When someone insults you, clench your fists, bite your tongue, and try not to blurt anything out. Also… turn the other cheek, as Jesus said.
Pause. Think about siopao and donuts. Not because they help, but because carbs are a great distraction from violence.
Meditate. Imagine yourself winning the argument flawlessly. I mean… meditate so you remain calm and spiritually aligned.
Practice deep breaths before you accidentally retaliate with words that could melt concrete. Deep breaths. Breathe in grace, exhale petty.
Smile sarcastically—wait, no. Smile genuinely. You never know, your unexpected smile might lift someone’s heavy heart. Even if their face deserves a sandal.
✍️Writer’s note
Ahhh self-control — the kind of thing that many of us struggle to master. And by “many of us,” I mean me. 🙋🏻♀️
You’ll notice that Susan is still very much resistant to responding in kindness. Her first reaction is usually pride, ego, or the urge to throw a siopao and a donut. But the important thing is — she’s learning. Trying. And so am I.
It’s not easy, especially when you’re dealing with people trying to be cute but clearly skipped the ‘logic’ queue in life.
But we’re out here trying, praying, breathing (sometimes growling), and getting better one siopao at a time.
See you on the next post. — Oishi, emotional support furball
Hi, I’m Susan. Loud, loyal, slightly unhinged — and absolutely in love with my furball. That said, living with Oishi requires some ground rules. Fair is fair. So here’s my lovingly dramatic list of things my judgmental companion must understand:
When I come home, you better run to me in slo-mo — Tail wag included. 🐶💃 (You already do this. Keep it up.)
Listen to my rants without side-eye 🙄. Especially when I tell you I’m going to start losing weight. Just nod. Support me. Eat the chips quietly.
Chicken 🍗 is not an everyday thing. Try acting like a normal being and eat other food. (Then again, I eat siopao and donuts like they’re soulmates… so maybe this rule is more for me.)
Bath day🛁 is weekly, not a quarterly festival . Stop hiding under the table when I pull out your shampoo. You think bending down is easy for me?
Stop wandering around like you’re lost 🐶 when I’ve only been gone for two minutes. I just took out the trash, bro. Chill.
Stop following me into the bathroom 🚽🚿🧻. I love you. But there are boundaries. Doors are sacred.
We watch The Detective Agency together. 📺 No judgment when I yell at the screen. I’m emotionally invested, okay? 🍿🐶👀
Stop being dramatic at the pet lounge🐶😭💔,Let the other dogs sniff your butt and make friends. This is a safe space.
Let me tuck you in, kiss you goodnight, and whisper our secrets. I’ll always do this. No matter how old we get. 🤗🛏️🐾
If anyone hurts you, I will go full Susan Hulk. I love you, Badoodle. Forever and ever. 💛
🐾 Oishi You may know me as Susan’s emotional support dog. Or the stoic philosofurr in red. But behind these soulful eyes and perfectly parted fur is a list. A sacred scroll. A constitution of calm and comfort.
Here are my House Rules — to be followed by Susan. No exceptions. No backtalk.
🐶 Oishi’s House Rules:
I only eat chicken. Anything else is a culinary insult.
Do not — I repeat, do not — remove my red bandana.
Belly rubs are required at bedtime. It’s law.
Scrub gently during baths. I’m a Shih Tzu, not a loofah.
I sleep beside you. I don’t care if you’re tired, mad, or engaged in existential dread.
When playing music, I prefer smooth jazz. Do not argue.
No baby voice. I’m a grown dog. With taxes.
Share your siopao or donut. You always say you’re full halfway through anyway.
Don’t cry in the bathroom. I can hear you. I will sit outside the door like a furry therapist.
If someone hurts you, I will attack. Emotionally. With judgment. And dramatic barking.
✍️ Writer’s Note:
These rules were written under strict supervision. Oishi stared at me the whole time like a furry editor-in-chief.
Golden skies. Green grass. Clean air. Me, a sheep (I think), and a man in white robes with a long stick that curves at the end are walking down a peaceful path. The sheep, as much as I hate to admit it, is cuter than me. But we don’t talk about that. I’d rather focus on the man.
