼📺☎️✨

  • The Sacred Simplicity of Sunday Mornings

    Trusting God Beyond Material Wishes

    Susan Narrating

    I love Sunday mornings.

    They’re slow, soft, and sacred  like a fresh start wrapped in sunlight. Every time I wake up, I feel happy, alive, and oddly hopeful. There’s a golden ray peeking through our window, and somehow… the world just feels kind.

    Then Oishi, my badoodle, wakes up. And I kid you not, he opens my drawer (yes, really) and pulls out my small Bible. The one my mom gave me back in my rebellion days. That’s Oishi’s way of saying, “Let’s pray.”

    So we did.

    “Thank You, Lord, for this beautiful day.”

    Just then, we heard a knock.

    It was Boyo, our neighbor. “Get ready for church!”

    So we got moving. I took a shower and regretted doing it before giving Oishi a bath. He wagged, shook, and soaked me in dog-scented droplets. He hates showers. I love watching him look slightly less composed, no glasses, no red bandana  just soggy and suspicious.

    We got dressed, grabbed a quick bite (quick, not full  because the best part of Sundays is post-church barbecue). So. Much. Fun. 😆💃🍢✨

    Oishi Narrating

    The streets were alive. The  sun is shining, people are dancing Zumba. Barkmates were out. My cat “friend” Fippo was sitting on the mailbox, judging every passerby like it’s his job. Joggers jogged, others chatted, and someone even let the sunshine kiss their face while sitting peacefully on a bench.

    Susan scooped me up. I thought it was because she was feeling holy.

    Nope.

    She leaned in and whispered, “Oishi… I’m hungry.”

    Of course.

    I had been nudging her toward the rice cooker earlier, but she refused. She said she’d eat after church.

    Inside the church, the priest began reading:

    “Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you…” — Matthew 7:7

    Susan knelt down. I thought, Wow, she’s being sincere today.

    And then I heard her whisper:

    “Lord, please… iPhone 16. And PRO. Maybe plant the idea in Boyo’s head? He seems to like me.”

    🐾 Paw to my forehead.

    The priest continued:

    “Which of you, if your child asks for bread, would give them a stone?
    Or if they ask for fish, would give a snake?
    If you who are flawed know how to give good gifts…
    How much more your Father in heaven?”

    Then he preached.

    He said:

    “Yes, God invites us to ask. But that verse isn’t about a shopping list  it’s about trust.
    A relationship.
    Sometimes, we ask for an iPhone. Or a car.
    And sure, those desires aren’t bad.
    But like a loving father, God sees what’s actually good and what isn’t.”

    Susan and I side-eyed each other. She tried not to laugh. I barked once in support of the priest.

    Sermon Summary (a.k.a. What Susan Needed to Hear)

    🔸 Asking means pursuing God, not just gifts.
    🔸 The “good things” He gives? Think peace, wisdom, strength — not just gadgets.
    🔸 Not everything we want is good for us.
    So God sometimes says:

    • Yes (because it’s right – and we’re ready)
    • No (because it could harm us)
    • Not yet (because we’re not ready – maybe because He’s still pruning us, helping us grow before the gift comes)

    It’s not about being perfect in prayer — it’s about being close.

    God isn’t a vending machine. He’s a Father.

    And somehow, that’s better.

    Susan nodded during the homily.
    I could tell she got it.

    Later That Day…

    We left church. Susan walked directly to the siopao stand. Halfway through her first bite, she asked Boyo, “What time is the barbecue?” Turns out… it was lunch. She lit up like a child on Christmas.

    We ate, we laughed. I got a chicken skewer. (Don’t judge me — I’m part of the family.)

    It was a good day.

    Susan forgot about the neighbor who sang “My Way” at 11 PM the night before.

    We went home.
    Tired, full, happy.

    And before the day ended… we both whispered:

    “Thank You, Lord.”

    God’s love is fatherly, not transactional. He’s more into our growth than our wish list.

    But He’ll always listen to the wish list too  because to Him, it’s part of loving you.

    Still rising. Still barking. 🐾
    Susan & Oishi

  • 🐾 BARKIMONY: The Emotional Summit of Unlikely Animals

    Narrated by: Susan

    It was no ordinary Saturday morning. That sounds dramatic, but I mean it.

    Usually, Oishi wakes me up by nibbling the edge of my pajama pants, then stares into my soul until I give him breakfast and take him for a walk. It’s our sacred ritual. But today? Nothing. Nada. Radio silence.

    I sat up groggily and thought, Huh, that’s weird. Then I heard voices from the kitchen. Plural.

    So naturally, I dragged my half-conscious self into the kitchen—and immediately questioned my entire grip on reality.

    There was a blue horse holding a carton of oat milk, awkwardly smiling like he was trying to impress a Tinder date. His teeth were dazzling.

    Next to him, a green elephant was holding my cereal like it was his birthright.

    An orange chihuahua sat in the corner wearing noise-canceling headphones, probably listening to a TED Talk.

    There was a cat with its face fully smushed against the window—just vibing.

    And a K9 dog in a tactical vest was stationed at the door like he was guarding a presidential parade. I mean… who’s trying to shoot us?

    Then there was Meutang—a purple aquatic creature we once rescued from the Great Fishnap. He was wearing a Hawaiian shirt and a tiny inflatable pool ring. Why? Who knows.

    And finally… my Oishi.

    Sitting at the head of the table. On a cushion. Eating roast chicken. Drinking something that suspiciously looked like wine.

    He saw my face—the face of a woman emotionally spiraling before her caffeine—and calmly slid a stack of laminated ID cards toward me. Like this was normal.

