Ever wondered what Susan and Oishi might’ve looked like in the 1950s? We took a playful trip back in time to imagine their everyday lives in a simpler, sassier era — when feather dusters were weapons of housewife pride, phones had rotary dials, and televisions had antennas you had to bite (well, if you were Oishi).
Here’s a peek at their retro routine: Susan in full housewife mode doing laundry and cleaning in heels, dolled up at the diner while Oishi steals her burger, and of course, barking at furnitures.
Set in a time of pastel kitchens, vinyl booths, and Saturday cartoons, this vintage-style series celebrates the timeless chaos of fur and friendship — no matter the decade.
Susan, armed with sass and a feather duster. Susan: dolled up. Oishi: full belly. The date? Never showed up. Laundry day blues, 1950s edition When your dog thinks the TV antena is edible Susan’s trying to gossip with the neighbors… meanwhile Oishi is eating the telephone chord like it’s spaghetti. 📞🐶🍝
And that’s your glimpse into the world of Susan & Oishi — 1950s edition.
What makes someone believe they have the right to stand above others?
Susan Narrating
It was an ordinary Wednesday — that “meh” middle of the week. Not the chaos of Monday, not the slow fade-out of Friday. Just… Wednesday.
Well, ordinary for everyone else.
For me, the morning started with Oishi giving me those puppy eyes as I was leaving for work. Tail wagging, looking up at me like he’d just been abandoned by the entire cast of a soap opera. Obviously, I caved and took him with me.
At my desk, Oishi curled up under the table with his squeaky toy. Then Yohanes barged in, dramatic as ever, announcing there was chaos in the customer service lounge — customers fighting over who should be served first. One claimed she was a doctor, the other a lawyer. Dinah, our resident gossip, just said, “Let them fight it out, see who wins.” I chimed in, “The lawyer, duh.”
Pete — our by-the-book accountant (and unsolicited tax adviser) — picked up Oishi and calmly told Yohanes to defuse the situation by figuring out whose need was more urgent. Yohanes agreed and left.
For those who don’t know Pete, he’s our accountant — a good one. He even lectures me on filing taxes. I pretend not to care, but I remember every tip when it’s time to file. If it weren’t for him, your girl’s butt would’ve been in trouble last year.
Pete sat across from me, Oishi still in his lap, and suddenly asked: “What makes someone believe they have the right to stand above others?”
I froze mid-siopao bite. “What made you ask that?”
Pete’s Story
November 12, 2015. Pete said he’d never forget that day.
We didn’t know he was a volunteer worker. That day, he was in El Shur — a small, beautiful country with its share of darker realities.
He was assigned to distribute relief goods. As soon as the chopper touched down, people ran toward them. He told them to line up, assuring there was enough for everyone. But desperation overpowered order. People shouted, cried, begged to be served first.
Pete understood. Hunger does that.
But then, someone approached him privately, offering money — a bribe — to get their goods first.
“Why not buy food instead?” Pete asked.
The answer hit him hard. They couldn’t. Their area was on lockdown, boundaries guarded so insurgents wouldn’t cross over. They were stuck in the crossfire. Still, relief goods had been delivered regularly — they had enough for months.
But this person said, “We’re prominent. We should be served first.”
Then, almost as an afterthought, they added, “Besides… you don’t want trouble with the K.N.A.V.E.S.” Pete didn’t know who or what that was. But the way they said it — calm, low, like a warning — stuck with him.
“That’s what made me ask,” Pete said quietly. “No matter how much you have, no matter who you are, that’s not the right perspective. We should help each other up. Respect authority, yes — laws exist to protect us. But some people use their position to lift themselves higher, not to lift others. Not all of them. Some leaders genuinely serve. Others… they make the people serve them.”
Ishmael’s Answer
That’s when Ishmael, our prophetic janitor, glided in with his mop.
“People think they’re above others for many reasons,” he began. “Pride, fear, insecurity — even upbringing. Some were taught from childhood that status equals worth. Others hide their own sense of smallness by making others feel smaller. And there are those who genuinely believe their achievements or titles make them more valuable than the next person. But Christ showed us another way.”
He set the mop aside. “Christ washed the feet of His disciples. An act of humility and service. Imagine — a Master washing His followers’ feet.”
John 13:16-17 — Truly, truly, I say to you, a servant is not greater than his master, nor a messenger greater than the one who sent him. If you know these things, blessed are you if you do them.
I leaned in. “Pete, you said the place was chaotic. They were in survival mode. Of course they’d put themselves first.”
Ishmael looked at me. “Susan, imagine the building is on fire. What’s the first thing you’d grab?”
“Oishi Badoodle!” I said instantly.
He smiled. “Okay. But imagine Oishi’s in the other room. As you rush to him, you hear a baby crying — Melinda’s son. You can’t save them both.”
The tears came before I could stop them. I hugged Oishi tight.
“I know your answer, Susan,” Ishmael said gently. “You’d give up what you love most to save a life.”
I sniffled. “Why did you have to make it a baby? Couldn’t it be a unicorn? Or Chad?” But deep down, I understood. God made us to help and protect one another — not to think we’re above anyone.
Closing
Right then, Yohanes stormed back in, panting and sweaty. “After two hours, the customers and I reached an agreement.”
Pete patted his back. “Good job. You diffused it.”
That evening, Pete treated us to a park-side meal. Oishi was over the moon.
Oishi Narrating
When we got home, Susan went straight to the bedroom and knelt to pray.
“God, thank You for this beautiful life — for waking up each day safe and sound. Thank You for the kindness we’ve received. I pray for those who live day by day just trying to survive. Help us understand that we’re not above one another, but created to bless each other, inspire, and lift one another up. And God… please don’t ever make me choose between saving Oishi and saving a life. You know I’d do it, but with a heavy heart.”
Her voice broke. I understood why.
