Macchismo Got Engaged and All I Got was This Emotional Damage
🦴 Narrated by Oishi
It was a lazy weekend afternoon. Susan and I had just finished our chores—well, I supervised. She flopped onto the couch with the full weight of an emotionally distressed hippo. I bounced. My squeaky toy took flight. It hasn’t been seen since.
Still, I love Susan. So I sat beside her, placed a paw on her lap, and she hugged me like a drama queen needing a life raft.
Then she whispered, “Macchismo is getting married. He’s engaged. That woman even posted the ring… for the whole world to see.”
(Cue tragic violin)
For those not emotionally entangled: Macchismo is her co-worker at The Signal Co. and her not-so-secret office crush. Tall. Handsome. Jawline. Smelled like toner and danger.
Susan used to glance at him during lunch breaks like she was auditioning for a music video. He smiled once. She nearly dropped her donut.
Susan wailed, clutched her tote, and announced in her signature goat-in-distress voice,
“Oishi, badoodle! We’re going to the park so I can distruct myself. We’ll eat siopao. Donuts. I’ll buy you KFC.”
At “KFC,” my ears perked. Chicken heals all wounds, including hers.
At first, the park was peaceful. The breeze danced. Birds sang. Then—
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!”
That was Susan.
“Look at them, Oishi! They’re kissing in the park!”
And with that, the Bitter Commentary Hour began.
“This park is not your personal romcom! Other people walk here. I hope you both step on gum. She’s not even that pretty—sure, her hair is long and shiny and ugh fine, she glows, whatever. AND LOOK AT HIM, HE IS SO HANDSOME.” Who even has a jawline like that? And that chiseled face—he looked like a man who stepped out of a rom-com movie… or a romantic pocketbook from a bookstore. You know, the ones with titles like “Forever Mine (But Not Hers)” and “Just Kiss Me, Architect Daddy.”
After half an hour of Olympic-level sulking, I stood up and waddled toward the restaurant. She followed, dragging her broken heart behind her like a weighted blanket of regret.
We sat down. She kept glancing back at the lovebirds. I felt sorry for her, honestly. I wanted to say: Your time will come, Sus. So I did my part.
“Don’t worry,” I told her.
“She probably eats salad without gagging. And you and Boyo? You’d look good together.”
Boyo is our neighbor. Kind. Chubby. Soft-spoken. Not an Adonis or a superhero god, but he has a superpower: patience. Especially with Susan. He cooks. He listens. He once fixed her door with nothing but a screwdriver and a sense of duty.
But Susan? She ignores him like she’s the lost Victoria’s Secret model.
Still… I can’t blame her. Watching that couple in the park felt like binge-watching an action movie—high-stakes, dramatic, painfully public.
Eventually, we finished our food and walked a little more. Then home.
Back in the living room, Susan scooped me up, hugged me, and said,
“Thank you, badoodle. For being there for me. For looking at me like I’m the most beautiful woman in the world.”
(I’m not.)
“For putting up with my drama.”
(Barely hanging on, Sus.)
“And for never leaving me.”
(Okay, that one’s true.)
I sighed. This is love. This is loyalty.
This is the emotional labor of a Shih Tzu with a PhD in patience. 🐾
Narrated by: Oishi (because no one else wanted to narrate something this heavy… and Susan’s a wreck before 5 PM anyway.)
It was Friday. 4:00 PM. That weird twilight zone in the office where everyone pretends to work but mostly just stares at their monitors, calculating escape.
Susan, of course, announced loudly while holding a siopao in one hand and milk tea in the other:
“When that clock hits 5:00, my voluptuous butt is outta here.” (As if she hadn’t devoured half a dozen siomai during lunch.)
Meanwhile, the usual suspects were passing time in their own way:
· Brenda, Yohannes, Jasper, and Horatio T. were exchanging insults in a love language only extroverts understand.
· Dinah and Jezzie Bell were packing up with military precision, so they could vanish the moment the clock beeped.
· The pantry was full — not just with people, but with food, gossip, and unspoken exhaustion.
And then there was Philip Vaughn. Sitting quietly at the far corner table. Black coffee in hand. Eyes distant — but never disconnected.
Horatio wandered over, casual and curious. “You’re a war vet, right? What were you? Infantry? Air Force? Bazooka guy? Tank dude? Can you shoot a target from, like… 20,000 miles away?”
Philip gave a gentle smile and shook his head.
“No, Horatio. No one can hit a target from 20,000 miles. That’s… halfway around the world.”
Then he paused. His gaze shifted — from polite to pained.
“I never flew a plane. But I’ve seen families flee their homes in panic. I never carried a bazooka. But I’ve seen bodies — scattered, torn, innocent. I can’t hit a distant target. But I’ve seen people so crushed by suffering… that light itself felt unreachable.”
We all grew quiet. Even Susan, mid-bite, slowed down. Until…
“Well,” she blurted, “that’s ‘cause the gal ate the apple and the dude went along with it.”
She said it like it explained everything. And in her head, it probably did.
To be fair, I think Susan thought Philip was asking why there’s evil in the world—why suffering exists. And since she just finished a Bible study that touched on Genesis, this was her chance to shine. So she went straight to the source: Eve, Adam, and that infamous fruit.
She even glanced at Brenda like, “See? I listened.”
Just to clarify, dear readers: “The gal and the dude” = Eve and Adam.
I don’t fully understand why it had to be an apple — personally, I’d sin for a dumpling — but what would I know? I’m just a fluffy Shih Tzu with theological insights and trust issues.
Thursday night, 10:00 PM — Philip’s apartment.
He couldn’t sleep. The memories were looping: Suffering. Hunger. People doing evil to survive. Others doing evil for no reason at all. No remorse. No hesitation. Just destruction.
He whispered to the ceiling:
“Why is there evil in the world? Don’t You care about the innocent who suffer?”
And then… He remembered what Ishmael the janitor once told him.
“God gave us free will, Philip,” Ishmael had said.