    I blinked at him. He blinked back. He knew I had questions.

    Narrated by: Oishi (Your Local Philosofurr)

    Every Friday night and Saturday morning, Susan and I do our sacred park walk. It’s our bonding moment. We talk (well, she talks), eat snacks, and reflect on life like unpaid therapists.

    But during these walks… I met others.

    There was the blue horse. The green elephant. Budd the K9. We sniffed once, and now we’re brothers.

    Don’t even get me started on Budd’s music taste—Dancing Queen. He claims it calms his nerves. I get it. The beat slaps.

    Anyway—today’s different. I didn’t wake Susan up. Why?

    Because at exactly 3:27 AM, I got a call from Sashmi, our communications pug. She said Budd witnessed a group of humans trying to dynamite Meutang’s hometown: The Fishball Sea.

    Unacceptable.

    So I barked the alert. The Barkimony Delegates assembled.

    There was stomping, growling, some dramatic slow-motion leaps. Budd might’ve bitten someone.

    Eventually, the bad guys ran off.

    We were tired. Starving. Emotionally wrecked.

    So I brought everyone back to our place. Mi casa es su casa, I told them. Which is Spanish for: “Susan’s going to freak out, but it’s fine.”

    And yeah… she froze in the doorway.

    So I did what any noble leader would do: I handed her our official ID cards.

    Now meet the team.

    🐾 Budd — Security Chief

    A K9 with nerves of steel and paws of thunder. His hobbies include tail surveillance and ABBA.

    🩵 Bulgogi — Head of Logistics

    Tiny horse. Big plans. Possibly dramatic. Once cried because of gravel.

    💚 Bibimbap — Admin Officer

    Baby green elephant. Runs everything. Also panics when the printer jams.

    🧡 Sashmi — Comms Manager

    Orange chihuahua. Talks faster than she thinks. Barks in Morse code.

    🐟 Meautang — Marine Relations/Sea Affairs

    Purple fish in a Hawaiian shirt. Vacation-ready, always suspicious.

    Favorite phrase: “It’s a trap.”

    Never proven right, but never wrong either.

    🐱 Fippo — Freelance Delegate (a.k.a. The Cat Who Won’t Leave)

    Wasn’t invited. Still came. Claims he’s here for “diplomacy.” Eats all the fish crackers.

    —

    Next summit topic: Climate Change.

    Susan’s probably going to ask if that’s a new salad dressing. But I love her anyway.

    Signed,

    Still Barking. Still Rising. Still Living with Susan.

    — Oishi, OG Founder of This Madness

  • The Life I Almost Lived (Without My Dog Therapist)

    “This one’s special. It’s about longing, dreams and the furball who made real life better than fantasy”

    Susan (narrating)

    “Boss, I need your signature here.”

    “Boss, what’s our marketing strategy for the judgmental side-eyeing Shih Tzu?”

    “Boss, the episode ‘Two Brains, One Dog, and Zero Life Plans’ is up by 213 percent — the viewers love it!”

    “Boss, what’s our agenda for today?”

    My office is on the top floor of Ventura Co. It’s big — clean, minimalist, beautiful. I can write in peace with no distractions. I’m the Marketing VP / Director / Editor of Ventura Co., and the creator of two hit shows: The Detective Agency and Tina & Pochi.

    Tina is a dramatic woman who eats her feelings. Pochi is her judgmental dog.

    My favorite’s the latter.

    There’s something about that story I keep coming back to. Something about him.

    Despite everything I have — the career, the success, the big apartment, the attractive face and body, even a handsome boyfriend — I go home every night and feel… empty. Incomplete. Like I’m living someone else’s life.

    But when I write about Tina and Pochi?

    I feel whole.

    Because Pochi loves Tina. He’s loyal. And somewhere deep down, I think I’m trying to write a life I missed.

    Tonight, I called my boyfriend.

    “Cinema?” I asked.

    “Busy,” he said, headset on, playing whatever with his friends.

    At least Pochi is always with Tina.

    And here I am again. Alone. Quiet.

    Empty.

    Oishi (narrating)

    I woke up and looked around. Two dogs were snoring beside me. My parents, apparently.

    I always forget their names.

    Ah, yes. Mustard and Ketchup.

    Mom and Dad.

    But there’s one name I keep forgetting — the one that matters.

    It starts with an “S.”

    Anyway, the usual: walk around the park, sniff some tails, hang out with my barksties.

    It’s… fine. Fun, I guess.

    But something’s off.

    I don’t like sniffing other dogs’ butts. There. I said it.

    And I love my parents, I really do…

    But I feel like I’m supposed to be somewhere else. With someone else.

    Sometimes I dream I’m wearing glasses.

    Sometimes I feel naked without a red scarf.

    Sometimes I wake up with the feeling of being scooped — carried, kissed, bathed (ugh).

    And there’s this hooman voice in my head — loud, weird, kinda goat-like when she sings.

    I miss her.

    Even if I’ve never met her.

    Yet.

    Somewhere in Their Dreams — A Prayer

    Susan (in dream narration):
    Lord, I am living a good life.
    Everything looks perfect.
    I’m at the top of my game.
    I have a job, a name, even a man…

    But I feel lonely. And empty.
    Can You send me someone who stays?
    Someone loyal. Soft.
    Who looks at me like I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to him —
    and let me do the same?

    Oishi (in doggo prayer):
    God and Mighty Paw,
    Thank you for park and food and tail sniffs.

    But I miss someone.
    Someone who scooped me.
    Who put on my glasses and red scarf.
    Who sang weird songs and kissed my head.

    Can You send me my hooman?
    The loud one with a goat voice.
    I promise to love her forever —
    and maybe let her win tug-of-war… sometimes.