I know you’d pick the baby, Sus. And that’s okay. I get it. Life is precious. I’m happy, I’m content, and I hope you are too.
They’re slow, soft, and sacred like a fresh start wrapped in sunlight. Every time I wake up, I feel happy, alive, and oddly hopeful. There’s a golden ray peeking through our window, and somehow… the world just feels kind.
Then Oishi, my badoodle, wakes up. And I kid you not, he opens my drawer (yes, really) and pulls out my small Bible. The one my mom gave me back in my rebellion days. That’s Oishi’s way of saying, “Let’s pray.”
So we did.
“Thank You, Lord, for this beautiful day.”
Just then, we heard a knock.
It was Boyo, our neighbor. “Get ready for church!”
So we got moving. I took a shower and regretted doing it before giving Oishi a bath. He wagged, shook, and soaked me in dog-scented droplets. He hates showers. I love watching him look slightly less composed, no glasses, no red bandana just soggy and suspicious.
We got dressed, grabbed a quick bite (quick, not full because the best part of Sundays is post-church barbecue). So. Much. Fun. 😆💃🍢✨
Oishi Narrating
The streets were alive. The sun is shining, people are dancing Zumba. Barkmates were out. My cat “friend” Fippo was sitting on the mailbox, judging every passerby like it’s his job. Joggers jogged, others chatted, and someone even let the sunshine kiss their face while sitting peacefully on a bench.
Susan scooped me up. I thought it was because she was feeling holy.
Nope.
She leaned in and whispered, “Oishi… I’m hungry.”
Of course.
I had been nudging her toward the rice cooker earlier, but she refused. She said she’d eat after church.
Inside the church, the priest began reading:
“Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you…” — Matthew 7:7
Susan knelt down. I thought, Wow, she’s being sincere today.
And then I heard her whisper:
“Lord, please… iPhone 16. And PRO. Maybe plant the idea in Boyo’s head? He seems to like me.”
🐾 Paw to my forehead.
The priest continued:
“Which of you, if your child asks for bread, would give them a stone? Or if they ask for fish, would give a snake? If you who are flawed know how to give good gifts… How much more your Father in heaven?”
Then he preached.
He said:
“Yes, God invites us to ask. But that verse isn’t about a shopping list it’s about trust. A relationship. Sometimes, we ask for an iPhone. Or a car. And sure, those desires aren’t bad. But like a loving father, God sees what’s actually good and what isn’t.”
Susan and I side-eyed each other. She tried not to laugh. I barked once in support of the priest.
Sermon Summary (a.k.a. What Susan Needed to Hear)
🔸 Asking means pursuing God, not just gifts. 🔸 The “good things” He gives? Think peace, wisdom, strength — not just gadgets. 🔸 Not everything we want is good for us. So God sometimes says:
Yes (because it’s right – and we’re ready)
No (because it could harm us)
Not yet (because we’re not ready – maybe because He’s still pruning us, helping us grow before the gift comes)
It’s not about being perfect in prayer — it’s about being close.
God isn’t a vending machine. He’s a Father.
And somehow, that’s better.
Susan nodded during the homily. I could tell she got it.
Later That Day…
We left church. Susan walked directly to the siopao stand. Halfway through her first bite, she asked Boyo, “What time is the barbecue?” Turns out… it was lunch. She lit up like a child on Christmas.
We ate, we laughed. I got a chicken skewer. (Don’t judge me — I’m part of the family.)
It was a good day.
Susan forgot about the neighbor who sang “My Way” at 11 PM the night before.
We went home. Tired, full, happy.
And before the day ended… we both whispered:
“Thank You, Lord.”
God’s love is fatherly, not transactional. He’s more into our growth than our wish list.
But He’ll always listen to the wish list too because to Him, it’s part of loving you.
It was no ordinary Saturday morning. That sounds dramatic, but I mean it.
Usually, Oishi wakes me up by nibbling the edge of my pajama pants, then stares into my soul until I give him breakfast and take him for a walk. It’s our sacred ritual. But today? Nothing. Nada. Radio silence.
I sat up groggily and thought, Huh, that’s weird. Then I heard voices from the kitchen. Plural.
So naturally, I dragged my half-conscious self into the kitchen—and immediately questioned my entire grip on reality.
There was a blue horse holding a carton of oat milk, awkwardly smiling like he was trying to impress a Tinder date. His teeth were dazzling.
Next to him, a green elephant was holding my cereal like it was his birthright.
An orange chihuahua sat in the corner wearing noise-canceling headphones, probably listening to a TED Talk.
There was a cat with its face fully smushed against the window—just vibing.
And a K9 dog in a tactical vest was stationed at the door like he was guarding a presidential parade. I mean… who’s trying to shoot us?
Then there was Meutang—a purple aquatic creature we once rescued from the Great Fishnap. He was wearing a Hawaiian shirt and a tiny inflatable pool ring. Why? Who knows.
And finally… my Oishi.
Sitting at the head of the table. On a cushion. Eating roast chicken. Drinking something that suspiciously looked like wine.
He saw my face—the face of a woman emotionally spiraling before her caffeine—and calmly slid a stack of laminated ID cards toward me. Like this was normal.
I blinked at him. He blinked back. He knew I had questions.
Narrated by: Oishi (Your Local Philosofurr)
Every Friday night and Saturday morning, Susan and I do our sacred park walk. It’s our bonding moment. We talk (well, she talks), eat snacks, and reflect on life like unpaid therapists.
But during these walks… I met others.
There was the blue horse. The green elephant. Budd the K9. We sniffed once, and now we’re brothers.
Don’t even get me started on Budd’s music taste—Dancing Queen. He claims it calms his nerves. I get it. The beat slaps.
Anyway—today’s different. I didn’t wake Susan up. Why?
