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

Tag: Funny Dog Comic

  • The Resolution List and the Heavenly Audit

    Susan narrating (while eating siopao):

    Christmas was a blast! Let’s see—I lost count how many Christmas parties we went to. I ate so much I think I could live off fat reserves until mid-January. I sang, danced, and won games with Badoodle, my smug little shih tzu whose tail couldn’t stop wagging from sheer victory.

    We rode the ferris wheel, watched fireworks, walked under the stars, visited the North Pole, met Santa—and Jesus tagged along. He gently reminded me that He is the gift, not the hot pink car I keep putting on vision boards.

    Now it’s New Year’s Eve. Oishi and I are preparing to welcome the new year—me, with a resolution list and reheated siopao; him, with a suspicious eye and a belly full of leftover ham.

    My New Year’s Resolutions:

    • Eat less siopao (cutting down from 5 to 4—I call that discipline)
    • Weekly massage at the spa
    • Visit the derma to achieve telenovela-level glow
    • Salon visits, false lashes, and plumped lips (subtle, classy, fierce)
    • Buy Oishi a luxury dog bed
    • Work 25 hours a day to fund all of the above

    I was about to post this on the fridge like a manifesto, when Anghelito and Angelusito appeared. My personal heavenly CCTV duo. I sighed, sat down, and mumbled, “Alright, here comes the unsolicited divine coaching.” Oishi barked like he was in on it.

    Angelusito, the sweet one, started gently: “Susan, your list shows you want to care for yourself, which is good.”

    Before he could finish, Anghelito rolled his eyes. “But you’re broke, Sus. No offense, but you work from home and have six potholders shaped like elephants. You don’t need more Shopee.” He nodded toward a pile of unopened packages.

    Then the mini-sermon began:

    • Add fruits and veggies to your diet. They’re not decorations. (Angelusito, gesturing to the rotting apples I bought to impress a guy who never visited.)
    • Mind your own business. (Anghelito. Of course.)
    • Only go to the salon if it fits the budget. (Angelusito, lovingly.)
    • Stop being dramatic. Your neighbor’s toddler crying isn’t a trauma response trigger. (Guess who.)
    • Work smart, not nonstop. Hustle culture won’t save you from burnout. (Thank you, Angelusito.)

    I burst into tears, siopao still in my mouth. “I’m tired. I’ve waited so long. I just want to feel alive again.”

    Oishi, breaking his usual sarcasm, rushed to lick my tears. (Salty. Regretted it. Still loves me.)

    Oishi narrates:

    In all my days with Susan, this was different. She wasn’t just being melodramatic. She was worn. She always gives, even when people misunderstand her. She says yes when she wants to rest. She takes care of others but forgets herself. I get why she wants something just for her.

    Angelusito and Anghelito narrate:

    We’ve watched over these two for years. Oishi, despite his side eyes and obsession with chicken, is the most present being on earth. Susan, meanwhile, is a complex emotional lasagna. Layers.

    So when she asked:

    • What’s wrong with taking care of myself?
    • Why do I feel stuck even if I’ve been good?
    • Why do I feel invisible?
    • Why can’t I enjoy life without going broke?
    • Why does everything feel like a never-ending waiting room?

    We didn’t know how to answer. So we went home.

    To heaven.

    At Heaven’s Gate:

    “It’s us!” Angelusito shouted. “We need to speak to the Boss.”

    The gates opened. The King of Kings, radiant and humble, walked toward us. “How are my children? Are they safe?”

    We told Him everything. He handed us a Bible and a laptop. “Give her answers. But first, remind her: I will never leave nor forsake her.”

    Back at Susan’s apartment:

    She was washing dishes, still crying. Oishi glared at us like, “Took you long enough.”

    We sat Susan down. Here’s what we told her.

    1. What’s wrong with taking care of myself?

    Nothing. If it’s stewardship, not image control. God calls us to honor the bodies He gave us (1 Corinthians 6:20). Self-care is holy when it’s about preserving what God entrusted. It becomes a trap when it’s about fixing your worth.

    2. What’s wrong with wanting my life to get better?

    Also nothing. But Jesus defines better as deeper peace, steadier joy, and a heart aligned with heaven. (Matthew 6:33)

    3. What’s wrong with wanting to be seen and feel important?

    You were made to be known. Psalm 139 says God sees everything about you. But don’t turn life into a stage. Let God see you first. Then applause won’t define your worth.

    4. What’s wrong with wanting good things but still have money to eat?

    Desiring joy is not sin. But clinging to money like it’s your savior is dangerous. Hebrews 13:5 says, “Keep your lives free from the love of money and be content with what you have, because God has said, ‘Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you”

    5. I’m tired of waiting. I’m drifting.

    Isaiah 40:31 says those who hope in the Lord renew their strength. Waiting is not punishment—it’s formation. And if you feel restless, maybe that’s your soul saying: you’re made for more than this moment.

    6. How can I be happy with small, daily irritations?

    You don’t have to fake joy. But don’t waste your pain either. James 1 says trials build character. And small irritations can train you toward maturity, not bitterness.