    Some prayers don’t need words. Only hearts that ache in the same direction.

    The Park – Collision Point

    I was lost in thought when I saw her.

    A woman. Beautiful. Hair tied up in a bun. Sitting on a park bench, crying.

    Something inside me sparked.

    I ran toward her.

    She looked at me like she knew me.

    She scooped me up, still crying — and I was crying too.

    She held me close.

    I rested my head on her shoulder.

    She wiped my tears, put glasses on me, tied her red scarf around my neck.

    And she whispered,

    “I got you, buddy.”

    Right then and there…

    I felt complete.

    Susan (narrating)

    I heard knocking.

    “Susan! It’s raining — your clothes are getting soaked! Get out of there!”

    It was Boyo.

    But I couldn’t move.

    I was still crying.

    And I swear… I heard Oishi crying too. A soft badoddle whimper from his bed.

    I sat up.

    We were both in tears.

    Oishi jumped onto the bed and wrapped his little paws around me.

    I held him tight.

    “I had a dream, Badoodle,” I whispered.

    “I was stunning. A literal commercial model. I had a big office, a big job, a boyfriend —”

    Hair flip. Hair flip.

    “—but you weren’t there.”

    And suddenly, my voice cracked.

    My smile faded.

    Tears again.

    “I don’t want that life, Oishi.

    I don’t care if I’m successful.

    I’d be happy for a while, sure —

    But not for long.

    Because you wouldn’t be in it.”

    I scooped him up again, kissed his furry head.

    “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

    Except for the boyfriend part.”

    Oishi side-eyed me.

    I laughed through my tears.

    “You’re loyal, and you’re stuck with me. Got that, Badoodle?”

    Back to Reality

    Boyo barged in, dripping wet, holding my clothes — and my undies.

    “BOYO!” I shrieked, throwing a pillow at his face.

    And then — chaos in the living room.

    Oishi.

    EATING MY DIPLOMA.

    “OISHIIIIII! NOT THE DIPLOMAAA!”

    I ran after him with a slipper.

    And there we were:

    Me yelling, Boyo confused and holding my underwear, Oishi running in circles with a piece of paper in his mouth. .

    And I knew.

    I didn’t need to be that boss lady from my dream to feel loved.

    I didn’t need a high-rise office or a high-heeled life.

    I already have it.

    Right here.

    In this loud, messy, slightly insane apartment.

    With my dog, my maybe-boyfriend, and my diploma in shreds.

    This is home.

    And I’m right where I’m supposed to be.

    I just need my dog. My story. My real, ridiculous life.

    ✨ End Scene. Roll credits. Cue goat-voiced rendition of “I Will Always Love You.”

    Still rising. 🐾 Still barking

  • The Day It Rained Anyway

    Narrated by Oishi

    It was Friday evening. Susan and I were in the Signal Co. pantry, watching the clock like it owed us money. She was in a rush — we had to get to the mall because she was finally buying new sneakers. Pricey ones. She kept telling herself (mostly out loud), “You only live once, and I’ve been absorbing customer tantrums like a sponge—I deserve this.”

    Fair enough.

    We got home, and she immediately unpacked the shoes like they were the Crown Jewels. She sniffed them — deeply. I don’t blame her. New shoe smell is dangerously satisfying. She said, “I’m wearing them tomorrow. And it better not rain.” Then she hugged them like a teddy bear and went to sleep.

    Saturday Morning.

    She woke up praying out loud:

    “Lord, please. Let it be sunny. These sneakers are white. Pristine. Expensive. Your daughter humbly begs—please don’t let it rain!”

    I couldn’t help but think: Sure, Sus. Let the plants wither and the rivers run dry so you can debut your kicks in peace.

    But just as we were getting dressed… BOOM. Thunder. Lightning. Then the rain came down like a telenovela twist.

    Susan flailed toward the window and cried out, “Whyyy, Lord?! WHYYY?”

    But then she paused. She saw the rainwater spilling into the pots, stray cats and dogs drinking, ducks waddling like it was a parade, and she said nothing for a moment.

    Narrated by Susan

    I sighed.

    “Thank you, Lord. You didn’t answer my prayer—and honestly, I wouldn’t have either. It was petty.”

    I imagined Oishi side-eyeing me: “God split the Red Sea, raised the dead, healed the blind, made the lame walk… and here you are asking Him to protect your sneakers from a drizzle.”

    And he’s right. Looking outside, I saw everything else thriving in the rain. I realized… the shoes can wait. The rain is helping others right now. And we can still go out when it stops. Or not. They’re just shoes. I can wash them. Or save up again.

    (I’m definitely going with Option A though: wait until the rain stops.)

    The rain didn’t stop.

    But it softened to a gentle drizzle, and Oishi and I stayed in, wrapped in a blanket, sipping hot cocoa. 🌧️☕

    It wasn’t the day we planned.

    But it was… peaceful.

    The kind of peace that doesn’t need perfect weather.

    Just gratitude. ☔👟💛

    Still Rising 🔥 Still Barking 🐾

  • 🕵️‍♀️ Case File: The Missing Maeutang — A Susan & Oishi Mystery

    Narrated by Oishi:

    Every night, you can hear Susan stomping around like an elephant in front of the television, yelling,
     “I knew it, Oishi Badoodle — it’s the neighbor!”

    Turns out she’s binge-watching Law & Order: SVU again. And now she thinks she’s Olivia Benson — with a notepad, glasses, and enough confidence to act like she’s actually on the precinct payroll.