Because at exactly 3:27 AM, I got a call from Sashmi, our communications pug. She said Budd witnessed a group of humans trying to dynamite Meutang’s hometown: The Fishball Sea.
Unacceptable.
So I barked the alert. The Barkimony Delegates assembled.
There was stomping, growling, some dramatic slow-motion leaps. Budd might’ve bitten someone.
Eventually, the bad guys ran off.
We were tired. Starving. Emotionally wrecked.
So I brought everyone back to our place. Mi casa es su casa, I told them. Which is Spanish for: “Susan’s going to freak out, but it’s fine.”
And yeah… she froze in the doorway.
So I did what any noble leader would do: I handed her our official ID cards.
Now meet the team.
🐾 Budd — Security Chief
A K9 with nerves of steel and paws of thunder. His hobbies include tail surveillance and ABBA.
🩵 Bulgogi — Head of Logistics
Tiny horse. Big plans. Possibly dramatic. Once cried because of gravel.
💚 Bibimbap — Admin Officer
Baby green elephant. Runs everything. Also panics when the printer jams.
🧡 Sashmi — Comms Manager
Orange chihuahua. Talks faster than she thinks. Barks in Morse code.
🐟 Meautang — Marine Relations/Sea Affairs
Purple fish in a Hawaiian shirt. Vacation-ready, always suspicious.
Favorite phrase: “It’s a trap.”
Never proven right, but never wrong either.
🐱 Fippo — Freelance Delegate (a.k.a. The Cat Who Won’t Leave)
Wasn’t invited. Still came. Claims he’s here for “diplomacy.” Eats all the fish crackers.
—
Next summit topic: Climate Change.
Susan’s probably going to ask if that’s a new salad dressing. But I love her anyway.
Signed,
Still Barking. Still Rising. Still Living with Susan.
There’s something about Mondays that brings out the worst—I mean the best—in people. Employees were clacking away on their keyboards like, “Why am I even doing this?” Headphones on, eyes glazed, talking to clients who absolutely do not care about your opinion. Like—why call us if you’re just going to follow your own opinion anyway? Sure, let’s throw company policy out the window and go with whatever you want, Mr. Customer. Revolutionary.
My nose was practically blowing smoke. I hadn’t touched my coffee. My donut was suffering from neglect. And the phone. Would. Not. Stop. Ringing.
Welcome to my life.
Then Pete walked by—yes, Pete, the accountant—cool as ever. He silently handed me a bar of chocolate.
“Here. Have a bar. Might help you relax.”
If you don’t know Pete, he’s our rule-book loyalist. By-the-numbers. Lawful Good. If he doesn’t follow protocol, we’re probably headed for a full financial collapse. So, yeah. We let Pete be Pete.
Meanwhile, in the sales conference room… there he was. Macchismo D. My forever crush. My emotionally unavailable slideshow king.
He stood there—pointer stick in hand—presenting a bar graph like it owed him money. I had no idea what he was saying. The lines were going down, which seemed bad, but who cares? He looked fantastic. That’s what matters, sista.
After the presentation, Jezzie Bell Morgan—his boss and part-time career extinguisher—said loud enough for everyone to hear:
“Well, that was an epic fail.”
Then she walked away like she didn’t just shatter a man’s soul in front of the photocopier.
Later, in the pantry, Macchismo was talking to Pete. Yohanes and I were “not listening” from behind the coffee machine.
“I studied. I did research,” Macchismo said. “I’m trying to impress her… but she keeps belittling me. I just… I just want her to notice me. To say I did well.”
Then we noticed her.
Cassandra Vaughn—the owner. The Big Boss. Silent ninja of wisdom. She had been sitting across the table the whole time.
She walked over and said:
“Macchismo, you’re a good employee. I know your skills. You bring real value to this company—and yes, being charming helps in sales. But your mistake wasn’t the presentation. It was the constant need for validation. You’re doing the work for praise, not purpose.
All of us want to feel seen. We crave it. But when your entire performance depends on someone else clapping? That’s not work—it’s theater.”
Yohanes and I nodded in spiritual agreement.
Cassandra went on:
“When I started this company, I said yes to everything. I tried to be liked by every investor, every client. Eventually, I lost my voice. I couldn’t make a decision without someone else’s opinion echoing in my head.
I’m not saying bypass Jezzie. She’s your boss for a reason. But she doesn’t get a pass for disrespect. I’ll have Horatio from HR talk to her.”
Then she looked at him kindly and said:
“You can say no, Macchismo. Politely. With strength. Bring your A-game—not for her, but because it’s yours. You’re Macchismo D.”
“THE SALES ADONIS!” I shouted from the hallway.
Everyone laughed. Even Pete twitched a smile.
Back at Susan’s Apartment – Oishi Narrating
Boyo and I were watching TV. We heard the stomping. My tail wagged. Susan had returned.
She kicked the door open like a biblical hurricane.
“Boyo! Did you bathe Badoodle? Did you feed him? Comb his hair? Walk him? Rub his belly?!”
She unloaded every question like a spiritual machine gun.
Boyo calmly answered, “Yes.”
Once she’d recovered, he asked, “How was your day?”
Susan began her usual tirade about rude customers and how criminally attractive Macchismo looked in daylight.
I placed a paw on my face.
Then Boyo, like the philosopher he secretly is, rephrased:
“What good thing happened today?”
Susan paused.
“Not good like… eating-my-donut good—because that didn’t happen. But I think… I learned something.”
I gasped internally. Susan? Learning?
“Macchismo is charming, sure—but Boyo, you are quietly confident. You don’t chase validation. You just are good.”
She admitted she’d once visited Boyo’s work—with fried rice in hand—and overheard his boss saying Boyo was an incredible leader. She and I got hungry waiting… and ate the rice.
I regret nothing.
Susan then asked, “How do you do it, Boyo? Be confident without all the noise?”
