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.
Narrator: Susan, the Emotionally Unsupervised Hooman Friday night: the people’s champion. Universally voted the second-best day after Saturday. After a long week of Zoom meetings, adulting, and Pete’s never-ending monologue about accounting taxes (ugh), it was finally here.
Narrator: Oishi (yes, I’m a dog—keep up) Susan came bursting through the door like a caffeinated hurricane, slamming the car shut and storming into the house. I was mid-nap, belly-up, living my best Shih Tzu life, when suddenly—scoop!
She squealed, “OISHI! We’re going Karaokeeeee with Yohanes and Brenda! They booked a bar!” Then she tied my red bandana like I was going to prom. I licked her face out of sheer survival instinct. She tasted salty, but emotionally enthused. I tolerated it.
We arrived. It was a tiny room with a screen, two mics, and the heavy scent of regret. Susan grabbed the remote and went full maniac mode. The second the intro played, she clutched the mic like she was accepting a Grammy. Yohanes and Brenda screamed “GO SUS!” like she was Beyoncé’s backup singer.
Then it started. 🎵 “I cried a tear, you wiped it dry…” 🎵 Yes. Anne Murray’s You Needed Me. The drama. The vibrato. The unblinking eye contact.
I was concerned. But that concern escalated when Yohanes and Brenda started singing APT by Rose and Bruno Mars. Not just singing—dancing. If I were a human, I would’ve put my hand on my forehead and softly muttered, “No.”
But… it wasn’t all bad.
There was food. Savory. Glorious. Human-grade food. While they performed their emotional talent show, I worked the snack table like a professional. I’m not proud. I am full.
We went home. We ate more. Then I passed out.
Oishi, out. 🎤🐾
No deep reflections from your Little Philisophurr today. Why? Because Susan said this one’s just a regular Friday. Not everything has to be profound. Sometimes, we just vibe.
My hooman Sus officially filed for “mental health leave” to prepare for my birthday. (Don’t tell her I ratted her out, but let’s be real — I am the mental health issue. You’re welcome.)
We hit the supermarket first. And by “hit,” I mean I was chilling in the cart like royalty, surrounded by groceries — fruits, cereals, milk, and most importantly, chimken. It felt like I was floating through heaven with the Mighty Paw and the Pawtriarch Angels of Barking Light blessing my snout. Divine.
Back home, Sus started cooking like she was hosting the Barklorette finale. Chimken. Porky. Beef steak tenderloin. Mashed potatoes. I was drooling so hard my tail created its own wind pattern. And the cake? I wanted to dive in face-first. This smart, handsome, totally humble pup was ready for a FEAST.
And then… doom arrived.
The doorbell rang. My heartbeat spiked. I was sweating. Shaking. Existential dread. Sus opened the door and there they were — strangers. Loud ones. Touchy ones. Hoomans. Everywhere.
My brain tried to calm me down: “Oishi, they don’t bite.” My inner savage replied: “Yeah, but I do.”
Guests started eating. I was silently beefing with Steve, who wouldn’t stop taking my chimken. Bro, eat a banana and leave me the meat of heaven! Brenda? Oh, Brenda kept rubbing my ear and giving me belly rubs. I hated it. Then… I didn’t. It tickled. It was weirdly pleasant. (This is a safe space, right?)
And then came the singing.
Everyone gathered around me like I was some kind of plush deity. As a stoic pup, this level of attention is not my thing. So naturally, I coped the only way I knew how:
“In the name of Mighty Paw, Sir Barkelot the Eternal, and the Pawtriarch Angels of Barking Light… Disappear, party hoomans — except my loving unstable hooman. WOOOSH!”
Yeah, I imagined that. I regret nothing.
But despite the commotion, I had the best barkday. My Super Sus went above and beyond. And that means something — even to a licensed Pawtherapist.
Oishi’s Barkday Wisdom (you knew this was coming):
Loosen up, hooman. If you stay stiff and serious, you’ll miss the fun. I hated the party. Then I belly-laughed during the belly rub. Coincidence? Nope.
Appreciate the real MVPs. I was so busy side-eyeing guests, I almost forgot the mountain of love Sus put into this day. She faked a mental health breakdown. For me.
