Guided by light, driven by dreams, and ready to fly.

Tag: Cartoon Dog Series

  • The Day I Lost Because I Sneeze 😭🐾🐶

    Susan narrating

    I’ve been worried sick about Oishi.

    He hasn’t been judgmental and distant like he normally is.

    Instead, he’s clingy.

    Paranoid.

    He’s been asking Anghelito and Angelusito to close all the curtains like we’re hiding from the FBI.

    One night I almost broke my neck because he turned off all the lights and left a squeaky toy in the hallway.

    He’s been staying in his dog bed — which he rarely uses — and avoiding the couch.

    He used to sleep on my bed like he pays rent.

    Now?

    He crawls under the sofa when I grab his leash.

    And that’s when I knew.

    Something is wrong.

    Maybe he’s depressed.

    Nah.

    That smug little Shih Tzu has no emotions.

    Right?

    ⸻

    Oishi narrating

    I do have emotions.

    Unfortunately.

    Listen.

    Last Saturday, Sus and I were walking at the park. That’s our thing.

    She walks.

    I supervise.

    She enjoys the “eating after walking” part more, but that’s beside the point.

    She left me for five minutes to buy milk tea.

    Five.

    Minutes.

    And that’s when it happened.

    I bumped into a furry creature.

    I looked up.

    A cat.

    My heart tried to exit my chest.

    But I reminded myself:

    Calm down. I have a cat friend. Fippo. He’s decent.

    This one could be decent too.

    I mean… look at me.

    Good hair.

    Strong stance.

    Naturally charming.

    I was about to greet him.

    He crossed his arms.

    Oh.

    So we’re doing this.

    A staring contest.

    I always win against Susan.

    I will not fold.

    ⸻

    The sun was high.

    People started gathering.

    Someone said, “I’ll bet on the cat. The dog looks soft.”

    Soft?!

    Me?!

    The audacity.

    Then I heard Susan from a distance:

    “GO BADOODLE! CLAP CLAP! GO!”

    Like she was auditioning for Dancing with the Stars.

    I was sweating.

    My leg was itching.

    The crowd was cheering.

    The cat never blinked.

    But I saw it.

    He was struggling.

    This was my moment.

    I inhaled deeply—

    And inhaled dander.

    “Achoo!”

    “Achoo!”

    And that was it.

    The crowd erupted.

    The cat lifted his paw.

    Champion.

    For those who didn’t know…

    I lost because I sneezed.

    Susan picked me up like the baby that I am and kissed my forehead.

    “It’s okay, badoodle. You’re still my champ.”

    But I didn’t feel like a champ.

    I felt small.

    ⸻

    So no, Susan.

    I wasn’t depressed.

    I was ashamed.

    Ashamed I lost.

    Ashamed I folded.

    Ashamed I cared.

    I started hiding.

    Closing curtains.

    Avoiding the park.

    Is this what losing feels like?

    I didn’t know what to do.

    So obviously—

    I asked the angels.

    Who asks Susan for advice?

    She means well, but she would say:

    “Suck it up and stop being dramatic.”

    ⸻

    I told Anghelito and Angelusito everything.

    “I think I have emotions now,” I said.

    “I feel angry at myself. I feel ashamed. I keep replaying the sneeze.”

    Anghelito nodded.

    “It is natural to feel disappointment when you lose,” he said.

    “But shame does not belong there.”

    “Even professionals lose — but they don’t let one moment decide who they are.”

    Angelusito added.

    Even then, they said, athletes feel it too.

    But they don’t tie their identity to it.

    ⸻

    “So what do they do?” I asked.

    “They practice,” Anghelito said.

    “If Michael Jordan stayed home and closed his curtains every time he lost, would he become the greatest?”

    No.

    He practiced.

    He improved.

    He tried again.

    “So I shouldn’t give up?”

    “In games? Practice and try again,” Angelusito said.

    “But give up your ego.”

    That one hurt.

    “If I had just walked away,” I whispered, “this wouldn’t have happened.”

    They both came closer.

    “For petty pride battles,” they said gently,

    “Turn the other cheek.”

    If you’re not being bullied.

    If you’re not being harmed.

    You don’t have to prove yourself.

    Not every challenge deserves your identity.

    ⸻

    “So what did I learn?” I asked.

    Three things:

    • Turn the other cheek.

    • Do not engage in pettiness.

    • Never give up on things worth improving — but drop your ego.

    They touched my head.

    It felt peaceful.

    I was about to deliver a dramatic monologue—

    When we heard sirens.

    An ambulance.

    Outside our house.

    Susan burst in.

    “OISHIIII! OISHIIII!”

    She grabbed the medic and shouted:

    “My dog is depressed. Cure him!”

    Paw to forehead.

    Classic Sus.

    ⸻

    The End.

    Still Rising.

    Still Barking.

  • Susan & Oishi: Oishi’s Nightmare Black Hawk Down (feat. a Shih Tzu with Spiritual Trauma)

    Chaos Descent

    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.

    🐾 

  • Susan & Oishi Ep. 2: Oishi’s Birthday (Bark) Bash!

    Happy Bark Day to Me!

    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):

    1. 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.
    2. 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.
    3. 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.

    🐾 Mic drop.

    Oishi out.

  • Susan & Oishi Ep. 1 “I Got You, Buddy” Where It All Started

    A Rescue with Bark (and a Lot of Drama)

    Narrator: Oishi (Yes, I’m a dog. Try to keep up.)

    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.

    Still rising 🔥 Still barking 🐾