Boyo scooped me up and said:
“Galatians 1:10.”
Susan blinked.
“Is that a street?”
He smiled:
“Am I now trying to win the approval of human beings, or of God? Or am I trying to please people? If I were still trying to please people, I would not be a servant of Christ.”
We were both speechless. Even I, Oishi, philosopher dog and lifelong judge of human behavior.
Susan nodded slowly.
“Well… I’ll try. Can’t promise I won’t slip. But I’ll try.”
She grabbed Boyo’s motorbike keys.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“To Macchismo’s apartment. I’m gonna stick that Bible verse on his door.”
“Can’t you give it to him tomorrow?”
“Nope. He has another presentation. Plus, I wanna catch him shirtless.”
Boyo and I: 🐾🤦
That Night
We snuck out like spies in black. I brought my squeaky toy. She brought her drama.
We stuck the note to his apartment door and disappeared into the night.
Next Day – Susan Narrating
In the conference room, Macchismo stood tall. Confident. The bar graph was going up. The words made sense this time.
“If we follow our brand pillars and execute sales strategies—outbound, consultative, solution selling—we’ll see a 537% increase in client engagement.”
Jezzie muttered, “Good job. I guess,” and walked away.
Later, I found a dozen donuts on my desk with a note:
“I know it’s you. And the furry guy. Thank you.”
And just like that—I was floating.
THE END 🧁 Donut count: 0 (still uneaten) 📈 Validation status: Internalized 🙏 Spiritual growth: 537%
“This one’s special. It’s about longing, dreams and the furball who made real life better than fantasy”
Susan (narrating)
“Boss, I need your signature here.”
“Boss, what’s our marketing strategy for the judgmental side-eyeing Shih Tzu?”
“Boss, the episode ‘Two Brains, One Dog, and Zero Life Plans’ is up by 213 percent — the viewers love it!”
“Boss, what’s our agenda for today?”
My office is on the top floor of Ventura Co. It’s big — clean, minimalist, beautiful. I can write in peace with no distractions. I’m the Marketing VP / Director / Editor of Ventura Co., and the creator of two hit shows: The Detective Agency and Tina & Pochi.
Tina is a dramatic woman who eats her feelings. Pochi is her judgmental dog.
My favorite’s the latter.
There’s something about that story I keep coming back to. Something about him.
Despite everything I have — the career, the success, the big apartment, the attractive face and body, even a handsome boyfriend — I go home every night and feel… empty. Incomplete. Like I’m living someone else’s life.
But when I write about Tina and Pochi?
I feel whole.
Because Pochi loves Tina. He’s loyal. And somewhere deep down, I think I’m trying to write a life I missed.
Tonight, I called my boyfriend.
“Cinema?” I asked.
“Busy,” he said, headset on, playing whatever with his friends.
At least Pochi is always with Tina.
And here I am again. Alone. Quiet.
Empty.
Oishi (narrating)
I woke up and looked around. Two dogs were snoring beside me. My parents, apparently.
I always forget their names.
Ah, yes. Mustard and Ketchup.
Mom and Dad.
But there’s one name I keep forgetting — the one that matters.
It starts with an “S.”
Anyway, the usual: walk around the park, sniff some tails, hang out with my barksties.
It’s… fine. Fun, I guess.
But something’s off.
I don’t like sniffing other dogs’ butts. There. I said it.
And I love my parents, I really do…
But I feel like I’m supposed to be somewhere else. With someone else.
Sometimes I dream I’m wearing glasses.
Sometimes I feel naked without a red scarf.
Sometimes I wake up with the feeling of being scooped — carried, kissed, bathed (ugh).
And there’s this hooman voice in my head — loud, weird, kinda goat-like when she sings.
I miss her.
Even if I’ve never met her.
Yet.
Somewhere in Their Dreams — A Prayer
Susan (in dream narration): Lord, I am living a good life. Everything looks perfect. I’m at the top of my game. I have a job, a name, even a man…
But I feel lonely. And empty. Can You send me someone who stays? Someone loyal. Soft. Who looks at me like I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to him — and let me do the same?
Oishi (in doggo prayer): God and Mighty Paw, Thank you for park and food and tail sniffs.
But I miss someone. Someone who scooped me. Who put on my glasses and red scarf. Who sang weird songs and kissed my head.
Can You send me my hooman? The loud one with a goat voice. I promise to love her forever — and maybe let her win tug-of-war… sometimes.
Some prayers don’t need words. Only hearts that ache in the same direction.
The Park – Collision Point
I was lost in thought when I saw her.
A woman. Beautiful. Hair tied up in a bun. Sitting on a park bench, crying.
Something inside me sparked.
I ran toward her.
She looked at me like she knew me.
She scooped me up, still crying — and I was crying too.
She held me close.
I rested my head on her shoulder.
She wiped my tears, put glasses on me, tied her red scarf around my neck.
And she whispered,
“I got you, buddy.”
Right then and there…
I felt complete.
Susan (narrating)
I heard knocking.
“Susan! It’s raining — your clothes are getting soaked! Get out of there!”
It was Boyo.
But I couldn’t move.
I was still crying.
And I swear… I heard Oishi crying too. A soft badoddle whimper from his bed.
I sat up.
We were both in tears.
Oishi jumped onto the bed and wrapped his little paws around me.
I held him tight.
“I had a dream, Badoodle,” I whispered.
“I was stunning. A literal commercial model. I had a big office, a big job, a boyfriend —”
Hair flip. Hair flip.
“—but you weren’t there.”
And suddenly, my voice cracked.
My smile faded.
Tears again.
“I don’t want that life, Oishi.
I don’t care if I’m successful.
I’d be happy for a while, sure —
But not for long.
Because you wouldn’t be in it.”
I scooped him up again, kissed his furry head.
“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
Except for the boyfriend part.”
Oishi side-eyed me.