There’s something about Him—He’s calm, steady, unlike Susan. Walking with her is like being in a pinball machine. She talks too much, walks in zigzags, and somehow always needs to pick me up mid-walk to rant about random injustices. Like that one time she scooped me just to yell about the policeman who gave her a parking ticket. (For the record, I told her not to make that illegal U-turn. Did she listen? No. She said, “Oh don’t you worry, Badoodle, it’s lunchtime. No cops around.” Guess what? Cops eat in shifts. Classic Susan.)
Anyway, I love her. I wonder where she is now. I’d love to introduce her to this man.
As we walk, He asks, “Oishi, do you miss your human companion? Is she good to you? Do you take care of each other? Does she comfort you when you’re sad—and does she let you do the same for her?”
It takes me a moment to respond. Not because I don’t know the answers, but because… how does He know my name?
His voice is low and steady. You just believe Him when He speaks.
“Yes,” I say. “We’re made for each other. She’s dramatic. I’m a stoic philosofurr. She loves me like a little hooman. I listen to her rants. And not all of them are nonsense, you know. Sometimes she’s really hurting. Loud outside, but you can see her heart’s aching.”
He smiles. “I know. I’ve never left her side—or yours.” He laughs, softly. “Sometimes I wonder if she’s praying or auditioning for a drama series.”
“I prefer sincere prayers, Oishi.”
Susan Narrating:
It was Saturday—our usual kind of day. We woke up. I gave Oishi a bath, even though he clearly resents water and me when I do it. But come on, he sleeps beside me. You think I’m letting him go two weeks unbathed?
After his traumatic bath, we hit the market. I got his favorite—chicken. Then back in the car, music playing, he’s smiling at me like he knows I’d take a bullet for him. I thought, “He’s my companion. I love him. I don’t know what I’ll do when he leaves.”
Then: “WANG WANG WANG!”
I thought, “Is that an ambulance? The road is clear, just go!” But nope. Cop. And yeah… I may have made a slight illegal U-turn.
I offered him a few bucks to make it go away. He smiled and said, “Step out of the vehicle.” Notebook out. Suddenly, we’re in a police station.
Honestly, maybe he’s just hot and wanted an excuse to talk to me.
Oishi Narrating:
Turns out we weren’t at the station because of the U-turn. The market vendor who hates Susan said she stole something.
Susan was stunned. Then, in classic fashion, became theatrical.
“Steal? From you?! HOW? With what bag? Where would I hide a WATERMELON?! Show me the watermelon!”
The vendor was angrier. She grabbed a coconut. Yes—a literal coconut. And THREW IT.
Susan ducked. Another flew.
Now listen. I know I’m just a shih tzu. But nobody—nobody—messes with my Susan.
I took off my red bandana. Tied it around my head.
Battle mode.
I ran. I barked. I launched myself like a four-legged blackbelt (or red, whatever).
And then—
Everything went black.
Hospital Scene
I woke up standing beside the Man again. Mighty Paw was with Him.
“Hey Mighty Paw,” I said. “Didn’t see you there. Everything alright?”
His eyes were teary. That’s when I looked around.
And I saw Susan.
“Sus! Did you see that? I karate-chopped that woman!”
But she didn’t hear me. She wasn’t looking.
She was crying.
I looked up at the Man. “Why is she crying? We won, right? I bit that watermelon lady!”
He extended His hand. There was a hole.
And then I remembered. This was Jesus. The one I always call when Susan’s having one of her epic breakdowns.
“I remember You,” I whispered. “You always look after us.”
“Then you know,” Mighty Paw said gently, “why we’re here.”
I looked.
On the table—it was me.
All I could think was: Who will hug Susan when she gets home? Who will lick her tears? Bring her slippers? Who will comfort her when she’s exhausted from work—and from life?
“Jesus… please… do something.”
Susan (quietly praying):
“It was my fault. If I’d just walked away… If I’d just kept my mouth shut… he’d be fine. God, I know You’re listening. Please. Let him stay.”
Then I heard it.
A bark.
Soft. Familiar.
I looked—and there he was.
Tears in his eyes. Mine too. I kissed his forehead.
“Thank You, Lord… thank You for giving us another chance.”
Oishi:
I barked. She heard me. Her kiss felt like warmth.