And then… he remembered a conversation years ago, just outside camp. Ishmael wasn’t a soldier — not anymore — but the man carried a quiet kind of command.
“The ability to choose good… or evil. Love isn’t love if it’s forced. And with freedom comes risk. Real risk.”
“Like cars,” he continued. “They’re made for transport. Good purpose. But if the driver’s drunk… the same machine becomes a weapon.” “God didn’t create evil. But He created choice. And that choice is what allows evil to exist — and grace to overcome it.”
Philip had asked, “But what about the innocent? What about those who suffer because of other people’s choices?”
Ishmael’s eyes were kind but tired.
“That one… I don’t have a full answer for. But the Bible doesn’t hide suffering. It just promises this: ‘Even though I walk through the darkest valley, You are with me.’ Not avoiding pain. But walking with us through it.”
“Keep asking Him,” he added. “Keep giving compassion. Keep pointing people back to the Shepherd. And when you don’t understand… stay with Him anyway.”
Back to the office. Back to the pantry. Back to siopao.
Philip ended his story. No music. No applause. Just silence.
All of us — even your stoic narrator — were in tears. Except Jezzie B. and Dinah, who muttered:
“Well, nobody asked you to serve anyway.”
Horatio turned red with rage. But Philip? He just smiled and patted him on the back.
“It’s okay. No one asked me. It was my calling. And if I could do it all again… I’d still choose to serve.”
Jezzie and Dinah left the room — humiliated, uncomfortable, and I suspect, a little convicted.
[Narration: Oishi | Present Day]
Susan left me with Philip because she went to the cinema to watch Inside Out with her BFFs, Brenda and Yohanes. Apparently, she can relate to “the anxiety character.” Don’t worry—I’ll spare you the full emotional recital she made when she got home and hugged me while weeping about how seen she felt. But that’s a story for another day… or never.
I was chewing on my squeaky lion toy when I saw Philip walk toward me. He was smiling—but his eyes were heavy. The kind of heavy that didn’t come from lack of sleep. It was history. It was weight.
He scooped me up, kissed my face, hugged me like I was the last safe thing in the world. I let him. When Philip hugs you, you don’t ask questions—you just hold the moment. He took me to the backyard. It was night. Quiet. Stars out. But something in his breath told me that the peace outside didn’t match the storm inside.
Then he said it: “Oishi, I have something to tell you that’s been weighing on me. You may not talk, but I know you’ll listen.”
His face dropped. From soft to steel. He started.
“November 12, 2015. I’ll never forget that day, even if I want to. It haunts me.”
“We were in a classified debrief. I was a Corporal. The man giving the briefing? Colonel Ishmael Shulman—yes, that Ishmael. The same one you see mopping the hallway at The Signal Co. You’ve met him.”
(Oishi – Yep. He’s the only one in that office who actually uses his brain. Apart from you, of course.)
“I don’t trust easy. I keep to myself. It’s not coldness—it’s control. I care about my team, I’d give my life for them. But connection? That’s a luxury I rarely allow myself. Until Private Joseph Morgan.
“He was different. Focused. Disciplined. Fearless, but not reckless. Courage isn’t the absence of fear—it’s what you do despite it. And Joseph did the hard things, always.”
“And when our pride got too loud, Joseph had a way of cutting through it—soft, but sharp.” “It’s not about being right. It’s about being kind… and knowing when to shut up.”
“I’ll never forget the day I disobeyed orders. I was told to wait, but I moved in too early. My pride said, ‘You’re the senior here.’ My gut said, ‘Go.’ It was a trap. I would’ve died… but Joseph followed me. Took down the enemy. Saved me. Looked at me with that smug grin and said, ‘You okay there, Corporal?’ with a wink. That wink saved my life.”
Philip’s voice broke. Then steadied.
“After the debrief, we got into the helo. The view over Elar-Shur was stunning—mountains, light, rooftops stacked like prayers. We were supposed to drop relief goods. Vaccines.”
“Then the first explosion hit.”
“From afar, the city burned. Screams from a distance. Our Sergeant Mekena Abimbola, Combat Medic whispered, ‘Praise the Lord, who is my rock. He trains my hands for war and gives my fingers skill for battle.’ (Psalm 144:1). Another boom. Our tail got hit. The pilot shouted, ‘Brace for impact. We’re going down.’”
“We crashed. The city was chaos. Smoke, gunfire, insurgents in black like death made manifest. We were surrounded. This was no relief mission. This was war.”
“We fired back. The medic was already on her knees trying to resuscitate someone. The pilot – Commander Sera Wilde—turns out she’s also trained to fly an F-16—was crawling toward the jet nearby, trying to flip the tide.”
“We were pinned. Joseph told me to hide, use the scope, wait. But I was reckless again. I saw an opening, took it. Didn’t see the sniper. Joseph did. He screamed my name, ran to cover me. Took the bullet meant for me.”
“The medic ran to him. Did everything. But he was already gone.”
“The pilot made it to the jet. Took out the enemy. But the damage had already been done.”
“I didn’t just lose a comrade. I lost a brother. Because of me.”
“I spiraled. I drank. I disappeared. Until someone told me there’s still redemption for people like us. That the Shepherd still walks through battlefields — even in the darkest ones.”
“So I got up. Found The Signal Co. And every time I hear Susan scream at the photocopier, or see Macchismo take a toilet selfie, or Yohanes being extra, or Brenda correcting everyone with her straight face—I breathe a little better.”
“That’s how I heal. One quiet laugh at a time.”
He patted me again. And I didn’t move. Because in that moment, I wasn’t just his emotional support dog. I was his chaplain. His witness. His silent Amen.
📜 Writer’s Note:
This is a work of creative reflection.
I haven’t seen war up close. But I’ve felt broken. I’ve gone to bed hungry—not always for food. I’ve been shut out, pushed down, overlooked.
I’ve seen people break, and I’ve felt the sting of things that weren’t my fault. I’ve suffered because of others’ choices. And I’ve hurt others because of mine.
