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Tag: Emotional Support Dog

  • 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.

  • Susan & Oishi: Episode 10 — Susan’s Having a Menty B & Feeling Depressy

    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.

    -Ember

  • 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. 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 🐾