We went home.
She patched my wound (stupid coconut), tucked me in bed. On the phone, I heard her talking to Brenda.
“Hey Brenda… what does it mean to ‘turn the other cheek’? And, uh, do I really have to?”
Brenda, being a pastor’s daughter, gave her a whole sermon. Told her to attend Mass regularly—not just when she feels like it.
📝 Writer’s Note:
I’ve seen a lot of fights like this—on the road, at the market, even in quiet neighborhoods. No dogs were harmed… but a lot of pride was.
It made me think: our anger often explodes over the smallest things. A wrong word. A cut in line. A petty misunderstanding.
I’m not writing this as someone who’s mastered patience—I’ve failed too.
Once, I lost my temper with a customer. They insulted me, and I snapped. I nearly lost my job. My manager told me, “Even if you were right, the way you acted was wrong.” I felt ashamed. I never got the chance to apologize — and I still think about it. That moment taught me something.
I understand why people react when they’re hurt, insulted, or wrongfully accused.
Anger is real.
Hurt is real.
But so is grace.
That’s what this story is about—not courtroom justice or letting evil win. This isn’t about big, criminal things. It’s about everyday wounds. Emotional scrapes we get just from trying to live around other humans.
“Turn the other cheek” doesn’t mean becoming a doormat. It means pausing before your pride takes over. It means choosing not to let someone else’s cruelty write your next chapter.
This is for the personal moments—the ones where ego wants to shout, but wisdom whispers, breathe. You might still feel angry when you walk away today, but you’ll be lighter tomorrow. You’ll be proud of who you were when no one was watching.
Let’s not carry regret over something we could’ve simply walked away from.
Wishing you peace—in your heart, your mind, and your everyday moments,
Narrator: Oishi (Seriously, I’m tired. I’m a dog. But here we are.)
It was Saturday night. Susan and I were chillin’ — karaoke, snacks, general chaos. Then came the knock. Brenda stood there… holding a Bible.
Susan blinked. “You must be lost. This is our house, not a church.”
Brenda walked in anyway.
She said she had to leave town urgently and needed someone to substitute as Sunday School teacher. She wanted Susan to cover for her.
I almost choked. Poor children. Susan doesn’t even read the Bible. One time, she thought Leviticus was Pete’s replacement.
Susan nearly dropped her siopao and began melodramatically stomping around, reciting a full roll call of coworkers who’d be better choices.
Brenda, unfazed, said, “You’re literally the last person I asked.”
Susan (rude) mentally noted that, but kept listening. Everyone else was out of town. And Brenda knew Susan was just going to drag me to the park and inhale siopao and milk tea.
With full drama, Susan stared at the ceiling. “I’ll do it… for the Lord. I’ll do it… for you. I’ll do it… for Oishi. I’ll do it for the economy.”
Brenda hugged her and handed over the topic: The Story of Creation.
Susan scooped me up, stared deeply into my soul (her face looked unusually close), and whispered:
“Badoodle. Prepare yourself. We are entering uncharted territory. We are built for this. Yeah. We are built for this.”
She took a swig of hot matcha, held a siopao in her other hand, sat down, and Googled:
“Tell me how the world is created, if possible step-by-step because I need to teach little humans.”
Somehow, she found it.
Genesis 1: In the beginning God created the sky and the earth…
She read all the way to Genesis 30.
Then she looked at me — half in awe, half in shock. “Oishi… God made everything out of nothing. He made dirt… beautiful. He made life. He made you. He made me.” (She said that while hugging me like I was a stuffed animal she forgot to give back.)
She kept reading:
“Look, I have given you all the plants that have grain for seeds…”
And she paused.
“He didn’t just create, Oishi… He provided.”
Sunday morning: Susan woke up early. Ironed a white dress. I didn’t even know she owned one. She had her hair down. That was new.
She scooped me up, tied on my red bandana, and said, “Oishi, we are going to church. Behave.”
(I wanted to say you should be the one hearing that — but I let it slide.)
The church was warm and bright. People were smiling. The piano music made everything feel… soft. Sacred.
Then I looked over and saw Susan… yawning. Classic.
After the mass, we headed to the kids’ classroom.