    One sunny afternoon, Sus and I were walking in the park. I was excited — there was a carnival in the village, and I needed to see other faces besides Susan’s. Then we ran into Timmy, holding Mutang — you know, Maeutang, that weird-looking purple fish. He won second place during Bring Your Pet to Work Day. Second to me, of course.
     I am Sir Oishi Barkcelot. Champion. Shih Tzu. Icon.

    Narrated by Susan:

    One not-so-fine afternoon, Oishi Badoodle and I were walking through the neighborhood when we saw Timmy with his purple fish — Maeutang, I think? We waved hello, then headed to the carnival.

    Oishi and I had a blast. We rode the carousel, took selfies, laughed — life was good.

    But on our way home, Timmy ran after us, crying.
     Mutang was missing.

    Oishi and I gasped in sync.
     Sure, Mutang and I don’t talk, but he’s Oishi’s fish-friend, and that makes him family.

    I hugged Timmy and said, “No one — and I mean no one — takes our babies from us.”
     (Just to be clear, I was referring to Oishi and Mutang.)

    I asked if maybe Mutang just wandered off. Timmy looked confused and said, “He’s a fish.”
     I nodded. “And he’s purple. Anything is possible.”

    Detective Susan V. was officially on the case.

    We checked Timmy’s house. The aquarium was empty. I rushed home to change — blonde wig, glasses — the works. Oishi and I hid behind a plant for surveillance, though he seemed more annoyed by a random dog sniffing his butt than by the crime scene.

    We interrogated the fish market.
     No luck. Just smells.

    Timmy was spiraling, so we regrouped at home. I flipped open the murder board:

    • Fish vendor? (Smells… fishy.)
    • Postman? (Oishi barks at him daily. Suspicious.)
    • That one lady who sells snacks? (Hmmm…)

    Timmy sat on the couch, crying.
    “He’s all I’ve got, Susan. When I play music, he swims toward me like he’s dancing. He gets me. I don’t have many friends, but I had Maeutang.”

    I teared up. “I get it, Tim. I don’t know what I’d do if someone took my Oishi.”

    Then I got serious. Maybe all those Bible studies with Yohanes and Brenda were sinking in.
     I said, “You know what I do when life spirals? I pray. Tell Him everything. He listens.”

    Timmy wiped his eyes.
    “Lord, please help us find Maeutang. Show us where.”

    Right then, a Carnival van passed by the window.

    I scooped up Oishi — but not before I saw him quietly make a call. I swear he was on the phone.

    Oishi:

    Yes, I made a call. I rallied the squad.

    Sashmi the orange chihuahua.
    Bulgogi the blue horse.
    K-9 Unit from the guard post.


    And of course, me — emotionally exhausted but still majestic.

    At the carnival, we spotted a man in a ski mask holding Maeutang. Two other goons were snacking on popcorn and cotton candy like this was a movie premiere.

    Susan didn’t hesitate —
     She launched a throat punch while yelling “HIYAAAAA!”

    The ski mask man dropped Maeutang. Another goon lunged forward — but before he could reach the tank…

    Boyo came out of nowhere, punched the guy mid-air, and muttered,
     “Not on my watch.”

    Then K-9 sank his teeth into a third guy’s butt 

    Timmy grabbed the aquarium, tears streaming. Maeutang, also teary-eyed (don’t ask how), looked right at Timmy. Their love was real.

    Oishi (closing narration):

    We went home. Susan wouldn’t stop talking about how amazing she was.
    To be fair, she did find Maeutang . She did it for me. I love her for that.

    Then I heard it again from the couch —
     “I knew it! It’s always the neighbor!”

    Paw to face.
    Not again, Sus.

    Still rising 🔥 Still barking 🐾
    — A Susan & Oishi Mystery

  • Susan, Oishi, and the Wedding That Wasn’t Hers

    Narrated by Susan

    Yes, Oishi isn’t the only one who can narrate. Just so you know.

    It was an ordinary day at The Signal Co. — rainy outside, chaos inside. Obviously, me and Yohanes, along with the other emotionally unstable employees (excluding Brenda, the actual productive one), were pretending to work.

    I was in the pantry, holding a hot cup of coffee in one hand and a butternut donut in the other — a perfect pairing. I felt relaxed, even lucky. Sitting there with my BFFs, sipping coffee, savoring every bite of my donut… heaveeen.

    There’s something about the rainy season — the cold wind, the sound of raindrops tapping the windows, the blurry drizzle outside. Everything feels like a movie, and I am the main character.

    Yohanes was mid-bite in his cup noodles when Jezzie B and Dinah stormed in and announced:

    “Macchismo is getting married!”

    The woman, apparently, is gorgeous. Of course they were taunting me. They know I have a crush on him.

    I raised my eyebrow and said, “Old news. I know they’re engaged. But anything can happen. Macchismo might wake up one day and say, ‘You know what? I prefer a perfectly curvy woman with sass.’”

    Dinah deadpanned, “And who exactly would that be?”

    Me, obviously.

    Yohanes, bless his loyal heart, nodded and added, “Why not? Susan is huggable, playful… her temperament is to die for.”

    Okay, not gonna lie, I wasn’t sure if he was describing me or Oishi at this point. But I’ll take it.

    Then Dinah dropped the real bomb:

    “Too late. The wedding’s this Saturday.”

    Yohanes and I gasped — synchronized, like a drama duo. And for a brief moment, my internal mood soundtrack switched from comedy to serious.

    I know Macchismo never liked me that way. It’s just a crush. But what hits harder is the pattern — people keep getting engaged, getting married, finding someone… while I’m still out here being single. Sure, I have my family. I have Oishi. But they can’t fill that romantic void.