I laughed through my tears.
“You’re loyal, and you’re stuck with me. Got that, Badoodle?”
Back to Reality
Boyo barged in, dripping wet, holding my clothes — and my undies.
“BOYO!” I shrieked, throwing a pillow at his face.
And then — chaos in the living room.
Oishi.
EATING MY DIPLOMA.
“OISHIIIIII! NOT THE DIPLOMAAA!”
I ran after him with a slipper.
And there we were:
Me yelling, Boyo confused and holding my underwear, Oishi running in circles with a piece of paper in his mouth. .
And I knew.
I didn’t need to be that boss lady from my dream to feel loved.
I didn’t need a high-rise office or a high-heeled life.
I already have it.
Right here.
In this loud, messy, slightly insane apartment.
With my dog, my maybe-boyfriend, and my diploma in shreds.
This is home.
And I’m right where I’m supposed to be.
I just need my dog. My story. My real, ridiculous life.
✨ End Scene. Roll credits. Cue goat-voiced rendition of “I Will Always Love You.”
It was Friday evening. Susan and I were in the Signal Co. pantry, watching the clock like it owed us money. She was in a rush — we had to get to the mall because she was finally buying new sneakers. Pricey ones. She kept telling herself (mostly out loud), “You only live once, and I’ve been absorbing customer tantrums like a sponge—I deserve this.”
Fair enough.
We got home, and she immediately unpacked the shoes like they were the Crown Jewels. She sniffed them — deeply. I don’t blame her. New shoe smell is dangerously satisfying. She said, “I’m wearing them tomorrow. And it better not rain.” Then she hugged them like a teddy bear and went to sleep.
Saturday Morning.
She woke up praying out loud:
“Lord, please. Let it be sunny. These sneakers are white. Pristine. Expensive. Your daughter humbly begs—please don’t let it rain!”
I couldn’t help but think: Sure, Sus. Let the plants wither and the rivers run dry so you can debut your kicks in peace.
But just as we were getting dressed… BOOM. Thunder. Lightning. Then the rain came down like a telenovela twist.
Susan flailed toward the window and cried out, “Whyyy, Lord?! WHYYY?”
But then she paused. She saw the rainwater spilling into the pots, stray cats and dogs drinking, ducks waddling like it was a parade, and she said nothing for a moment.
Narrated by Susan
I sighed.
“Thank you, Lord. You didn’t answer my prayer—and honestly, I wouldn’t have either. It was petty.”
I imagined Oishi side-eyeing me: “God split the Red Sea, raised the dead, healed the blind, made the lame walk… and here you are asking Him to protect your sneakers from a drizzle.”
And he’s right. Looking outside, I saw everything else thriving in the rain. I realized… the shoes can wait. The rain is helping others right now. And we can still go out when it stops. Or not. They’re just shoes. I can wash them. Or save up again.
(I’m definitely going with Option A though: wait until the rain stops.)
The rain didn’t stop.
But it softened to a gentle drizzle, and Oishi and I stayed in, wrapped in a blanket, sipping hot cocoa. 🌧️☕
It wasn’t the day we planned.
But it was… peaceful.
The kind of peace that doesn’t need perfect weather.
Every night, you can hear Susan stomping around like an elephant in front of the television, yelling, “I knew it, Oishi Badoodle — it’s the neighbor!”
Turns out she’s binge-watching Law & Order: SVU again. And now she thinks she’s Olivia Benson — with a notepad, glasses, and enough confidence to act like she’s actually on the precinct payroll.
One sunny afternoon, Sus and I were walking in the park. I was excited — there was a carnival in the village, and I needed to see other faces besides Susan’s. Then we ran into Timmy, holding Mutang — you know, Maeutang, that weird-looking purple fish. He won second place during Bring Your Pet to Work Day. Second to me, of course. I am Sir Oishi Barkcelot. Champion. Shih Tzu. Icon.
Narrated by Susan:
One not-so-fine afternoon, Oishi Badoodle and I were walking through the neighborhood when we saw Timmy with his purple fish — Maeutang, I think? We waved hello, then headed to the carnival.
Oishi and I had a blast. We rode the carousel, took selfies, laughed — life was good.
But on our way home, Timmy ran after us, crying. Mutang was missing.
Oishi and I gasped in sync. Sure, Mutang and I don’t talk, but he’s Oishi’s fish-friend, and that makes him family.
I hugged Timmy and said, “No one — and I mean no one — takes our babies from us.” (Just to be clear, I was referring to Oishi and Mutang.)
I asked if maybe Mutang just wandered off. Timmy looked confused and said, “He’s a fish.” I nodded. “And he’s purple. Anything is possible.”
Detective Susan V. was officially on the case.
We checked Timmy’s house. The aquarium was empty. I rushed home to change — blonde wig, glasses — the works. Oishi and I hid behind a plant for surveillance, though he seemed more annoyed by a random dog sniffing his butt than by the crime scene.
We interrogated the fish market. No luck. Just smells.
Timmy was spiraling, so we regrouped at home. I flipped open the murder board:
Fish vendor? (Smells… fishy.)
Postman? (Oishi barks at him daily. Suspicious.)
That one lady who sells snacks? (Hmmm…)
Timmy sat on the couch, crying. “He’s all I’ve got, Susan. When I play music, he swims toward me like he’s dancing. He gets me. I don’t have many friends, but I had Maeutang.”
I teared up. “I get it, Tim. I don’t know what I’d do if someone took my Oishi.”
Then I got serious. Maybe all those Bible studies with Yohanes and Brenda were sinking in. I said, “You know what I do when life spirals? I pray. Tell Him everything. He listens.”
Timmy wiped his eyes. “Lord, please help us find Maeutang. Show us where.”
Right then, a Carnival van passed by the window.
I scooped up Oishi — but not before I saw him quietly make a call. I swear he was on the phone.