Be present. Don’t be like Yohanes glued to his phone. Or Pete from accounting organizing receipts and trauma-dumping tax advice on Sus. Be like Brenda. She lived in the moment. Ate well. Rubbed bellies. A queen.
“By the end of the night, it was just me and Sus again.
She was watching a crime doc, breathing like she’s on the case herself.
I wanted to say, ‘Sus… breathe. You’re not on payroll.’
But hey—she threw me a memorable barkday.
So I curled up beside her, accepted the weird show,
and whispered in my mind:
‘It’s the neighbor. It’s always the neighbor.’”
So here’s my official prayer for you:
Dear Mighty Paw, bless this hooman with a softer heart, looser spine, and better pawmate appreciation. No to defeatism. Yes to optimism.
Once upon a mildly humid afternoon, a male dog named Ketchup and a lady dog named Mustard locked eyes at the park.
Boom. Romance. Scandal. Questionable leash etiquette. And nine weeks later, me: a squishy, judgmental little pup with excellent hair and no inheritance.
From the moment I opened my eyes, I was filled with wonder. Big world. Big feelings. So naturally… I got lost. Because of course I did. Born with curiosity, not GPS.
I wandered. Sniffed some trash. Contemplated the void. Then, tired and slightly dramatic, I collapsed under a tree, waiting for fate. Or snacks.
Enter: Susan. A human. Hair flying, eyes wide, full rescue-mode activated. She scooped me up like I was a clearance item at an emotional Black Friday sale. She whispered, “I got you, buddy.”
Cue slow-motion. Wind. Music. Oscar-worthy emotional zoom. In that moment, I made a vow:
I will stay by her side.
I will protect her.
I will ignore most humans unless they have beef jerky.
Life was good. Susan worked. Came home. Pet me like I was therapy wrapped in fur. On weekends, we hit the park. Simple. Wholesome. No drama.
Until… drama. She went from “I got you, buddy,” to “Why is this happening to me, Oishi?”
Former queen. Now a stressed-out goblin powered by caffeine and online shopping.
Every night, she’d hold me like I was an emotional stuffed toy and mumble about:
how work drained her,
how the pizza guy was late,
and how our neighbor keeps blasting “Bed of Roses” like they’re were trying to summon 1992.
I stared at her like, “Susan… are you okay? Do I need to stage an intervention or just knock over a wine glass dramatically?”
I’m a Shih Tzu. I don’t know much about existential dread, but I do know when someone’s spiraling into a mid-level life crisis while holding a dog like a support burrito.
Narrator: Susan (The Melodramatic Hooman)
It was raining. I was overworked, overcaffeinated, and probably emotionally bankrupt.
Then I saw him—tiny, soaked, pathetic in a cinematic kind of way. I pulled over. Ran to him. Scooped him up. Whispered: “I got you, buddy.”
And that was it. We didn’t know it then, but maybe that moment was heaven-sent.
Me — drenched in burnout. Him — lost, tired, and hopeful. We found each other.
And somehow, we both knew… “God must’ve been listening.” Because He didn’t just give us a rescue story. He gave us a companion.
Oishi became my emotional WiFi. He doesn’t speak, but I swear he judges with love.
Sometimes, I imagine him saying things like:
“Susan… the pizza guy isn’t a villain. He’s just late. Like your rent.”
“Yes, life is hard, but maybe don’t buy three pairs of shoes during a panic spiral?”
“Maybe your coworker wasn’t rude. Maybe… you were just hungry.”
Oishi doesn’t stress. Doesn’t overthink. He naps like it’s a paid job. He exists like every day is just another opportunity to sit in a sunbeam and ignore everyone.
So now, I’m trying. To slow down. To be present. To learn from my emotionally distant dog guru.
Because sometimes, the best life coach is a furball with great hair and zero emotional baggage.
“Activities! Bring Your Pet to Work Day!” 
“Just when I thought I was over you…”
“In the name of Mighty Paw, Sir Barkelot the Eternal, and the Pawtriarch Angels of Barking Light… Disappear, party hoomans — except my loving unstable hooman. WOOOSH!”
Oishi’s Barkday Wisdom (you knew this was coming):
Ember - Fire and Soul 