    At least Oishi loves me. Unconditionally. And sometimes, I swear, he’s judging me for it.

    I snapped back to reality.

    “Sus, are you okay?” Yohanes asked. Brenda looked worried.

    And I said — arms outstretched, full volume —

    “Whyyy am I alooooone? I shall climb to the rooftop and cry! No one will notice because it’s raining. My tears will mix with the raindrops!”

    Brenda muttered, “No one will notice because you’re not going to the rooftop.”

    Yohanes chimed in, “Also, it’s locked.”

    Then they both hugged me.

    Narrated by Oishi

    Saturday. Wedding Day.

    Susan wore a decent dress, which is her way of saying fabulous with unresolved feelings.

    Me? I wore a tuxedo. She bought it last week and cried while dressing me.

    She said, “You’re the only man who shows up for me.”

    I wagged, but internally, I sighed.

    At the church, tan-tan-tanan… tan-tan-tanan, the wedding march played. The bride walked down the aisle, and for some reason, there was no bitterness in Susan’s eyes.

    She was either admiring the bride’s glow… or imagining it was her walking down the aisle.

    Macchismo stood tall, handsome as ever. Pete, the Signal Co. accountant (backstory for another day), was his best man.

    The priest began, “Love is patient. Love is kind…”

    And Susan whispered, “No it’s not.”

    I looked at her.

    She grinned. “Kidding…”

    Then came the classic line:

    “You may kiss the bride.”

    That’s when Boyo — also invited, because apparently he plays basketball with Macchismo every Sunday — leaned over to her and said:

    “Don’t worry, Sus. Your day will come. And I’m sure that man will say vows so sincere and heartfelt, you won’t believe you ever cried over anyone else.”

    And Susan, in true Susan fashion, tossed her hair and replied,

    “Of course he will. I mean… look at me.”

    Paw on forehead. Classic Sus.

    At the reception, she performed Anne Murray’s You Needed Me with her signature goat voice. I danced. I ate. The chicken? 10/10.

    I love weddings. Excellent buffet. Zero responsibility.

    We went home exhausted.

    Susan hugged me in bed and whispered,

    “God… when will it be my turn?”

    Then she fell asleep and snored in my ear, and the moment was gone.

    But I heard her. And I think God did too.

    Still Rising. Still Barking

  • What is Love?

    🛋️ A Susan & Oishi Bible Study (1 Corinthians 13:4–7)

    It was a Sunday afternoon.
    Rain outside. Siopao inside.
    And the living room smelled like shampoo, soy sauce, and spiritual awakening.

    Oishi and I were hosting Bible study again — I say “we,” but between you and me, he’s the holy one. I just make snacks and dramatic confessions.

    This week’s topic?
    “What is love?”
    Which I assumed would be a casual chat over cupcakes — not a divine ambush on my character development.

    Brenda opened her Bible.
    Yohanes brought popcorn.
    And me? I brought my best behavior.
    (That lasted 6 minutes.)

    Still… I have to admit…
    I like hosting Bible study now.
    Don’t tell the Lord, but I think He’s… smoothing my rough edges.
    Like a cheese grater.
    But for the soul.

    Love is patient.

    🔹 Snapshot:
    Brenda: “You’re singing in your goat voice.”
    Susan: “And yet… Oishi stays.”
    Oishi: “That’s love. That’s patience.”

    🔸 Soul Note:
    Love is patient — like a mother whose toddler just broke her favorite mug but still gets a hug.
    Like a friend who listens when your story takes 47 detours.
    Like a God who waits while you’re still learning to trust Him.

    Love is kind.

    🧡 Snapshot:
    Susan: “For me?”
    Boyo: “It’s the last one.”
    Oishi: “He give food. Marry him.”

    🧠 Soul Note:
    Love is kind — like when someone offers you the last siopao without a second thought.
    But it’s also kind when your coworker gently corrects your mistake without shaming you.
    Kindness is not just warm—it’s wise. It knows when to offer comfort and when to speak truth softly.
    Like Jesus, who welcomed the outcasts, washed the feet of His friends, and restored dignity with a word. He never humiliated, only healed.

    Love does not envy.

    🔹 Snapshot:
    Susan (grumbling): “She probably doesn’t even eat carbs.”
    Oishi (deadpan): “Love no envy. But Sus do.”

    🔸 Soul Note:
    Love celebrates — even when it’s not your turn.
    Like when two friends apply for the same role, and one gets the position.
    Love is the one who didn’t get it… but still claps the loudest.
    It’s trusting that what’s for you won’t pass you by.
    It’s knowing that comparison kills joy, but celebration multiplies it.

    Love does not boast. Love is not proud.

    🟤 Snapshot:
    Susan: “It’s just a siopao. No big deal.”
    Oishi: “She skipped lunch to give that away. No one saw. I did.”

    🧡 Soul Note:
    Real love doesn’t need an audience.
    It shows up when the camera isn’t rolling.
    It’s the quiet kind — the one that pays someone’s tuition, feeds a stranger, or forgives without needing a follow-up post.
    Love doesn’t broadcast kindness to boost its ego.
    It just does — because that’s what love would do.

    Love does not dishonor others

    📸 Snapshot:
    Susan: “I’m not gossiping.”
    Brenda: “You literally whispered and said, ‘Don’t react, but…’”
    Oishi: [holds sign] “Love does not dishonor others. Unlike this table.”

    🍂 Soul Note:
    Dishonor doesn’t always shout — sometimes, it hides in the small jabs.
    In mocking someone’s cooking.
    In rolling eyes at someone’s work.
    In reducing their story to a punchline.
    Love doesn’t strip dignity — it covers it.
    It sees the effort behind the awkward presentation and chooses grace.
    Because love doesn’t humiliate.
    Love honors — even when no one else does.