Oishi:
Yes, I made a call. I rallied the squad.
Sashmi the orange chihuahua. Bulgogi the blue horse. K-9 Unit from the guard post.
And of course, me — emotionally exhausted but still majestic.
At the carnival, we spotted a man in a ski mask holding Maeutang. Two other goons were snacking on popcorn and cotton candy like this was a movie premiere.
Susan didn’t hesitate — She launched a throat punch while yelling “HIYAAAAA!”
The ski mask man dropped Maeutang. Another goon lunged forward — but before he could reach the tank…
Boyo came out of nowhere, punched the guy mid-air, and muttered, “Not on my watch.”
Then K-9 sank his teeth into a third guy’s butt
Timmy grabbed the aquarium, tears streaming. Maeutang, also teary-eyed (don’t ask how), looked right at Timmy. Their love was real.
Oishi (closing narration):
We went home. Susan wouldn’t stop talking about how amazing she was. To be fair, she did find Maeutang . She did it for me. I love her for that.
Then I heard it again from the couch — “I knew it! It’s always the neighbor!”
Paw to face. Not again, Sus.
Still rising 🔥 Still barking 🐾 — A Susan & Oishi Mystery
Five years ago, Susan found me crying under a tree in the rain. Soaked, shivering, abandoned. She ran to me and picked me anyway. (If you want the full origin story, go read “I Got You, Buddy.”)
A few months later, Boyo moved in next door. The first time I saw him, we were playing fetch in the hallway. I noticed him right away. He always smiled. His eyes were gentle. He looked… cuddly. Like Susan, but with better manners.
But there was something about him that drew me in. (Aside from the smell of treats, of course.)
The Incident.
One Saturday at 7 a.m., Boyo was blasting “Bed of Roses.” Susan was still asleep. Keyword: was.
She shot up like a banshee, stomped out of bed like an angry elephant, her hair a war zone, her face like a constipated chimpanzee. Still in pajamas. Still half-dreaming of revenge.
She scooped me up (I protested, silently—I knew what was coming). She banged on Boyo’s door.
He opened it. And for a split second, I swear I saw fear in his soul.
Susan unleashed. “Do you know what time it is?! Do you think you’re alone in the world? That we’re all paranormal beings who can’t hear Bon Jovi at full volume?! I just fell asleep—LAST NIGHT!”
She didn’t even breathe. Her mouth went full machine gun. Boyo? Speechless. Susan? Exited dramatically before he could say a word.
Then she ranted for five. straight. hours. My ears weren’t hurting from the music. They were hurting from Susan.
Mall Day, Siopao Drama, and Puppy PTSD
Later, we went to the mall. We roamed. Ate siopao. She put me in one of those baby ride thingies. I felt like a prince. I loved it.
Until she ditched me at the pet lounge. She wanted to watch a movie. She didn’t say the title, but judging from the timing, I’m guessing: “Food Factory: How Siopao Is Made.”
Earlier that day, while we were eating, I noticed Boyo watching her mid-bite. Mid siopao bite. And I swear—I saw his heart leap out of his chest.
I thought to myself, “Gross.”
That siopao bite must’ve triggered something, because Boyo suddenly remembered.
Turns out, they had met before — well, sort of.
During a neighborhood outing months ago, Boyo had seen Susan and me from a distance, sitting quietly by the beach. We were both staring out at the mountain and sea like it was a private moment with God.
Susan, in that rare peaceful form of hers, whispered, “Look at this view… what a Creator.”
Her face looked… angelic.
Very unlike the siopao-crushing, sarcastic hurricane that just yelled at him in her pajamas.
Back then, Boyo was quietly eating barbecue alone, watching us — Susan with her awe, me with my glassy deadpan — and thinking, Maybe this world still has soft places.
Who falls in love with Susan while she’s inhaling carbs?
Chaos at the Pet Lounge
Back at the lounge, I was surrounded by untrained puppies. Running. Sniffing. Chaos. One of them sniffed my butt for the third time and that was it.
I barked like it was the end of the world.
Luckily, Boyo was still at the mall. He heard me. He came in, checked me out, and left a note at the counter.
“Hey Siopao Girl, Got your dog. He looked restless. We’re at my apartment. — B.”
Bark, Regret, and Bed of Roses (again)
At his place, we chilled. He cooked chicken. We ate. We watched TV. Then we heard stomping in the hallway and shouting:
“BOYOOOO! Where is my badoodle?! Give him back to meee!!”
(She climbed eight floors. The elevator was down. Respect.)
Boyo opened the door. “I’m so—”
But Susan stopped him mid-apology by pressing a finger to his lips. Then launched into a rant that barely related to the situation.
Boyo calmly gave her a chair. Made coffee. Listened. Patiently.
Then she randomly mentioned “regret.” And Boyo’s eyes shifted.
He smiled and asked her, in his usual calm tone:
“What do you regret?”
Susan, being Susan, said:
“I regret buying that choco mocha lipstick. It looks like dried blood.”
Boyo tried again.
“Something deeper.”
She thought. Then said:
“I regret not buying the last piece of siopao. I should’ve bought it. Now I have to cook.”
I put my paw on my head. Classic Susan.
She got up, mid-convo, and left to cook. She was that comfortable around Boyo… she left me with him.
The Regrets Boyo Witnessedand the faith he chose instead.
Once she was gone, Boyo scooped me up. Sat me on his lap. And spoke softly.
“I used to be a nurse overseas,” he said. “I watched people die with so many regrets.”
He went quiet for a moment.
“I wasn’t part of the frontlines. I was the guy waiting in triage. Prepping shots. Changing dressings. I remember November 12, 2015 — the day the relief convoy never came back. We were waiting. The kids were waiting. But all we got was silence… and smoke rising from the ridge.”