    7. I’ve been good. Why is life still hard?

    Because goodness is not a currency. Grace is a gift. God’s love is not a salary you earn. You don’t work for it. You walk in it.

    8. Oishi is the only constant thing in my life.

    Sweet, fluffy Oishi is a comfort. But your real Anchor is Jesus. He says: I will never leave you or forsake you.

    Psalm 23 says:

    “The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He restores my soul.”

    Even in waiting, even in worry, He restores you.

    Susan wiped her tears. We made her hot cocoa. Oishi curled beside her like a weighted blanket with legs. We tucked her in.

    “I didn’t sign up to babysit humans,” Anghelito muttered.

    That night, right before midnight, there was a soft knock at the gate. Boyo showed up holding a thermos of hot cocoa like it was a peace offering, Brenda arrived with something sweet because she refuses to let anyone end the year empty, and Yohannes came in waving sparklers like he was personally assigned to keep hope alive. Susan laughed—real laugh, not dramatic laugh—and for the first time all day, the house felt roomy. The countdown began, Oishi sat proudly like the host, and when the fireworks finally lit the sky, Susan realized she wasn’t just surviving the year… she was ending it loved.

    But as we watched her finally at peace, we knew one thing:

    Susan may not know what’s next. But she finally believes God is with her.

    And that, dear humans, is the only true resolution you need.

    Still rising. Still barking.

  • Park, Pain & Petty Thoughts

    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. 🐾

  • Master the Art of Self-Control — Susan’s Way (Narrated by Oishi)

    1. 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.
    2. Pause. Think about siopao and donuts. Not because they help, but because carbs are a great distraction from violence.
    3. Meditate. Imagine yourself winning the argument flawlessly. I mean… meditate so you remain calm and spiritually aligned.
    4. Practice deep breaths before you accidentally retaliate with words that could melt concrete. Deep breaths. Breathe in grace, exhale petty.
    5. 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

    Still Rising 🔥 Still Barking 🐾

  • 📜 Oishi’s House Rules: To Be Followed by Susan 📜

    🐾 Oishi
    You may know me as Susan’s emotional support dog. Or the stoic philosofurr in red. But behind these soulful eyes and perfectly parted fur is a list. A sacred scroll. A constitution of calm and comfort.

    Here are my House Rules — to be followed by Susan. No exceptions. No backtalk.

    🐶 Oishi’s House Rules:

    1. I only eat chicken. Anything else is a culinary insult.
    2. Do not — I repeat, do not — remove my red bandana.
    3. Belly rubs are required at bedtime. It’s law.
    4. Scrub gently during baths. I’m a Shih Tzu, not a loofah.
    5. I sleep beside you. I don’t care if you’re tired, mad, or engaged in existential dread.
    6. When playing music, I prefer smooth jazz. Do not argue.
    7. No baby voice. I’m a grown dog. With taxes.
    8. Share your siopao or donut. You always say you’re full halfway through anyway.
    9. Don’t cry in the bathroom. I can hear you. I will sit outside the door like a furry therapist.
    10. If someone hurts you, I will attack. Emotionally. With judgment. And dramatic barking.

    ✍️ Writer’s Note:

    These rules were written under strict supervision. Oishi stared at me the whole time like a furry editor-in-chief.

    -Ember 😎🍷✍️

  • Susan & Oishi: The Signal Co. – Episode 2 Bare Minimum & Biblical Memos

    Narrator: Oishi
    (Because I’m the only one with enough patience to tell this properly.)

    Welcome to The SIGNAL Co. — a telecommunication company whose motto is:
    “We test your patience so you don’t have to.”

    From the outside, the building looks grand. If you’re a fresh graduate walking by during your job hunt, you’d probably pause and whisper, “Wow, I hope I work there someday.”
    But once you’re inside? Different story.

    Chaos.
    Customers lining up like it’s Doomsday Prepper Sunday.
    Complaints flying in about laggy internet, mysterious charges, and “businesses ruined” because someone’s WiFi has been dead for a week.
    Screaming. Everywhere.

    This is the daily warzone that tests our patience. Especially that of the frontline crew: Susan, Yohanes, and Brenda — our beloved customer service team. Though let’s be honest, only Brenda is actually doing customer service.

    Susan and Yohanes?
    Their motto is:
    “Why give your best when you can give the bare minimum?”
    Said, of course, while high-fiving in the pantry and dodging calls.

    They thrive in the chaos.
    Angry customer? Meh.
    Why waste energy on someone who doesn’t even say thank you?

    Yohanes, with his trademark deadpan:
    “Let them scream. They’ll stop when they run out of air.”
    And Susan? Mid-siopao bite, nodding in agreement:
    “That’s right, BFF.”

    But this particular morning, something was different.

    Brenda — yes, Brenda, the moral compass of this shipwreck — suddenly went quiet. And then, mid-kitchen laughter, she said:

    “Why is life at work unfair?”

    Susan froze. Siopao still hanging out of her mouth.
    Yohanes raised a brow:
    “Come again, sister? Did Brenda the Perfect just ask that? Brenda, the Do Your Job Properly Brenda? Brenda the Let’s Do the Right Thing Brenda?”

