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

Tag: dogs

  • 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.

  • I Will Still Protect You, Sus.🐾

    (Oishi narrating)

    Susan has been sleeping on the couch all day.

    I’ve already eaten.

    Then napped.

    Then eaten again.

    Then went outside to argue with the annoying cat.

    Then came back inside because boredom is exhausting.

    When I returned, I heard Susan snoring.

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

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

    She was fine. Loud, but fine.

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

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

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

    And she said words I still remember clearly:

    “I got you, buddy.”

    I didn’t know what buddy meant.

    But it sounded safe.

    After that, life became loud.

    Susan overreacted to everything.

    Our kitchen was often covered in flour.

    Fish jumped out of pans.

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

    She laughed. She cried. I stayed.

    Today, while she slept, I whispered a prayer.

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

    And I made a promise to myself.

    I will still protect Sus when we’re old.

    We will drink coffee together.

    Watch sunsets.

    Maybe Boyo will join us.

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

    Somewhere nearby, I felt a calm presence.

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

    And for some reason, that made me peaceful.

    Susan stirred.

    Still snoring.

    I stayed.

    The end. 🐶🤍

    Still Rising. Still Barking.

  • 🐾 Hold my leash: This Dog Ain’t It

    Narrated by Susan

    It was a rainy Saturday morning and I went to the market alone. I left Oishi at home because he doesn’t like muddy paws (he thinks he’s royal — like Prince of Pawtanamo or something).

    Salary was still 15 days away, so Wagyu beef was clearly out of reach. I settled for galunggong (that’s a fish — yes, that’s its real name), plus a few essentials, including Oishi’s food. Not that he’d eat it. According to him, it “smells fishy.” (Which it is. Because it’s fish.)

    While walking with my umbrella, I paused to count my change — only to realize the vendor shorted me a peso. And listen, with the way my finances are set up, one peso matters. So I turned back, gathered all my courage, and told the vendor, “Miss, I think your change is short by a peso. I’ll give it to the beggar.”

    (Not true. Honestly, that beggar probably has more cash than me today.)

    The vendor handed me the peso with a judgmental face. She didn’t believe my excuse. Whatever. I walked off, wind howling, and boom — my umbrella flipped, slid from my hand, and flew off like it was trying to immigrate.

    As I chased after it, I spotted a stray dog. Big guy. Soaked and shivering. My heart melted.

    He reminded me of Oishi — the day I found him years ago. I still had Oishi’s leash in my bag, so I clipped it on. We walked home together. (He looked too big for public transport anyway.)

    At home, I dried him off, gave him food and water, and snuck him into the dog house I had made for Oishi — which Oishi never uses because, apparently, he thinks he owns the house. I didn’t want him to see the new dog just yet. Oishi would absolutely overreact.

    So for now, the new doggo had food, water, shelter, and peace. For about 24 hours.

    Narrated by Oishi

    I have noticed some changes.

    My food bowl? Always half full.

    My requests for snacks? Denied.

    Susan’s excuse? “Drink some water.”

    Excuse me?

    Either she’s broke again (probably bought another useless siopao maker), or she’s putting me on a diet. Either way, unacceptable.

    Also — she’s been acting sus. Always sneaking off to the backyard. Last time, she carried a Tupperware that smelled like my food. I barked. I confronted her.

    She denied it. In. My. Face.

    This morning, I saw her doing the “spy look.” You know — scanning the room like someone about to commit a crime. She tiptoed to the backyard. She left the door ajar.

    So I waited.

    I tippawed.

    I entered.

    And what I saw…

    A massive brown dog.

    Cuddling MY Susan.

    Licking her face.

    SHE WAS LAUGHING.

    And guess what was in the Tupperware?

    My. Food.

    I snapped. I barked from the depths of my soul. I charged like a knight from Barkthurian legend. That giant mutt had to go.

    And he did. He ran. Victory bark achieved.

    Susan again (irritated, obviously)

    First of all, the big brown doggo was minding his business. He slept in the dog house. I checked on him daily. Gave him Oishi’s food. (Don’t tell that little shih tzu — he’s overweight anyway. I’ll make it up to him on payday.)

    One morning, I thought Oishi was asleep. I tiptoed to the backyard with food and water.

    Oishi caught me.

    I denied it.

    Again.

    (Yes, I’m a terrible liar.)

    I hurried outside, sat with brown doggo, cuddled him, and even started thinking of names.

    And then… I heard war drums.

    Oishi came running — full sprint.

    He barked like the ghost of his ancestors sent him.

    Brown doggo panicked and bolted.

    And Oishi? He gave me this smug look like,

    “See Sus? I protected you.”

    I snapped.

    “GET INSIDE! I’ve HAD IT with you!”

    Then I blurted it out.

    “I found him the same way I found YOU. Soaked. Abandoned. I let you in. I fed you. Don’t forget that!”

    And just like that… Oishi started crying.

    Oishi (sobbing softly)

    She’s right.

    I was jealous.

    I’m sorry.

    I licked her face and whispered, “I’m sorry, Sus.”

    She scooped me up, her eyes teary.

    “You’ll always be my one and only badoodle. But I had to help him too. We’re just tight on money now.”

    I hugged her tighter. And then I jumped down and grabbed my leash.

    My way of saying:

    “Let’s go find him.”

    We searched the park.

    The market.

    Even the precinct.

    No doggo.

    Finally, we heard a noise from the other side of the backyard — where the trash cans are. The place where I once cried, thinking Susan abandoned me.

    And there he was.

    Big. Brown. Puppy-eyed.

    Waiting.

    Boyo came by to visit and saw the dog. His eyes lit up.

    “I always wanted a dog,” he said, petting the mutt. The dog clearly liked him too.

    Before anyone could get sentimental, Susan interrupted:

    “I know his name. Let’s call him Chocolat — duh, look at his color.”

    We laughed.

    I felt lighter.

    I think I’ll recruit Chocolat to Barkimony Summit.

    Every hero needs a sidekick.

    And I’m ready to share the food.

    (…sometimes.)

    Still Rising. Still Barking. 🐾

  • Susan & Oishi: Ep. 7 – Bring Your Pet to Work Day!

    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 & 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. 3 – Karaoke Night

    Susan & Oishi: Ep. 3 – Karaoke Night

    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.

  • 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.