Then continued:
“They regretted not telling people they loved them. Not giving enough time. Not living fully. Not putting God first. Not choosing joy over fear. Not choosing people over things.”
I listened. And for once… I had no sarcastic comment.
Boyo added:
“In this lifetime, regret is inevitable — it’s not about avoiding it, but about choosing not to repeat it.”
“Since then, I promised myself I’d live differently. Smile more. Be kind. Even when it’s hard. Even when it’s Susan.”
And then, he laughed.
“I’ll still play Bed of Roses. But I’ll be more mindful. I’ll live with faith. Not fear.”
Dinner with the Ones Who Stayed
Susan came back. She brought chicken. Boyo brought soup and dessert.
She ranted about the movie. He smiled. I napped.
And for a few hours, there was no fear. No regrets. Just us. Just joy. Just home.
Writer’s Note (by Ember — Slightly Overcooked, Still Simmering)
Hi, it’s me — Ember. The person behind Susan’s spirals and Oishi’s deadpan commentary.
This episode? It’s personal. Not because I’m a nurse, a doctor, or someone with a front-row seat to life-and-death situations… but because I’ve had my share of regret.
I’ve lost people I loved — and I didn’t always get to show that love the way I wanted to. And honestly? I still live like I have all the time in the world. Like the clock’s not ticking. Like there’s a memo somewhere that says I’ll live to 110.
But there isn’t. And that thought hit me while writing this episode.
So lately, like Boyo, I’ve been trying to really live. To make decisions based on faith, not fear. To be kind, even when I’m surrounded by difficult people and exhausting situations — which, to be clear, is very hard and occasionally makes me want to scream into a pillow.
But I’m trying.
If you’re reading this, maybe you’re trying too. Trying to be softer, braver, more present. Trying to say what matters before it’s too late.
🛋️ A Susan & Oishi Bible Study (1 Corinthians 13:4–7)
It was a Sunday afternoon. Rain outside. Siopao inside. And the living room smelled like shampoo, soy sauce, and spiritual awakening.
Oishi and I were hosting Bible study again — I say “we,” but between you and me, he’s the holy one. I just make snacks and dramatic confessions.
This week’s topic? “What is love?” Which I assumed would be a casual chat over cupcakes — not a divine ambush on my character development.
Brenda opened her Bible. Yohanes brought popcorn. And me? I brought my best behavior. (That lasted 6 minutes.)
Still… I have to admit… I like hosting Bible study now. Don’t tell the Lord, but I think He’s… smoothing my rough edges. Like a cheese grater. But for the soul.
Love is patient.
🔹 Snapshot: Brenda: “You’re singing in your goat voice.” Susan: “And yet… Oishi stays.” Oishi: “That’s love. That’s patience.”
🔸 Soul Note: Love is patient — like a mother whose toddler just broke her favorite mug but still gets a hug. Like a friend who listens when your story takes 47 detours. Like a God who waits while you’re still learning to trust Him.
Love is kind.
🧡 Snapshot: Susan: “For me?” Boyo: “It’s the last one.” Oishi: “He give food. Marry him.”
🧠 Soul Note: Love is kind — like when someone offers you the last siopao without a second thought. But it’s also kind when your coworker gently corrects your mistake without shaming you. Kindness is not just warm—it’s wise. It knows when to offer comfort and when to speak truth softly. Like Jesus, who welcomed the outcasts, washed the feet of His friends, and restored dignity with a word. He never humiliated, only healed.
Love does not envy.
🔹 Snapshot: Susan (grumbling): “She probably doesn’t even eat carbs.” Oishi (deadpan): “Love no envy. But Sus do.”
🔸 Soul Note: Love celebrates — even when it’s not your turn. Like when two friends apply for the same role, and one gets the position. Love is the one who didn’t get it… but still claps the loudest. It’s trusting that what’s for you won’t pass you by. It’s knowing that comparison kills joy, but celebration multiplies it.
Love does not boast. Love is not proud.
🟤 Snapshot: Susan: “It’s just a siopao. No big deal.” Oishi: “She skipped lunch to give that away. No one saw. I did.”
🧡 Soul Note: Real love doesn’t need an audience. It shows up when the camera isn’t rolling. It’s the quiet kind — the one that pays someone’s tuition, feeds a stranger, or forgives without needing a follow-up post. Love doesn’t broadcast kindness to boost its ego. It just does — because that’s what love would do.
Love does not dishonor others
📸 Snapshot: Susan: “I’m not gossiping.” Brenda: “You literally whispered and said, ‘Don’t react, but…’” Oishi: [holds sign] “Love does not dishonor others. Unlike this table.”
🍂 Soul Note: Dishonor doesn’t always shout — sometimes, it hides in the small jabs. In mocking someone’s cooking. In rolling eyes at someone’s work. In reducing their story to a punchline. Love doesn’t strip dignity — it covers it. It sees the effort behind the awkward presentation and chooses grace. Because love doesn’t humiliate. Love honors — even when no one else does.
Love is not self-seeking
📸 Snapshot: Brenda: [yawns] Susan: [slides the siopao] “You look like you haven’t eaten since last week’s WiFi outage.” Oishi: observes silently, notebook open: “Susan – 1, Hunger – 0”
🌾 Soul Note: Love is not self-seeking. It shows up not just in grand gestures, but in quiet surrender of comfort — When you offer your seat to a stranger whose legs are more tired than your entitlement. When you take the smaller piece of cake. When you let someone else go first — even if you’ve been waiting too. It’s when you could claim the spotlight, but choose to lift someone else instead. Because love doesn’t demand center stage. It’s content with the back row if it means someone else gets to rest.
Love is not easily angered. It keeps no record of wrongs.
🔹 Snapshot: Dinah: “You ate my donut again?! That had my initials!” Philip: calmly holds a ‘Sorry’ mug Susan (muttering): “I told you to use invisible ink.” Oishi (deadpan): “0 Days Since Dinah Drama.”