I don’t have big answers. Maybe no one does. But I think it matters that we ask. That we say it out loud—whatever “it” is. That we make room for the hard questions, even the ones we whisper in the dark.
And if you’ve ever asked, “God, where are You in all this?” Same.
But I think He’s still here. I think He stays, even when everything else falls apart. And maybe that’s not everything. But maybe it’s enough to keep going.
Golden skies. Green grass. Clean air. Me, a sheep (I think), and a man in white robes with a long stick that curves at the end are walking down a peaceful path. The sheep, as much as I hate to admit it, is cuter than me. But we don’t talk about that. I’d rather focus on the man.
There’s something about Him—He’s calm, steady, unlike Susan. Walking with her is like being in a pinball machine. She talks too much, walks in zigzags, and somehow always needs to pick me up mid-walk to rant about random injustices. Like that one time she scooped me just to yell about the policeman who gave her a parking ticket. (For the record, I told her not to make that illegal U-turn. Did she listen? No. She said, “Oh don’t you worry, Badoodle, it’s lunchtime. No cops around.” Guess what? Cops eat in shifts. Classic Susan.)
Anyway, I love her. I wonder where she is now. I’d love to introduce her to this man.
As we walk, He asks, “Oishi, do you miss your human companion? Is she good to you? Do you take care of each other? Does she comfort you when you’re sad—and does she let you do the same for her?”
It takes me a moment to respond. Not because I don’t know the answers, but because… how does He know my name?
His voice is low and steady. You just believe Him when He speaks.
“Yes,” I say. “We’re made for each other. She’s dramatic. I’m a stoic philosofurr. She loves me like a little hooman. I listen to her rants. And not all of them are nonsense, you know. Sometimes she’s really hurting. Loud outside, but you can see her heart’s aching.”
He smiles. “I know. I’ve never left her side—or yours.” He laughs, softly. “Sometimes I wonder if she’s praying or auditioning for a drama series.”
“I prefer sincere prayers, Oishi.”
Susan Narrating:
It was Saturday—our usual kind of day. We woke up. I gave Oishi a bath, even though he clearly resents water and me when I do it. But come on, he sleeps beside me. You think I’m letting him go two weeks unbathed?
After his traumatic bath, we hit the market. I got his favorite—chicken. Then back in the car, music playing, he’s smiling at me like he knows I’d take a bullet for him. I thought, “He’s my companion. I love him. I don’t know what I’ll do when he leaves.”
Then: “WANG WANG WANG!”
I thought, “Is that an ambulance? The road is clear, just go!” But nope. Cop. And yeah… I may have made a slight illegal U-turn.
I offered him a few bucks to make it go away. He smiled and said, “Step out of the vehicle.” Notebook out. Suddenly, we’re in a police station.
Honestly, maybe he’s just hot and wanted an excuse to talk to me.
Oishi Narrating:
Turns out we weren’t at the station because of the U-turn. The market vendor who hates Susan said she stole something.
Susan was stunned. Then, in classic fashion, became theatrical.
“Steal? From you?! HOW? With what bag? Where would I hide a WATERMELON?! Show me the watermelon!”
The vendor was angrier. She grabbed a coconut. Yes—a literal coconut. And THREW IT.
Susan ducked. Another flew.
Now listen. I know I’m just a shih tzu. But nobody—nobody—messes with my Susan.
I took off my red bandana. Tied it around my head.
Battle mode.
I ran. I barked. I launched myself like a four-legged blackbelt (or red, whatever).
And then—
Everything went black.
Hospital Scene
I woke up standing beside the Man again. Mighty Paw was with Him.
“Hey Mighty Paw,” I said. “Didn’t see you there. Everything alright?”
His eyes were teary. That’s when I looked around.
And I saw Susan.
“Sus! Did you see that? I karate-chopped that woman!”
But she didn’t hear me. She wasn’t looking.
She was crying.
I looked up at the Man. “Why is she crying? We won, right? I bit that watermelon lady!”
He extended His hand. There was a hole.
And then I remembered. This was Jesus. The one I always call when Susan’s having one of her epic breakdowns.
“I remember You,” I whispered. “You always look after us.”
“Then you know,” Mighty Paw said gently, “why we’re here.”
I looked.
On the table—it was me.
All I could think was: Who will hug Susan when she gets home? Who will lick her tears? Bring her slippers? Who will comfort her when she’s exhausted from work—and from life?
“Jesus… please… do something.”
Susan (quietly praying):
“It was my fault. If I’d just walked away… If I’d just kept my mouth shut… he’d be fine. God, I know You’re listening. Please. Let him stay.”
Then I heard it.
A bark.
Soft. Familiar.
I looked—and there he was.
Tears in his eyes. Mine too. I kissed his forehead.
“Thank You, Lord… thank You for giving us another chance.”
Oishi:
I barked. She heard me. Her kiss felt like warmth.
We went home.
She patched my wound (stupid coconut), tucked me in bed. On the phone, I heard her talking to Brenda.
“Hey Brenda… what does it mean to ‘turn the other cheek’? And, uh, do I really have to?”
Brenda, being a pastor’s daughter, gave her a whole sermon. Told her to attend Mass regularly—not just when she feels like it.
📝 Writer’s Note:
I’ve seen a lot of fights like this—on the road, at the market, even in quiet neighborhoods. No dogs were harmed… but a lot of pride was.
It made me think: our anger often explodes over the smallest things. A wrong word. A cut in line. A petty misunderstanding.
I’m not writing this as someone who’s mastered patience—I’ve failed too.
Once, I lost my temper with a customer. They insulted me, and I snapped. I nearly lost my job. My manager told me, “Even if you were right, the way you acted was wrong.” I felt ashamed. I never got the chance to apologize — and I still think about it. That moment taught me something.
I understand why people react when they’re hurt, insulted, or wrongfully accused.
Anger is real.