And Susan began to teach.
✍️ Writer’s Note Sometimes we get so caught up in work, media, and scrolling that we forget to look around. To notice the sky. The trees. The siopao we didn’t deserve. God didn’t just make us — He provides for us.
Let’s not forget how wildly good our Creator is.
From the hearts of Susan & Oishi — 🐾 Still rising. Still barking.
A Comic About Anxiety, Prayer, and the Peace That Makes No Sense
As narrated by Oishi, at 2 a.m.
It was an ordinary night. Sus brushed my teeth, tucked me in, kissed my paw, and whispered, “Goodnight, my sweet badoodle.” All was calm… until it wasn’t.
At exactly 2:04 a.m., Susan transformed from a semi-functional hooman into a full-blown melodramatic elephant—wailing in the dark like a tragic opera soloist. Naturally, I woke up. She was sitting on the floor, back against the bed, sobbing.
“Oishi,” she sniffled, “I’m feeling fidgety and depressy. I’m having a menty B.”
Translation: disquietude and misery. In hooman terms—she was anxious and depressed.
She began listing her worries like a grocery list no one asked for:
Her overdue credit card bills
A report due in 8 hours she hasn’t started
Fear of being judged by people she doesn’t even like
And the weather. Yes, the weather.
Some things were preventable. Like binge-watching Law & Order: SVU as if she’s part of the cast. (Spoiler: she’s not Olivia Benson.) Some were out of her control—like storms and the speed of donut deliveries.
And while I appreciate the lion squeaky toy she got me last week, our bed now looks like a plushie war zone. She’s no heiress. She needs to chill.
But what truly broke my stoic dog heart was watching her spiral over things already buried in the past—mistakes from years ago, things no one remembers but her.
So I did what any emotionally intelligent Shih Tzu would do. I retrieved the Bible using my teeth (you’re welcome), flipped to Philippians 4:6–7, and dropped it in front of her.
“Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”
She read it. Her tears slowed. Then she blinked at me and said, “Oishi… what does transcends mean?”
Paw to forehead.
I explained, “It means to go beyond. To surpass. To rise above the noise, even when your brain is hosting a full-blown karaoke of panic.”
Still confused, she asked, “But how do I thank God when I’m anxious? Am I supposed to say, ‘Dear Lord, I’m depressed and fidgety—thanks!’?”
That’s when I knew we needed divine backup.
Jesus arrived (smiling). Mighty Paw came too (annoyed). Together, they explained:
Praying with thanksgiving isn’t about pretending you’re not anxious. It’s about choosing gratitude in spite of it. It’s saying: “Lord, I’m overwhelmed… but I know You’ve carried me before, and You’ll carry me again.”
Gratitude shifts your focus from the storm to the Savior.
The peace God gives doesn’t always make sense. It’s not based on how calm life is. It surpasses understanding—guarding your mind like a fortress, holding your heart when it’s falling apart.
And right there, Susan got it.
She brought out cocoa. We snuggled in. And yes, we finished the Law & Order finale (she still hasn’t started her report, but sure—let’s prioritize Olivia Benson roleplay).
She slept like a baby. I didn’t. Her snoring kept me up.
The end. (Now let me sleep all day. Don’t @ me.) – Oishi
🐾 “Signed with sass and scripture.”
📝 Writer’s Note
Anxiety and midnight panic attacks are no joke. They’re real, disorienting, and often arrive without warning—especially at 2 a.m.
This comic tells that story with humor and heart, not to downplay the struggle, but to bring light into it. Because while the pain is real, so is the peace that comes when you surrender your worries to God.
Your problems may not magically disappear, but your perspective will shift— because the Prince of Peace is right beside you. Always.
🐾 Thank you for being here. If you’ve ever had your own 2 a.m. spiral, we hope this story brings a little laughter, a little peace— and a reminder that you’re not alone.
On a peaceful Saturday night, Sus had the day off, and I heard humming from her room. Naturally, I sprinted over thinking she was in distress — but no, she was just dreaming.
She scooped me up like a plush toy and whispered, “You know what, Badoodle, I had the most beautiful dream.” Her eyes glazed over like cartoon hearts as she continued: “In my dream I was a sexy goddess — red lipstick, long black hair, sleeveless top, no flabby arm flaps in sight. And Macchismo was looking at me like I was one hot mama.” She sipped her coffee and dramatically flipped her hair.
