Tag: dogs

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. 🐾