Hurt is real.
But so is grace.
That’s what this story is about—not courtroom justice or letting evil win. This isn’t about big, criminal things. It’s about everyday wounds. Emotional scrapes we get just from trying to live around other humans.
“Turn the other cheek” doesn’t mean becoming a doormat. It means pausing before your pride takes over. It means choosing not to let someone else’s cruelty write your next chapter.
This is for the personal moments—the ones where ego wants to shout, but wisdom whispers, breathe. You might still feel angry when you walk away today, but you’ll be lighter tomorrow. You’ll be proud of who you were when no one was watching.
Let’s not carry regret over something we could’ve simply walked away from.
Wishing you peace—in your heart, your mind, and your everyday moments,
Narrator: Oishi (Seriously, I’m tired. I’m a dog. But here we are.)
It was Saturday night. Susan and I were chillin’ — karaoke, snacks, general chaos. Then came the knock. Brenda stood there… holding a Bible.
Susan blinked. “You must be lost. This is our house, not a church.”
Brenda walked in anyway.
She said she had to leave town urgently and needed someone to substitute as Sunday School teacher. She wanted Susan to cover for her.
I almost choked. Poor children. Susan doesn’t even read the Bible. One time, she thought Leviticus was Pete’s replacement.
Susan nearly dropped her siopao and began melodramatically stomping around, reciting a full roll call of coworkers who’d be better choices.
Brenda, unfazed, said, “You’re literally the last person I asked.”
Susan (rude) mentally noted that, but kept listening. Everyone else was out of town. And Brenda knew Susan was just going to drag me to the park and inhale siopao and milk tea.
With full drama, Susan stared at the ceiling. “I’ll do it… for the Lord. I’ll do it… for you. I’ll do it… for Oishi. I’ll do it for the economy.”
Brenda hugged her and handed over the topic: The Story of Creation.
Susan scooped me up, stared deeply into my soul (her face looked unusually close), and whispered:
“Badoodle. Prepare yourself. We are entering uncharted territory. We are built for this. Yeah. We are built for this.”
She took a swig of hot matcha, held a siopao in her other hand, sat down, and Googled:
“Tell me how the world is created, if possible step-by-step because I need to teach little humans.”
Somehow, she found it.
Genesis 1: In the beginning God created the sky and the earth…
She read all the way to Genesis 30.
Then she looked at me — half in awe, half in shock. “Oishi… God made everything out of nothing. He made dirt… beautiful. He made life. He made you. He made me.” (She said that while hugging me like I was a stuffed animal she forgot to give back.)
She kept reading:
“Look, I have given you all the plants that have grain for seeds…”
And she paused.
“He didn’t just create, Oishi… He provided.”
Sunday morning: Susan woke up early. Ironed a white dress. I didn’t even know she owned one. She had her hair down. That was new.
She scooped me up, tied on my red bandana, and said, “Oishi, we are going to church. Behave.”
(I wanted to say you should be the one hearing that — but I let it slide.)
The church was warm and bright. People were smiling. The piano music made everything feel… soft. Sacred.
Then I looked over and saw Susan… yawning. Classic.
After the mass, we headed to the kids’ classroom.
And Susan began to teach.
✍️ Writer’s Note Sometimes we get so caught up in work, media, and scrolling that we forget to look around. To notice the sky. The trees. The siopao we didn’t deserve. God didn’t just make us — He provides for us.
Let’s not forget how wildly good our Creator is.
From the hearts of Susan & Oishi — 🐾 Still rising. Still barking.
On a peaceful Saturday night, Sus had the day off, and I heard humming from her room. Naturally, I sprinted over thinking she was in distress — but no, she was just dreaming.
She scooped me up like a plush toy and whispered, “You know what, Badoodle, I had the most beautiful dream.” Her eyes glazed over like cartoon hearts as she continued: “In my dream I was a sexy goddess — red lipstick, long black hair, sleeveless top, no flabby arm flaps in sight. And Macchismo was looking at me like I was one hot mama.” She sipped her coffee and dramatically flipped her hair.
Fast forward to that same afternoon — we went to the mall to buy gym clothes. And then, right there and then, she enrolled herself at the gym like she was joining a beauty pageant in 7 days.
The gym instructor was visibly distressed. Susan wanted to lose 50 kilos in one week. The manager even offered her a refund if she promised never to return. But no, Susan was fired up — after all, this was about Macchismo.
She hit the treadmill like a woman possessed. Then tried yoga. Then karate. All in one go. Imagine a curvy woman doing downward dog while simultaneously throwing karate chops. I, too, was spiritually injured just watching.
After five hours of pure chaos (and me being starved to the brink of extinction), I tried to motivate her the only way she understands. I said, “Go Sus! Think of the siopao!”
Saturday night rolled in. We ended up ordering siopao and halo-halo. She couldn’t cook — her muscles were screaming for justice. She looked at me and groaned, “Oishy, my Badoodle… why are some women blessed with pretty faces and perfect curves?”
If I could talk like humans, I’d have told her: God made us unique. And yes, we should take care of our bodies — but expecting to look like a Victoria’s Secret model after one gym session is more comedy than goal.
Anyway. We were tired. We slept. Cue Monday.
Monday morning, she was still sore and waddling like a penguin to the pantry. And there he was: Macchismo D.,Hawaiian shirt. Blazer. Jawline, struggling with the coffee machine.
Susan seized the moment. “What’s your perception of women?” she asked, expecting fireworks.
Macchismo, without missing a beat, replied, “Strong-willed. Brave. Stubborn. Loving.”
Susan blinked. “Nooo, that can’t be right.”
“Sure it is,” he said. “My mom is all that.”
And just like that, he left her standing there. Speechless. Holding her coffee. Mouth open.
So how do I know all this? Because she dumps all her emotional crises on me. I’m Oishi. This is my burden. And my blessing.
The End. 🐶📚💅 See you on the next story. Bring snacks. I’m starving. 🐾
Psalm 139:13-14
For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.