Fast forward to that same afternoon — we went to the mall to buy gym clothes. And then, right there and then, she enrolled herself at the gym like she was joining a beauty pageant in 7 days.
The gym instructor was visibly distressed. Susan wanted to lose 50 kilos in one week. The manager even offered her a refund if she promised never to return. But no, Susan was fired up — after all, this was about Macchismo.
She hit the treadmill like a woman possessed. Then tried yoga. Then karate. All in one go. Imagine a curvy woman doing downward dog while simultaneously throwing karate chops. I, too, was spiritually injured just watching.
After five hours of pure chaos (and me being starved to the brink of extinction), I tried to motivate her the only way she understands. I said, “Go Sus! Think of the siopao!”
Saturday night rolled in. We ended up ordering siopao and halo-halo. She couldn’t cook — her muscles were screaming for justice. She looked at me and groaned, “Oishy, my Badoodle… why are some women blessed with pretty faces and perfect curves?”
If I could talk like humans, I’d have told her: God made us unique. And yes, we should take care of our bodies — but expecting to look like a Victoria’s Secret model after one gym session is more comedy than goal.
Anyway. We were tired. We slept. Cue Monday.
Monday morning, she was still sore and waddling like a penguin to the pantry. And there he was: Macchismo D.,Hawaiian shirt. Blazer. Jawline, struggling with the coffee machine.
Susan seized the moment. “What’s your perception of women?” she asked, expecting fireworks.
Macchismo, without missing a beat, replied, “Strong-willed. Brave. Stubborn. Loving.”
Susan blinked. “Nooo, that can’t be right.”
“Sure it is,” he said. “My mom is all that.”
And just like that, he left her standing there. Speechless. Holding her coffee. Mouth open.
So how do I know all this? Because she dumps all her emotional crises on me. I’m Oishi. This is my burden. And my blessing.
The End. 🐶📚💅 See you on the next story. Bring snacks. I’m starving. 🐾
Psalm 139:13-14
For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.
It was a Sunday morning — but not just any Sunday. Susan and I woke up unusually early and started bouncing on the bed. She was already in her green bathing suit. (My eye twitched. I considered pretending to be blind. But I let it slide. I was excited too.)
For weeks now, our neighbors had been planning a neighborhood outing. Post-dinner meetings, heated debates about who brings the rice cooker, and of course, the classic standoff over who would drive. Everyone wanted to be on the trip, not responsible for it.
So they voted. And the unlucky winner? Boyo. Yes — that Boyo. The guy who once blasted “Bed of Roses” on repeat until even the cats started howling.
Susan and I were packing. She handed me my goggles, and for a moment — I felt something. (Not quite a heart flutter. Let’s call it… elevated awareness.)
The thought of the beach — the breeze, the barbecue, the possibility of new hoomans who weren’t from The Signal Co. — it thrilled me. I even wagged.
The van ride was chaos and joy. Singing, laughing, someone choking on chips. Susan was screeching “Apt! Apt! Apt!” from that Bruno Mars/Rose collab like she was auditioning for the role of “Off-Key Hype Woman.” No one minded. We were all just… in it. Present.
When we arrived, we stepped out and took it all in. The salty air. The breeze. The mountains folding into the sea. It was perfect.
Neighbors got to work — grill stations, beach mats, someone trying to build a tent they clearly never read the manual for. Susan peeled off her cover-up, scooped me up like the emotional support king I am, and together we sat by the waves.
We played fetch. We ate like we hadn’t seen food in years. We talked. We laughed. And for once, she didn’t complain about work, or traffic, or slow Wi-Fi. She just smiled.
As the sun dipped low, we sat quietly on the sand, wrapped in the afterglow of joy and grilled meat.
And then — she said it.
“God must have a beautiful imagination. Look at this view. It’s perfect. What a Creator.”
I was stunned. Usually, she reserves her poetic moments for when she’s holding a donut in one hand and ranting in the other.
But this? This was awe.