    Love is not self-seeking

    📸 Snapshot:
    Brenda: [yawns]
    Susan: [slides the siopao] “You look like you haven’t eaten since last week’s WiFi outage.”
    Oishi: observes silently, notebook open: “Susan – 1, Hunger – 0”

    🌾 Soul Note:
    Love is not self-seeking.
    It shows up not just in grand gestures, but in quiet surrender of comfort —
    When you offer your seat to a stranger whose legs are more tired than your entitlement.
    When you take the smaller piece of cake.
    When you let someone else go first —
    even if you’ve been waiting too.
    It’s when you could claim the spotlight, but choose to lift someone else instead.
    Because love doesn’t demand center stage.
    It’s content with the back row if it means someone else gets to rest.

    Love is not easily angered. It keeps no record of wrongs.

    🔹 Snapshot:
    Dinah: “You ate my donut again?! That had my initials!”
    Philip: calmly holds a ‘Sorry’ mug
    Susan (muttering): “I told you to use invisible ink.”
    Oishi (deadpan): “0 Days Since Dinah Drama.”

    🔸 Soul Note:
    Love doesn’t keep score.
    Even when someone eats your lunch. Again.
    Even when the apology is on a mug, not from the heart.
    Love chooses peace over pettiness, even if your inner scoreboard is glowing red.

    🟤 Susan’s Commentary (a.k.a. emotional meteorology):
    “If I were God, with the way we act? I’d throw a meteor at Earth every 30 minutes. Like clockwork.
    But He doesn’t.
    Because…“The Lord is compassionate and gracious,
        slow to anger, abounding in love”
    — Psalm 103:8, proudly retold by Susan after skipping breakfast

     Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth

    🟤 Scene
    “Love doesn’t clap for karma.”

    🛋️ Panel Breakdown:
    Susan’s on the couch, clutching her phone like it just served her favorite dish — gossip.
    She just found out that someone she can’t stand got offloaded from a flight. Her smirk is instant. Victory sip pending.

    But the moment doesn’t last.
    Oishi looks at her. Not with judgment — just that quiet, philosopher stare that says, “And then what?”

    And something shifts.
    Susan puts the phone down. Her grin fades. There’s a pause.
    She remembers: Love does not delight in evil… but rejoices with the truth.
    (1 Corinthians 13:6)

    📖 Soul Note
    Real love doesn’t get high on someone else’s downfall.
    It doesn’t pop popcorn when people fall.
    It prays, exhales, and chooses the higher road — even if it’s uphill.
    But it does rejoice when truth shows up.
    When grace wins.
    When healing begins.
    When someone takes the hard step toward what’s right — even if it’s messy.

    Love always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres

    📖 Soulnote

    Love isn’t just sweet moments and sunny days.
    It’s sharing umbrellas when the storm hits.
    It’s trusting again after disappointment.
    It’s holding on to hope when things feel uncertain.
    And it’s staying — especially when it’s easier to walk away.

    Because real love… shows up.
    In the rain. In the waiting. In the mess.
    Not perfect. But present.
    Always.

    🐾 Oishi’s Commentary:
    In case you’re wondering why Susan isn’t in this photo…
    Let’s just say she’s waiting for someone with a pilot’s license, a prayer life, and a jawline that can part seas.
    She says it’s “standards.”
    I say it’s selective delusion with snacks.

    Either way, she’s thriving.
    Alone. But thriving.

    ✍️ Writer’s Note

    When I was younger, I thought love was just for husbands and wives — rom-com stuff. Candlelight and couple shirts.
    But the more I live, the more I see it’s deeper than that.

    Love is how parents sacrifice for their kids.
    It’s how friends check in when you’re falling apart quietly.
    It’s choosing kindness with your neighbor… even when they vacuum at 6 a.m.
    Or worse — sing karaoke at 2 a.m. like they’re auditioning for heaven.


    And yes — it’s that very uncomfortable, gospel-level command: Love your enemies.

    Hard pill to swallow? Try loving someone who tests your patience like it’s their spiritual gift.

    Sometimes, it hurts — especially when you don’t receive the same love you gave.
    But when I feel unseen, unloved, or overlooked, I remember this:

    God loved us first.
    And He proved it — not with chocolates or flowers —
    but by giving Jesus, so we could have eternal life.

    That’s not just love. That’s divine stubbornness.
    The kind that doesn’t give up.
    The kind we’re called to learn.

    —Ember 🔥🐾

  • Park, Pain & Petty Thoughts

    Macchismo Got Engaged and All I Got was This Emotional Damage

    🦴 Narrated by Oishi

    It was a lazy weekend afternoon. Susan and I had just finished our chores—well, I supervised. She flopped onto the couch with the full weight of an emotionally distressed hippo. I bounced. My squeaky toy took flight. It hasn’t been seen since.

    Still, I love Susan. So I sat beside her, placed a paw on her lap, and she hugged me like a drama queen needing a life raft.

    Then she whispered, “Macchismo is getting married. He’s engaged. That woman even posted the ring… for the whole world to see.”

    (Cue tragic violin)

    For those not emotionally entangled: Macchismo is her co-worker at The Signal Co. and her not-so-secret office crush. Tall. Handsome. Jawline. Smelled like toner and danger.

    Susan used to glance at him during lunch breaks like she was auditioning for a music video. He smiled once. She nearly dropped her donut.

    Susan wailed, clutched her tote, and announced in her signature goat-in-distress voice,

    “Oishi, badoodle! We’re going to the park so I can distruct myself. We’ll eat siopao. Donuts. I’ll buy you KFC.”