Narrator: Oishi (as if there’s anyone else classy enough for this role)
As usual, Susan was at work — emotionally caffeinated, philosophically unprepared — and last night she dumped an entire story on me. I must now share it with you, dear reader, so I don’t suffer alone in silence.
It was Friday — the world’s emotional support day. Busy, but chill. The boss lady, Cassandra, had just called in a food order for the staff. She’s not always in the office, but she shows love the best way she knows how: carbs.
Now Cassandra is so poised, even Jezzie Bell and Dinah get insecure just by breathing in her cologne mist. She walks by, and suddenly everyone’s fixing their posture and pretending their spreadsheets aren’t fanfiction.
At The SIGNAL Co., gossip is a language. A lifestyle. Possibly an inherited condition. It was barely 8:00 AM when Yohanes crashed into the department like a news anchor possessed, shouting,
“MAKE WAY! I am reporting live from Rome — I have pope-level information.”
Susan, mid-donut. Brenda, the only one actually working, half-listening. Yohanes? Fully seated on Susan’s desk, wearing the energy of a caffeinated pigeon.
“There’s a reshuffle coming! Someone’s getting transferred!” Gasp — Susan almost drops her donut. Gasp — Yohanes inhales like he saw his own funeral. Gasp — Brenda doesn’t gasp. She fact-checks.
And then… Dinah.
Lurking. Listening. Lurking again.
She swoops in with that “just sharing, not saying” energy and drops this:
“I heard it’s Pete from Accounting. Apparently he messed up the company taxes.”
(No source. No logic. Just Dinah.)
Let the record show: Pete didn’t mess anything up. He asked Dinah for her tax computations, and she didn’t submit them. So now she’s blaming him for the delay. Classic.
Susan nearly faints. Yohanes looks ready to call CNN. Brenda, still grounded, says:
“Pete is the spreadsheet. He once calculated his way out of a traffic ticket.”
Dinah shrugs, throws her hands in the air and goes,
“Well… maybe he’s getting old. Just saying.”
Meanwhile, Jasper the intern approaches to give Susan her coffee. Unfortunately, Dinah’s hand is involved. A dramatic wrist flourish sends the coffee flying — all over Susan.
And Dinah?
“Ugh. Stupid intern. Why didn’t you walk around me?”
Jasper is mortified. Susan is sticky. And Ishmael, the janitor, glides in like a mop-wielding monk.
“Ma’am,” he says gently to Dinah, “he couldn’t have predicted your… hand choreography.”
Enter Horatio T. HR rep. Memo collector. Passive-aggressive with a soul.
He bursts from his office and booms:
“WHAT IN THE NAME OF DATA PRIVACY AND EMOTIONAL DAMAGE IS GOING ON HERE?!”
Dinah (of course) points at Yohanes:
“He started spreading gossip about Pete!”
Yohanes panics. Apologizes. Dinah smiles like a cat that deleted your files.
But even Horatio — who writes memos for therapy — can see the truth.
“ENOUGH. If there’s any transfer happening, I’ll be the one to announce it. I am HR. And FYI… no one’s being transferred.”
Yep. It was Dinah. Making things up. Again.
Later that day, Susan, Yohanes, and Brenda are whispering at the fire exit, still doing a full debrief. Then they hear two male voices from below.
One says:
“‘Do not go about spreading slander among your people. Do not do anything that endangers your neighbor’s life. I am the LORD.’ – Leviticus.”
Susan gasps:
“Wait — who’s Leviticus?! Is that Pete’s replacement?”
Yohanes:
“Or the new Data Analyst?”
Brenda rolls her eyes so hard the floor shakes:
“It’s a book in the Bible. That’s a verse. From the actual Bible Leviticus 19:16 !
They peek down and see… Ishmael. Quietly chatting with Horatio, who — surprisingly — sometimes seeks Ishmael’s advice.
Turns out, the janitor isn’t just wise. He’s scripturally sharp. Horatio had asked how to handle gossip. And Ishmael simply quoted the truth.
MEMO from Horatio T. – Subject: Defamation of Character (aka Gossip Ends Here)
To all employees (even if you’re morally bankrupt):
Gossip is part of our survival strategy in the office. Without it, how else would we bond over microwaved spaghetti? But let me make this clear—if your gossip causes harm, it will be your employment status that gets reshuffled.
Let’s build each other up, not burn each other down. In accordance with company policy… And the Book of Leviticus.
Or pack up your decorative mugs and leave.
Later that day, Susan and Yohanes didn’t gossip. They talked about the weather in Spain.
And Dinah? Well… she was unusually quiet. Either she’s reflecting, plotting, or Googling “Leviticus.” Who knows?
✍️ Writer’s Note
Hey, it’s me — Ember.
Just a little disclaimer:
The people in this story? Fictional. The chaos? Slightly exaggerated. But the message? Very real.
After nearly 20 years in different workplaces, I’ve seen how gossip — even the “light” kind — can spread fast and hit deep. I’ve been a Susan and a Yohanes. This episode isn’t just for laughs… it’s a gentle reminder: Let’s build each other up, not tear each other down.
Thanks for reading. Thanks for growing with me.
—Ember 🐾
Still learning. Still rising. Still talking to Oishi.
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.
Narrator: Oishi (Reluctant. Tired. Overqualified for this nonsense.)
Oishi (narrating): I don’t want to do this, but apparently, I’m the designated narrator of this madness—so here we are.
I’m surrounded. Literally. To my left: Sahsmi, an orange Chihuahua with eyes big enough to reflect existential dread. On the rug: Bibimbap, our baby green elephant with the emotional intelligence of a therapist. Next to him, reclining like a celebrity scandal: Tteokbokki, the baby monkey—mid-burger, always. Staring from the aquarium with judgey bubbles: Maeutang, the fish. And stretching out in full drama-pony glory: Bulgogi, the baby blue horse who thinks he’s majestic. He is. He’s also clumsy but he’s not on the picture yet.