✍️ Writer’s Note:
I stumbled upon this line today: “Worshipping God means acknowledging and celebrating His power and perfection in gratitude.”
And maybe… that’s exactly what this moment was.
No music. No altar. Just Susan and Oishi, sitting by the sea — surrounded by mountains, waves, and the quiet company of God’s imagination.
“What a Creator.” “Look at all this.”
Sometimes worship is loud. Sometimes it’s a soft whisper wrapped in awe.
Narrator: Oishi Susan woke up early. Excited. (Overreacting, as usual, about something that’s not even life-altering.)
I, on the other hand, was still in bed—peacefully judging the world in my sleep. Then it happened. She scooped me up and—without warning—threw me straight into bath time.
Susan, what the heck. It’s 6 AM. I’m emotionally unprepared. Where are we going?
Narrator: Susan HORATIO T. from HR made an announcement yesterday: “Activities! Bring Your Pet to Work Day!” And you know I love Oishi like he’s my emotional WiFi.
So naturally, I screamed. My heart raced. I jumped like I’d just won a blender in a church raffle.
Today was finally the day I got to dress Oishi in something other than that tired red bandana.
I chose a Mandalorian-style knight costume. Because my little PhilosoFurr isn’t just cute— He’s my ProtectPaw.
Narrator: Oishi(in full knight mode) I am Sir Oishi, the Paw Knight. Protector of the Living Room. Sworn defender of Susan the Melodramatic. I lay down my sword and vow that no sock, squirrel, or passive-aggressive neighbor shall harm us. WOOF WOOF.
At the Office: (You can picture the scene: barking, meowing, tail-wagging chaos.) Food everywhere. Hoomans showing off like it’s the Met Gala for pets.
Horatio T. (still trying to be the main character) tapped the mic and paused for maximum drama.
“First, we’ll announce the raffle winner. Then… the Best Costume Award.”
He pulled out a name from the raffle box, squinted, then said:
“The lucky winner of a brand-new rice cooker is… SUSAN V!”
Susan got up like she was accepting a Grammy. Photos were taken. Hugs were awkward. She grabbed the mic:
“Thank you for this opportunity—”
But Horatio snatched it back mid-sentence:
“Thank you, Susan. You may go now.” (Tragic.)
Then… the main event.
“3rd Place: A Chihuahua in a pink dress.” (Original. Groundbreaking. We’ve seen it before.)
“2nd Place: A fish… in an aquarium.” (Why is this in the same category? Who approved this?)
“And 1st Place goes to… Sir Oishi, The ProtectPaw!”
Susan gasped. Tears. She scooped me up like Simba on Pride Rock. Everyone clapped. I blinked twice, unimpressed, but internally flattered.
She whispered,
“You did it, my little warrior philosopher.” And I knew then… I may not understand her human drama, but I love how proud she is of her emotionally distant dog.
Susan’s not home. My tummy’s rumbling. I’m lying belly-up on the cold floor, tongue out, eyes glazed like a sad donut.
To distract myself from my slow starvation, I watched my fellow barkmates outside. And then—slam.
Car door.
Heavy footsteps. Dramatic entrance.
Susan flung the door shut behind her and did the thing—pressed her back against it and slowly slid down like a soap opera star whose whole life just aired on primetime.
I thought, “Not this again, Sus. What did you do?”
But I love her.
So, I walked over and licked her tears. It was salty. I immediately regretted it. But I stayed. Sat beside her. From time to time, I rested my face on her lap—just so she knows: I’m here. I love her. And also, I still haven’t eaten.
Narrator: Susan vs. The HR Department
It was Monday.
The office was busy—or at least everyone was pretending to be.
I naturally ignored the chaos and bee-lined to my besties, Yohanes and Brenda. Gossip time. Yohanes was mid-scandal-reporting like he was hosting a weather disaster special:
Then it happened.
“SUSAAAAAN! Where is Susan? Someone bring me Susan!”
Plot twist: Horacio, my manager (thin guy, brown hair, 90’s suit, glasses that scream I haven’t slept since 1998), was looking for me.
I nearly dropped the donut I was holding.
With the huskiest voice I could muster, I said, “I’m here. To what do I owe the pleasure of your royal summons?”