    At “KFC,” my ears perked. Chicken heals all wounds, including hers.

    At first, the park was peaceful. The breeze danced. Birds sang. Then—

    “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!”

    That was Susan.

    “Look at them, Oishi! They’re kissing in the park!”

    And with that, the Bitter Commentary Hour began.

    “This park is not your personal romcom! Other people walk here. I hope you both step on gum. She’s not even that pretty—sure, her hair is long and shiny and ugh fine, she glows, whatever. AND LOOK AT HIM, HE IS SO HANDSOME.” Who even has a jawline like that? And that chiseled face—he looked like a man who stepped out of a rom-com movie… or a romantic pocketbook from a bookstore. You know, the ones with titles like “Forever Mine (But Not Hers)” and “Just Kiss Me, Architect Daddy.”

    After half an hour of Olympic-level sulking, I stood up and waddled toward the restaurant. She followed, dragging her broken heart behind her like a weighted blanket of regret.

    We sat down. She kept glancing back at the lovebirds. I felt sorry for her, honestly. I wanted to say: Your time will come, Sus. So I did my part.

    “Don’t worry,” I told her.

    “She probably eats salad without gagging. And you and Boyo? You’d look good together.”

    Boyo is our neighbor. Kind. Chubby. Soft-spoken. Not an Adonis or a superhero god, but he has a superpower: patience. Especially with Susan. He cooks. He listens. He once fixed her door with nothing but a screwdriver and a sense of duty.

    But Susan? She ignores him like she’s the lost Victoria’s Secret model.

    Still… I can’t blame her. Watching that couple in the park felt like binge-watching an action movie—high-stakes, dramatic, painfully public.

    Eventually, we finished our food and walked a little more. Then home.

    Back in the living room, Susan scooped me up, hugged me, and said,

    “Thank you, badoodle. For being there for me. For looking at me like I’m the most beautiful woman in the world.”

    (I’m not.)

    “For putting up with my drama.”

    (Barely hanging on, Sus.)

    “And for never leaving me.”

    (Okay, that one’s true.)

    I sighed. This is love. This is loyalty.

    This is the emotional labor of a Shih Tzu with a PhD in patience. 🐾

  • Faith That Rises: From Steamed Buns (Siopao) to Unseen Seeds

    Oishi Narrating:

    It was a Saturday morning. As usual, Sus and I got up early—we both love Saturdays. She made breakfast, we ate, and we washed the dishes. Saturdays feel like a moment we actually live in, not rush through.

    Then came the part I didn’t sign up for. She gave me a bath. Yes, a bath. Despite my clear protests. She sang through the whole ordeal—trapped in the acoustics of a small bathroom, her goat-voice bouncing off every tile. It was like being waterboarded by a musical.

    Afterward, we walked in the park. I was mid-sniff on a very interesting post when Sus scooped me up. “Oh badoodle, we have to move now! Yohanes and Brenda are coming. We’re having a Bible study!”

    Wait. Susan? Bible study? The same woman who once tried to Google “How to find a husband in one week” and “Why my siopao won’t rise”? This was going to be good.

    When we got home, Yohanes and Brenda were already on the porch.

    “Girl,” said Yohanes, “we’ve been waiting forever. Time is precious and it’s a valuable thing that a man can spend.” He’d only been waiting ten minutes. Classic drama king.

    Brenda, calm as always, stood up and scooped me gently, like I was royalty. Unlike Susan, who picks me up like she’s rescuing a sock from a puddle.

    Inside, Yohanes helped himself to the fridge while Susan bragged, “I perfected this siopao dough last night. It’s yum-yum!”

    Brenda raised an eyebrow. “Sus, this is a Bible study, not a Food Network audition.”

    Yohanes chimed in, “She’s only here for the snacks.”

    Brenda replied, “Maybe. But she’s gone from ‘I’m here for donuts’ to ‘I’m seeking the man with the hole in His hands.’ And that man has a name. If you keep coming, Susan, you’ll know it better.”

    They sat down. Brenda said, “Hebrews 11. Let’s start.”

    But Susan had disappeared. She was deep in her room, hunting for a Bible her mom gave her during her rebel phase. She never read it, but she kept it—because it was from her mom, and because somewhere deep down, she knew it mattered.

    She finally returned, siopao in hand. “I found it! And I really nailed this dough.”

    Brenda began reading: “Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see…”

    Susan gasped. “Abraham offered his son?!”

    Yohanes followed: “Sarah got pregnant at 90?!”

    “Yes,” Brenda replied calmly. “God stopped Abraham, and yes, Sarah had a son. Genesis 21 confirms it. Faith is trusting God even when it sounds ridiculous.”

    Then Brenda explained:

    “You know, I once read something that stuck with me.

    Faith is like planting a seed… and trusting the Gardener.

    You don’t always see what’s happening underground. It may take time — maybe even longer than your lifetime. But you keep watering. You keep believing. Because you trust the One who planted it. You’re not the one growing it — you’re just called to believe something’s happening beneath the dirt.”

    I’d trust the Gardener too, Oishi thought, I just don’t trust Susan with plants. 🌿☠️

    Susan nodded. “So it’s like my siopao! I studied recipes, practiced kneading, timed it right. I didn’t just wish it would rise. I took action and had faith it’d turn out yum.”

    “Exactly,” Brenda smiled. “Faith isn’t passive. It moves — but not just in any direction. It walks hand-in-hand with obedience, doing what God asks even when it’s hard.”

    Susan, still chewing, added, “Back in college I failed Algebra. I prayed, but I didn’t study. I blamed God. But now I get it. Prayer without effort? It’s like hoping your siopao will rise while your oven’s still off.”