🔸 Soul Note: Love doesn’t keep score. Even when someone eats your lunch. Again. Even when the apology is on a mug, not from the heart. Love chooses peace over pettiness, even if your inner scoreboard is glowing red.
🟤 Susan’s Commentary (a.k.a. emotional meteorology): “If I were God, with the way we act? I’d throw a meteor at Earth every 30 minutes. Like clockwork. But He doesn’t. Because…“The Lord is compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in love” — Psalm 103:8, proudly retold by Susan after skipping breakfast
Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth
🟤 Scene “Love doesn’t clap for karma.”
🛋️ Panel Breakdown: Susan’s on the couch, clutching her phone like it just served her favorite dish — gossip. She just found out that someone she can’t stand got offloaded from a flight. Her smirk is instant. Victory sip pending.
But the moment doesn’t last. Oishi looks at her. Not with judgment — just that quiet, philosopher stare that says, “And then what?”
And something shifts. Susan puts the phone down. Her grin fades. There’s a pause. She remembers: Love does not delight in evil… but rejoices with the truth. (1 Corinthians 13:6)
📖 Soul Note Real love doesn’t get high on someone else’s downfall. It doesn’t pop popcorn when people fall. It prays, exhales, and chooses the higher road — even if it’s uphill. But it does rejoice when truth shows up. When grace wins. When healing begins. When someone takes the hard step toward what’s right — even if it’s messy.
Love always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres
📖 Soulnote
Love isn’t just sweet moments and sunny days. It’s sharing umbrellas when the storm hits. It’s trusting again after disappointment. It’s holding on to hope when things feel uncertain. And it’s staying — especially when it’s easier to walk away.
Because real love… shows up. In the rain. In the waiting. In the mess. Not perfect. But present. Always.
🐾 Oishi’s Commentary: In case you’re wondering why Susan isn’t in this photo… Let’s just say she’s waiting for someone with a pilot’s license, a prayer life, and a jawline that can part seas. She says it’s “standards.” I say it’s selective delusion with snacks.
Either way, she’s thriving. Alone. But thriving.
✍️ Writer’s Note
When I was younger, I thought love was just for husbands and wives — rom-com stuff. Candlelight and couple shirts. But the more I live, the more I see it’s deeper than that.
Love is how parents sacrifice for their kids. It’s how friends check in when you’re falling apart quietly. It’s choosing kindness with your neighbor… even when they vacuum at 6 a.m. Or worse — sing karaoke at 2 a.m. like they’re auditioning for heaven.
And yes — it’s that very uncomfortable, gospel-level command: Love your enemies.
Hard pill to swallow? Try loving someone who tests your patience like it’s their spiritual gift.
Sometimes, it hurts — especially when you don’t receive the same love you gave. But when I feel unseen, unloved, or overlooked, I remember this:
God loved us first. And He proved it — not with chocolates or flowers — but by giving Jesus, so we could have eternal life.
That’s not just love. That’s divine stubbornness. The kind that doesn’t give up. The kind we’re called to learn.
When someone insults you, clench your fists, bite your tongue, and try not to blurt anything out. Also… turn the other cheek, as Jesus said.
Pause. Think about siopao and donuts. Not because they help, but because carbs are a great distraction from violence.
Meditate. Imagine yourself winning the argument flawlessly. I mean… meditate so you remain calm and spiritually aligned.
Practice deep breaths before you accidentally retaliate with words that could melt concrete. Deep breaths. Breathe in grace, exhale petty.
Smile sarcastically—wait, no. Smile genuinely. You never know, your unexpected smile might lift someone’s heavy heart. Even if their face deserves a sandal.
✍️Writer’s note
Ahhh self-control — the kind of thing that many of us struggle to master. And by “many of us,” I mean me. 🙋🏻♀️
You’ll notice that Susan is still very much resistant to responding in kindness. Her first reaction is usually pride, ego, or the urge to throw a siopao and a donut. But the important thing is — she’s learning. Trying. And so am I.
It’s not easy, especially when you’re dealing with people trying to be cute but clearly skipped the ‘logic’ queue in life.
But we’re out here trying, praying, breathing (sometimes growling), and getting better one siopao at a time.
See you on the next post. — Oishi, emotional support furball
Hi, I’m Susan. Loud, loyal, slightly unhinged — and absolutely in love with my furball. That said, living with Oishi requires some ground rules. Fair is fair. So here’s my lovingly dramatic list of things my judgmental companion must understand:
When I come home, you better run to me in slo-mo — Tail wag included. 🐶💃 (You already do this. Keep it up.)
Listen to my rants without side-eye 🙄. Especially when I tell you I’m going to start losing weight. Just nod. Support me. Eat the chips quietly.
Chicken 🍗 is not an everyday thing. Try acting like a normal being and eat other food. (Then again, I eat siopao and donuts like they’re soulmates… so maybe this rule is more for me.)
Bath day🛁 is weekly, not a quarterly festival . Stop hiding under the table when I pull out your shampoo. You think bending down is easy for me?
Stop wandering around like you’re lost 🐶 when I’ve only been gone for two minutes. I just took out the trash, bro. Chill.
Stop following me into the bathroom 🚽🚿🧻. I love you. But there are boundaries. Doors are sacred.
We watch The Detective Agency together. 📺 No judgment when I yell at the screen. I’m emotionally invested, okay? 🍿🐶👀
Stop being dramatic at the pet lounge🐶😭💔,Let the other dogs sniff your butt and make friends. This is a safe space.
Let me tuck you in, kiss you goodnight, and whisper our secrets. I’ll always do this. No matter how old we get. 🤗🛏️🐾
If anyone hurts you, I will go full Susan Hulk. I love you, Badoodle. Forever and ever. 💛
Ember - Fire and Soul 