I was trying to joke away my panic. But then he pulled out an email I wrote to a very difficult customer.
He waved the email like it was Exhibit A. In front of the entire office.
Subject: Re: Your Eternal Confusion
Dear Customer,
Hi. 👋 I’m not sure why the basic concept of “no payment = no service” is harder to understand than my dating life, but here we are.
To clarify, once again, for the people in the emotional back row:
💳 + 💰 = 🎉 Service No 💳 + 🥱 = 🚫 Service
Hope this helps (but deeply suspect it won’t). Please refrain from calling us again unless you’ve paid, grown as a person, or both.
P.S. Get a hobby. Or a succulent. Something low maintenance—unlike this conversation.
Goodbye. Susan V.“I Haven’t Had My Coffee Yet” Customer Service (Reluctantly)
The SIGNAL Co. – “We test your patience, so you don’t have to.”
The silence was deafening. Horacio crumpled the email and stormed off like a rejected telenovela villain.
Oishi (a concerned but emotionally repressed Shih Tzu): Fortunately, Horacio calmed down and gave Susan another chance—on one condition: behave
.
I was relieved. Because how will we eat if she loses her job? Who’s going to pay rent? We’ll be out there with my barkmates, living in snackless sorrow.
Life Lesson (from Susan, surprisingly):
I know what you’re thinking: “Oishi’s the only philosopher in the room.” But hear me out.
Some customers are difficult. And sometimes you do want to scream. But there’s no excuse for the way I responded. Even if the customer was unreasonable, even if Horacio made a show out of it, I should’ve taken a breath before writing.
We both apologized. We laughed it off.
But I wall-slammed at home because… I panicked. What if I lost my job? Where would I get rent? Would I have to give up Oishi? (Just typing that makes me want to eat six donuts and cry.)
I was walling not just from shame… but from fear. Fear of losing the one soul who never judged me—just licked my tears and waited for dinner.
Moral of the Episode:
Some people are annoying. Some people are surprisingly good. Both will test your Wireless Fidelity and your patience.
So be kind—always. Be wise—especially. And whatever you do…
Feed your dog.
PS from Oishi: “After Susan’s full-on telenovela performance 🎭, we curled up in bed 🛏️ and slept like emotionally exhausted champions 🐶💤. Good night and sweet dreams 🌙✨.”
It was just an ordinary day — raining outside, chips in hand, cuddling on the couch with Oishi. We were watching our favorite show: The Detective Agency, starring Sera, Rhys, and Nova (you remember them from Episode 4: Oishi’s Nightmare).
It was all fun and fiction until — BOOM. A car exploded on screen right as thunder cracked outside.
Then came another boom — lightning struck the electric post. And just like that, the power went out. The house went dark. The neighborhood? A blackout.
Narrator: Oishi, Scared to Death
I was about to suggest we get the flashlight when we heard it — Footsteps. Wind howling. A loud “awooooooo.” Like a ghost-wolf who forgot to mind his volume.
Susan clutched me like a stuffed toy, and I — a brave, diaper-wearing Shi Tzu — called upon the Mighty Paw. Susan, on the other hand, went full Pentecostal. “In the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, I rebuke you!”
Whoa. Sus? You believe in the Big Guy? You don’t even read the Bible. You read “How to Get Slim Without Exercising” and air fryer recipes.
And… “Listen, I was so scared I didn’t even notice Susan changed outfits. One minute she’s in orange, next she’s in green — either we’re haunted or she packed for the apocalypse.”
Suddenly, the Mighty Paw appeared — calm, glowing, mildly judgmental. Tears welled up in my eyes. “Mighty Paw! Use your powers! Make the ghosties disappear!”
He shook his noble head. “Oh, you silly Little PhilosoFurr. I don’t have that kind of power. But I know someone who does. He’s the One who can calm bad spirits — and even Susan’s tantrums. You can tell Him anything — even how much you love chimken.”
My tail twitched. “Please just tell me who! I’m scared! My soul is shaking and my diaper is full!”
Before he answered, a bright light filled the room.
Narrator: Oishi, Humbled & Slightly Wet
He wore white. He raised His hand. He smiled at me — gently, warmly — and said:
“Hi Oishi. I’m Jesus.”