Anyway. The past few days, Sus—my melodramatic, overcaffeinated hooman—has been coming home from work absolutely buzzing with chaos. She bursts through the door, scoops me up like I’m a purse dog, pins me under her arm, and says:
“Oishi, my badoodle—I have a juicy scoop for you!”
Then she monologues. For hours. Through dinner. Through dessert. Through my will to live.
But I love Sus. So even if her voice pierces my eardrums like a kazoo powered by drama, I listen. Because love is patient. And she has the snacks.
That said—my emotional support battery is draining faster than her phone at 3%. So each morning, when she leaves for work, I call my friends here and unload the tales before I emotionally combust. This, dear listener, is our ritual. And yes—there’s always a lesson, brought to you by yours truly: Oishi, your neighborhood PhilosoFurr.
There are 11 coworkers—and one very dramatic hooman.
Meet the team behind the drama. And the abs behind the confusion.
There’s ten of them. Yes, 12 if you will count my Sus. So don’t fall asleep on me—I know it’s a lot, but trust me, they’re all important. Every single one of these characters is either a blessing, a lesson… or a cautionary tale wearing business casual.
So listen up. Grab a fry. Let’s begin.
Character 1: Susan V. – The Exaggerated Princess
Susan V. is what happens when espresso, glitter, and unchecked emotions form a union. She’s in Customer Service but believes she’s in a high-stakes drama. Her morning mood is sponsored by “don’t talk to me,” and by dinner she’s dramatically whispering secrets into my ear like I’m her furry therapist.
She calls me her badoodle, scoops me up like I’m a plush toy, and unleashes daily monologues that rival Netflix dramas. She wears shirts that say “Exaggerated Princess” because truth in labeling is important.
But hey—she’s loyal, loud, and loves hard. So even if my ears suffer emotional damage, I listen. Because I love her.
Character 2: Yohanes Abimbola – Gossip Analyst
Yohanes isn’t technically paid to know everything—but he does. He doesn’t spread gossip to hurt. He spreads it because he’s got a talent for “informative observation with jazz hands.”
His eyes sparkle with curiosity. His tone? Pure brunch gossip. He’s like the Wi-Fi of workplace drama—always on, mostly harmless.
He wears mint green, pumpkin orange, and positivity. Even when he delivers eyebrow-raising intel, it’s with a smile that says,
“I come in peace… but with details.”
We love him. Even when we pretend we don’t.
Character 3: Horatio T. – The HR Memo Monk
Horatio T. is the kind of guy who walked into HR one day and never left. Not physically. Not spiritually.
He’s got reddish-brown hair, thin-framed glasses, and a beige checkered suit so aggressively neutral it could erase your personality by eye contact alone. His tie? Pumpkin orange. Not because he’s fun. Because it’s mandatory brand compliance.
He doesn’t talk—he issues memos. He doesn’t walk—he stomps silently, like a disappointed librarian.
But here’s the twist: Deep, deep down in that spreadsheet-shaped soul… he has a heart. He’s helped employees file insurance claims like they were personal quests. He’s just trying to keep us from setting the place on fire—with rules.
We call him the Memo Monk because if enlightenment had a PowerPoint, he would’ve written it.
Character 4: Brenda Mondragon – The Voice of Reason
Brenda is the reason this workplace hasn’t collapsed into a flaming pit of passive aggression and bad decisions.
She’s 5’6″ of calm, moisturized authority. Her hair? Long, curly, hydrated. Her skin? Watered like a houseplant that knows its worth. She wears a calm green outfit paired with a delicate star pendant, like a walking parable with a good skincare routine. And her white sneakers? Spotless. Like her reputation.
Brenda is the only one who can:
Shush Yohanes mid-scoop.
Block Susan from eating a dozen donuts.
And disarm Horatio with a perfectly timed “Thank you for the memo, Horatio. We’ll take it into prayer.”
She doesn’t say much—but when she does? It’s with biblical judgment and motherly precision.
And rumor has it—she’s inviting Susan to church.
Brenda doesn’t chase drama. Drama knocks and Brenda answers with a raised brow and a scripture.
Character 5: Pete Erickson – The Number Snitch
He’s pale. He’s nervous. He clutches his calculator like it’s the last loaf of bread in a zombie apocalypse. His glasses are thick enough to see into next fiscal year. He dresses like someone who gets mad when people use the color ink in the printer. (Because he does.)
Pete’s superpower? Making everyone remember their taxes… in January.
“Don’t forget to file your W-2.”
He once tripped over a paperclip and filed an incident report… on himself.
But here’s the thing: Pete means well. He’s just… Pete. He’s the human version of a paper jam. Awkward, unavoidable, and kind of tragic. But he keeps us legal. Barely.
So we nod. We thank him. And we keep our receipts—just in case.
Character 6: Macchismo D. – The Sales Adonis
According to Susan, Macchismo is “so hot, volcanoes feel self-concious.” Her pupils turn into tiny cartoon hearts every time she talks about him. It’s deeply concerning.
Macchismo D. works in Sales, but let’s be honest—he sells himself just by walking into a room. He’s tall, muscular, and his raven-dark hair is so flawless. His smile sparkles. Literally. I suspect teeth glitter. Still investigating.
He wears light blue polos like a superhero costume, and he says things like,
“Let’s close this deal, team!” with the exact tone of someone who thinks that’s how you get promoted.
People love him. People trust him. And honestly? That might be the real danger.
He works under Jezzie Bell, who seems to have a lipstick-shaped leash on him. But hey, I’m just the dog. What do I know?
For now, let’s just say this: Macchismo D. is dazzling.
Character 7: Dinah Montgomery – The Gossip Queen
If Yohanes is the office sparkle of harmless scoop, Dinah is the cold-brew version—strong, bitter, and served with no remorse.
She walks in like she owns the building’s secrets. Black hair sleek as betrayal, snarky eyes, and glasses that serve zero optical purpose but scream “I see everything.” Her dark brown lipstick says “professional,” but her tone says “you’re about to get emotionally audited.”