    Brenda nodded. “James 2:17—‘Faith without works is dead.’ And yes, sometimes we do all we can, and then we leave the rest to God. Like illness. Like impossibilities.”

    Then Yohanes, with his usual flair, raised his hand. “But what about Hebrews 11:13? It says some people died still waiting on God’s promises.”

    Brenda nodded. “They still believed. Hebrews 11:13 says they ‘died in faith’—they didn’t get to see the promise come true, but they trusted the One who made it. Some of them went through really hard stuff. But even when it didn’t make sense… they held on. That’s the kind of faith that looks up, even when everything around you says to look down.

    Then Susan asked, “Is there someone not from the Bible who did that”?

    Brenda nodded. “More than we can count. Some planted seeds of justice and never saw the harvest. Others fought for their country’s freedom and died before the flag ever rose. There were those who stood up for truth and were silenced long before it echoed. But they believed anyway.

    Susan leaned back and whispered, “It feels good… understanding something this deep.”

    Oishi, chewing slowly, thought:
    She also said that after watching a documentary on cheese.
    But hey—progress is progress.

    We finished our siopao.

    And for the first time, I think Susan tasted more than food.

    She tasted truth. 

    Still Rising 🔥 Still Barking 🐾

  • Susan & Oishi: Storm-Proof Sass and Soggy Generosity

    Narrator: Oishi (who else could it be?)

    It was an ordinary day — or at least it started that way.


    Susan and I were still curled up in bed at 10 a.m. And before you ask: no, she wasn’t sick, heartbroken, or on strike. She was just… relaxed.

    Why?
    Because there was a typhoon. A mild one. Flooded roads, car unreachable, and in her words:

    “If no storm passes through the Philippines, the Pacific Ocean might just run dry.”
    (I don’t even know what that means, but I’ve stopped questioning her logic.)

    She got up, made hot cocoa, poured milk into my bowl like I was royalty, and said — while looking out the window:

    “Look outside, Badoodle… even the kids are having a great time.”

    And yes — I saw it too. Kids with paper boats, the rain falling gently, radio murmuring updates about Typhoon Pepe.
    It was… cozy. For now.

    I observed the humans doing their thing:

    • Some were still going to the market.
    • Some stocked up on candles, flashlights, and food.
    • And Susan? She was already prepared. Girl never runs out of snacks. I respect that.

    After lunch, we were watching our favorite show, The Detective Agency, when suddenly the screen cut:

    BREAKING NEWS:
    “Typhoon Pepe has intensified. Signal No. 4. Floodwaters reaching rooftops. Evacuation in progress.”

    I froze.
    There were people — entire families — sitting on rooftops, holding onto pets, waiting for rescue boats. The only things bending harder than the coconut trees were my emotions.
    I watched as fellow barkmates were being carried, soaked, shaking.
    I turned to Susan… but she was gone.

    I heard rustling in the closet. Then she popped out with a trash bag.

    “Oishi Badoodle! We need to donate clothes — the ones we’re not using anymore!”

    I believed her.
    Until…she held up her favorite dress — the one she hadn’t worn since pre-pandemic (pre-pandemic 1).

    “But what if there’s a special event in the future?” she pleaded. “I look cute in this one!”

    Ma’am, that dress wouldn’t fit over your arm. Let it go.

    She saw my expression. I think she interpreted my look and she bent down and said “Why are you looking at me like that? What if I take your bandana, huh?”

    No. Not the bandana.
    Don’t take my identity, Susan. NOOO.

    Then suddenly — because even heaven couldn’t ignore this mess
    Jesus appeared behind her and said gently:

    “Susan… please. For Me.”


    And just like that, she started packing every last piece of clothing she hadn’t worn since 2005.

    And me?
    I heroically snuck her ancient undies into the trash bag. You’re welcome, world.

    But in all seriousness:
    I love Susan. Her heart’s in the right place. Even when her logic is… flooded.

    ✍️ Writer’s Note

    I live in a country where storms and floods are part of the rhythm of life.
    This story might feel exaggerated — but honestly? It’s not.
    (Okay… maybe the undie part. Maybe.)

    I’ve been lucky.
    I live in the city, where the water usually rises just enough to cancel errands but not lives.
    But once, I had to evacuate. My dog and I were soaked, cold, and displaced.
    That night? I understood.
    The fear. The discomfort. The fragile prayer of “Lord, please…”

    Not everyone will experience that.
    But maybe, through stories — funny, honest, odd stories — we can feel just a little closer.
    And maybe we’ll be moved to do something too.


    This isn’t meant to mock or minimize the pain others have gone through.
    Filipinos are resilient — but we’re not numb.
    And in those moments of crisis, I saw how we stood together:
    Neighbors giving. Strangers donating. Some volunteering in drenched clothes and tired hearts.
    We helped because it’s who we are.

    And I know you’re probably like that too.
    Whether you’re Filipino or not, I’ve seen how people from all over the world show up —
    for their neighbors, for strangers, for anyone in need.

    Sometimes it’s food.
    Sometimes it’s clothes.
    Sometimes it’s just sitting beside someone who’s soaking wet — with hope.

    Because at the end of the day, no matter where we’re from…

    We’re all hooman. 🐾

    This story — with its messy closets and flying slippers — simply shows that even in chaos, we still find laughter, compassion, and the will to do good.

    Because here in the Philippines, we say:
    “Bagyo ka lang, Pinoy kami!”
    You’re just a storm.
    We are Filipino.

    Still Rising 🔥 Still Barking 🐾 💛🇵🇭