I was in awe. He looked so peaceful… unlike me and Susan, who were still running around like squirrels on espresso. But I noticed something: He had a hole in His hand. And yet — He smiled.
Then, without a single word, the ghosts — human and paw — saw Him and immediately vanished.
Susan fell to her knees, sobbing. I think she howled. Like… elephant-style. “THANK YOU, JESUS!!”
And me? No, I didn’t hug Him right away.
I peed first. Then I hugged Him.
He whispered:
“I love you, Oishi. I love Susan. And I will always protect you.”
And I believed Him. Because no matter how brave I try to be — Susan’s kind of a lot. (And if you haven’t noticed, she’s… large.)
PS. She really committed to that praise pose like she was trying to send a signal to heaven and win an Oscar. 🙄 I didn’t say anything… but in my mind? “Not this again, Susan.”
Alpha, Bravo, Zulu, Ketchup, Tomato — do you copy?!
The wind howls. Sand whips around like it’s mad at someone. I blink awake (apparently I passed out) and find myself in a helicopter, strapped to a brooding, muscle-bound hooman who looks like Spartacus. (Listen, I’m a dog, not blind. The man has arms carved by destiny.)
The pilot’s voice crackles: “You are clear to jump.” Jump?! From what? Why?! Where even are we?!
Beside me is a woman with glasses, wearing a laptop like it’s tactical gear. She looks ready to leap. I, on the other paw, am internally crying and possibly externally peeing. But thank the heavens I’m in diapers.
We reach the edge. Broody McMuscles gives me goggles. I whisper, “You got this, Oishi. You’re on a mission.”
But I’m not. I don’t know the mission. I am a Shih Tzu. I do not jump. I nap. I lick Susan’s forehead during meltdowns. I eat chimken.
So I panic. And I pray: “Suuuuusaaaaan! Where are you?!” I call out to the Mighty Paw, Sir Barkelot, and the Pawtriarch Angels of Barking Light: Your Little PhilosoFurr is in deep doodoo!
The Landing
The chopper hits the ground. My legs are jelly. They take off my goggles.
I expect chaos. Instead, I see her — a beautiful woman in uniform walking toward me like she’s on the cover of a holy calendar. She smiles, pats my head, and I blush like a puppy in love. I gently lick her hand and touch her crucifix.
She smells like stability. Unlike Susan.
But still… where is Susan?
The Briefing
Briefing room. Hooman’s been talking for 27 minutes. No one asked for this. I see an opening. Slide over to the computer. Type one name: Susan. She understands me. She has snacks. She doesn’t say “circle back.”
The Combat: “Firewall & Furballs”
And then — BOOM.
Explosions. Gunfire. Yelling. The woman with the laptop is typing like a demon while dodging bullets. The muscley hooman is flipping bad guys like pancakes. I, meanwhile, am sprinting around like a squeaky toy possessed.
I have no idea what’s going on. But I’m in it now. I bark. I run. I don’t fetch — I philosophize under pressure.
Eventually, we all race back to the helicopter. There’s smoke, shouting, maybe a slow-motion shot of me flying through the air like a furry meatball.
The Aftermath:
We make it.
And finally, I learn their names:
The radiant woman I licked? Sera Wilde. A fitting name for a goddess in camo.
The smoldering weapons expert? Rhys Halden.
The laptop warrior queen? Nova. Unshaken. Unbothered. Unmatched.
Rhys pats my head. “You did good today, buddy.”
Darn right I did. I’m also 80% fear pee and 20% dignity right now. And… I miss Susan.
The Awakening
And then — I hear her.
“Just when I thought I was over you…” It’s Susan. Singing Air Supply with the same goat-on-a-sunset-hill voice she used at karaoke with Yohanes and Brenda.
I have never felt more seen. It’s her. My melodramatic, emotionally unstable hooman. My Susan.
Final Thought from the PhilosoFurr
It was a nightmare. (Except for Sera. Sera was a dream.)
But I’m back. Susan won’t stop singing, but I don’t care. I am safe. I am loved. And I love my one and only… Sus.
“Activities! Bring Your Pet to Work Day!” 
“Just when I thought I was over you…”
Ember - Fire and Soul 