Dinah doesn’t just spill tea—she serves it pre-scorched. She’s not loud, but when she talks, people lean in… or leave. Because if Dinah says:
“I saw Pete at the store,” you know she’s about to follow it up with something like: “…and the woman he was with wasn’t wearing a ring. Just saying.”
She doesn’t ask questions—she plants landmines.
Nobody really likes Dinah. But nobody wants to be on her radar either. Because if she doesn’t know your dirt… she’ll make some for you.
Character 8: Jezzie Bell Morgan – The Corporate Siren
Jezzie Bell Morgan doesn’t walk. She glides. Like a well-funded lawsuit in designer heels.
Her red hair? Volcanic. Her lipstick? Same color as danger. Her vibe? “Sign here, sweetheart, and lose your soul in quarterly installments.”
She’s the manager of the Sales department, which basically makes her the queen of convincing people to do things they’ll regret and thank her for afterward. She commands with a smile that says:
“I already know what you’re going to say, and I’ve planned five responses, three bribes, and one perfectly timed sigh.”
Jezzie doesn’t need to raise her voice. She just tilts her head and suddenly Macchismo is nodding like a bobblehead in a sauna.
Her earrings sparkle. Her fingernails point like accusations. And when she says “trust me,” your instincts scream no—but your career prospects whisper yes.
No one’s sure what she wants. But they know not to get in her way.
Character 9: Philip Vaughn – The Office White Knight
Most people in the office don’t pay much attention to Philip Vaughn. He’s listed as Internal Ops Assistant, which is corporate speak for “does everything quietly and without applause.”
He doesn’t talk much. He doesn’t insert himself in gossip. He just shows up—early, focused, clean notebook, clean shirt, eyes like he’s reading your soul and your Google search history.
But here’s the part no one really gets: When things go wrong—when Jezzie’s manipulating, Dinah’s detonating, and Macchismo is flexing his moral confusion— Philip steps in. Not loudly. Not dramatically. He just does the right thing like it’s muscle memory.
Word around the breakroom is he’s a war veteran, which makes sense. He’s calm in chaos. Gentle with people. But firm when boundaries are crossed.
He’s got white knight energy—the kind that doesn’t ask for credit. The kind that protects without performance. The kind that doesn’t bow to office power games or ego theatrics.
You’ll probably overlook him. But he’s watching. And if you’re one of the good ones? He’s already in your corner.
Character 10: Jasper P. – The Intern Who Spills Coffee and Feelings
Jasper P. is the intern. You’ll know it the second you meet him—partly because he’ll tell you, and partly because he’ll already be apologizing for something.
He’s got long-ish curly hair, permanently startled eyes, and the overall energy of someone who’s late for a meeting that doesn’t exist.
He talks like a rapper who’s been hit with a mild anxiety attack:
“Yo, yo, my bad, my fault, I was gonna fix that spreadsheet but then I spilled my latte and—uh—Pete slipped on it but he’s fine I think, and also the printer’s making a weird noise?”
Jasper spills coffee, tea, water, information, and vibes. But he means well. And that’s the part that matters.
And every time he spills something (which is… often), Ishmael appears—quietly, mop in hand. Never scolds. Never sighs. Just cleans up.
Jasper may be clumsy. But he’s trying. And that makes him important. Not because he’s perfect—but because he wants to be better.
Character 11: Ishmael – The Janitor With a Mysterious Calm
Ishmael is… different. He doesn’t say much. He doesn’t need to.
He wears an old janitor uniform, faded and clean. Silver hair, quiet eyes, and a beard that says “I’ve seen things, but I’ve forgiven most of them.”
He’s always there. Not in a creepy way—more in a divine timing, slow-motion mop-wielding kind of way.
Someone spills coffee? Ishmael’s already halfway there. Printer explodes? Ishmael’s got a wrench, a rag, and a quote from Proverbs. Jezzie tries to verbally flatten a coworker? Ishmael makes eye contact once, and she forgets her next sentence.
People treat him like just a janitor. But those of us who watch—we know. There’s something about him that feels bigger.
He moves like a man with nothing to prove and everything to teach—if you’re paying attention.
They call him Ishmael the Janitor. But honestly? We don’t know who he really is. Not yet.
And that’s the crew.
Now you know who’s who. So when the drama starts—you won’t get lost.
The real office saga begins in Episode 2. See You! 📡 Totally Made-Up Company Alert:The Signal Co.: Not your internet provider — but we will disconnect your emotional stability. We don’t sell broadband. We sell breakdowns.
Susan’s not home. My tummy’s rumbling. I’m lying belly-up on the cold floor, tongue out, eyes glazed like a sad donut.
To distract myself from my slow starvation, I watched my fellow barkmates outside. And then—slam.
Car door.
Heavy footsteps. Dramatic entrance.
Susan flung the door shut behind her and did the thing—pressed her back against it and slowly slid down like a soap opera star whose whole life just aired on primetime.
I thought, “Not this again, Sus. What did you do?”
But I love her.
So, I walked over and licked her tears. It was salty. I immediately regretted it. But I stayed. Sat beside her. From time to time, I rested my face on her lap—just so she knows: I’m here. I love her. And also, I still haven’t eaten.
Narrator: Susan vs. The HR Department
It was Monday.
The office was busy—or at least everyone was pretending to be.
I naturally ignored the chaos and bee-lined to my besties, Yohanes and Brenda. Gossip time. Yohanes was mid-scandal-reporting like he was hosting a weather disaster special:
Then it happened.
“SUSAAAAAN! Where is Susan? Someone bring me Susan!”
Plot twist: Horacio, my manager (thin guy, brown hair, 90’s suit, glasses that scream I haven’t slept since 1998), was looking for me.
I nearly dropped the donut I was holding.
With the huskiest voice I could muster, I said, “I’m here. To what do I owe the pleasure of your royal summons?”
I was trying to joke away my panic. But then he pulled out an email I wrote to a very difficult customer.
He waved the email like it was Exhibit A. In front of the entire office.
Subject: Re: Your Eternal Confusion
Dear Customer,
Hi. 👋 I’m not sure why the basic concept of “no payment = no service” is harder to understand than my dating life, but here we are.
To clarify, once again, for the people in the emotional back row:
💳 + 💰 = 🎉 Service No 💳 + 🥱 = 🚫 Service
Hope this helps (but deeply suspect it won’t). Please refrain from calling us again unless you’ve paid, grown as a person, or both.
P.S. Get a hobby. Or a succulent. Something low maintenance—unlike this conversation.
Goodbye. Susan V.“I Haven’t Had My Coffee Yet” Customer Service (Reluctantly)
The SIGNAL Co. – “We test your patience, so you don’t have to.”
The silence was deafening. Horacio crumpled the email and stormed off like a rejected telenovela villain.
Oishi (a concerned but emotionally repressed Shih Tzu): Fortunately, Horacio calmed down and gave Susan another chance—on one condition: behave
.
I was relieved. Because how will we eat if she loses her job? Who’s going to pay rent? We’ll be out there with my barkmates, living in snackless sorrow.
Life Lesson (from Susan, surprisingly):
I know what you’re thinking: “Oishi’s the only philosopher in the room.” But hear me out.
Some customers are difficult. And sometimes you do want to scream. But there’s no excuse for the way I responded. Even if the customer was unreasonable, even if Horacio made a show out of it, I should’ve taken a breath before writing.
We both apologized. We laughed it off.
But I wall-slammed at home because… I panicked. What if I lost my job? Where would I get rent? Would I have to give up Oishi? (Just typing that makes me want to eat six donuts and cry.)
I was walling not just from shame… but from fear. Fear of losing the one soul who never judged me—just licked my tears and waited for dinner.
Moral of the Episode:
Some people are annoying. Some people are surprisingly good. Both will test your Wireless Fidelity and your patience.
So be kind—always. Be wise—especially. And whatever you do…
Feed your dog.
PS from Oishi: “After Susan’s full-on telenovela performance 🎭, we curled up in bed 🛏️ and slept like emotionally exhausted champions 🐶💤. Good night and sweet dreams 🌙✨.”
It was just an ordinary day — raining outside, chips in hand, cuddling on the couch with Oishi. We were watching our favorite show: The Detective Agency, starring Sera, Rhys, and Nova (you remember them from Episode 4: Oishi’s Nightmare).
It was all fun and fiction until — BOOM. A car exploded on screen right as thunder cracked outside.
Then came another boom — lightning struck the electric post. And just like that, the power went out. The house went dark. The neighborhood? A blackout.
Narrator: Oishi, Scared to Death
I was about to suggest we get the flashlight when we heard it — Footsteps. Wind howling. A loud “awooooooo.” Like a ghost-wolf who forgot to mind his volume.
Susan clutched me like a stuffed toy, and I — a brave, diaper-wearing Shi Tzu — called upon the Mighty Paw. Susan, on the other hand, went full Pentecostal. “In the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, I rebuke you!”
Whoa. Sus? You believe in the Big Guy? You don’t even read the Bible. You read “How to Get Slim Without Exercising” and air fryer recipes.
And… “Listen, I was so scared I didn’t even notice Susan changed outfits. One minute she’s in orange, next she’s in green — either we’re haunted or she packed for the apocalypse.”
Suddenly, the Mighty Paw appeared — calm, glowing, mildly judgmental. Tears welled up in my eyes. “Mighty Paw! Use your powers! Make the ghosties disappear!”
He shook his noble head. “Oh, you silly Little PhilosoFurr. I don’t have that kind of power. But I know someone who does. He’s the One who can calm bad spirits — and even Susan’s tantrums. You can tell Him anything — even how much you love chimken.”
My tail twitched. “Please just tell me who! I’m scared! My soul is shaking and my diaper is full!”
Before he answered, a bright light filled the room.
Narrator: Oishi, Humbled & Slightly Wet
He wore white. He raised His hand. He smiled at me — gently, warmly — and said:
“Hi Oishi. I’m Jesus.”
I was in awe. He looked so peaceful… unlike me and Susan, who were still running around like squirrels on espresso. But I noticed something: He had a hole in His hand. And yet — He smiled.
Then, without a single word, the ghosts — human and paw — saw Him and immediately vanished.
Susan fell to her knees, sobbing. I think she howled. Like… elephant-style. “THANK YOU, JESUS!!”
And me? No, I didn’t hug Him right away.
I peed first. Then I hugged Him.
He whispered:
“I love you, Oishi. I love Susan. And I will always protect you.”
And I believed Him. Because no matter how brave I try to be — Susan’s kind of a lot. (And if you haven’t noticed, she’s… large.)
PS. She really committed to that praise pose like she was trying to send a signal to heaven and win an Oscar. 🙄 I didn’t say anything… but in my mind? “Not this again, Susan.”
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.
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.
MEMO from Horatio T. – Subject: Defamation of Character (aka Gossip Ends Here)
“Activities! Bring Your Pet to Work Day!” 
Character 1: Susan V. – The Exaggerated Princess
Character 2: Yohanes Abimbola – Gossip Analyst
Character 3: Horatio T. – The HR Memo Monk
Character 4: Brenda Mondragon – The Voice of Reason
Character 5: Pete Erickson – The Number Snitch
Character 6: Macchismo D. – The Sales Adonis
Character 7: Dinah Montgomery – The Gossip Queen
Character 8: Jezzie Bell Morgan – The Corporate Siren
Character 9: Philip Vaughn – The Office White Knight
Character 10: Jasper P. – The Intern Who Spills Coffee and Feelings
Character 11: Ishmael – The Janitor With a Mysterious Calm
“Just when I thought I was over you…”
Ember - Fire and Soul 