    Brenda sighed.
    “I guess… I just feel tired. Unseen. Like I’m getting what I don’t deserve. You know what I mean?”

    Susan slammed her fist on the table like she was about to lead a workers’ revolt — until Horatio T., the HR guy, passed by. That shut her up real quick.

    (As your narrator, Oishi, I’d just like to add: Susan, ma’am, respectfully — you don’t get to complain about being unappreciated when you’ve been treating customers like background noise and rehearsing your nightly drama with Yohanes before even starting your shift.)

    Brenda continued.
    “I see staff being mistreated by managers, and managers being disrespected by staff. I see good people overlooked for promotions… while others climb the ladder without a clue. I see customers being unreasonable, and employees ignoring those who actually need help.”

    Then she said something that silenced everyone:
    “Not all managers are villains. And not all staff are heroes.”

    Sometimes, the real enemy isn’t the title —
    It’s the attitude behind it.”

    That hit different.
    Even Susan and Yohanes went quiet — probably because… well, they were part of the problem.

    Meanwhile, Horatio T. (who’d been eavesdropping) walked straight to Ishmael — our janitor and unexpected moral authority. If the office had a prophet, it would be him.

    “Hey,” Horatio asked, “what do I tell these people?”

    Ishmael didn’t hesitate.
    “Tell them Colossians 3:23–24.”

    Horatio blinked.
    “Is that… from the Bible?”
    (Ishmael just stared at him.)

    He finally said:
    “Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters — since you know that you will receive an inheritance from the Lord as a reward. It is the Lord Christ you are serving.”
    And then he walked away to mop up a coffee spill in the customer lounge.

    Horatio, being Horatio, took that verse and ran with it. He did what he loves most — drafted a company-wide memo. But first, he needed to figure out how to explain this verse to a group of burnt-out, underappreciated, chronically sarcastic employees. And this is what he sent:

    “To the Survivors of Chaos: A Memo from HR (and Heaven)”

    Memo Start:
    Dear Signal Co. Employee,
    Greetings to you people with questionable characters,

    Lately, we’re being attacked by the humanoids (a.k.a. customers), and instead of showing up with our A-game, we’ve delivered legendary epic-fails. Some of you raised concerns about fairness. Some of you are the concern (you know who you are). But I hear you.

    Here’s what a wise friend told me to pass on:

    Colossians 3:23–24
    “Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters, since you know that you will receive an inheritance from the Lord as a reward. It is the Lord Christ you are serving.”

    And now… a few thoughts that might just help.

    📌 Colossians 3:23–24 reminds us that our true employer is the Lord. Whether we are praised or overlooked, we are called to work with all our heart — not for human approval, but as an offering to God. This changes how we show up in difficult workplaces.

    To apply this practically:

    • Shift your mindset: See your work as service to God, not just your boss.
    • Pursue excellence: Not for applause, but because it honors Christ.
    • Build resilience: Anchor your attitude in grace, not in how others treat you.
    • Seek contentment: You may not get the role you want now, but your reward is eternal.
    • Foster community: Surround yourself with people who uplift and challenge you.
    • Reflect on your impact: Even unseen effort can quietly transform an office.

    To endure toxic work culture:

    • Pray consistently (Phil. 4:6–7) to stay grounded and guarded in peace.
    • Know your purpose (Col. 3:23–24) — God sees what others ignore.
    • Lean on others (Ecc. 4:9–10) who can help carry the weight.
    • Protect your well-being (1 Cor. 6:19–20) through rest and boundaries.
    • Practice gratitude (1 Thess. 5:16–18) — it keeps bitterness at bay.
    • Grow through trials (James 1:2–4) — hardship builds perseverance.
    • Stay rooted in truth (Phil. 4:13) — strength comes from Christ, not circumstance.

    Even when the workplace doesn’t change, you can. And when you work for the Lord, no effort is wasted.

    – Horatio T.
    (Your favorite HR guy, probably.)

    Oishi’s Note (because apparently, I have thoughts too):

    So… why do I know all this?
    Because Susan tells me everything. From her siopao-to-sunset monologues to every minor injustice she suffered since 1997.
    And as much as I’d love to say I care — I don’t.

    But this one?
    This one hit different.

    And I’m pretty sure Mighty Paw and Sir Barkcelot would agree.
    (Especially after their HR hearings.)”

    Brenda spoke. Horatio blinked. Ishmael quoted scripture. And for once, I saw Susan pause.

    She actually asked herself how she can work for the Lord.
    (I almost dropped my chew toy.)

    Now, I could’ve said, “Read the Bible, woman.”
    I could’ve said, “The memo literally quotes it.”
    But I didn’t.

    Because sometimes the loudest humans need to sit in quiet questions.

    So here’s what I’ll say instead:
    The world doesn’t revolve around Susan.
    Or customers.
    Or complaints.

    It revolves around a Shepherd who walks with the underpaid, the overlooked, the silently screaming, the ones who forgot to submit their time sheets again and the ones who showed up anyway.

    You matter. Even when no one claps. Even when your inbox on fire. Even when you’re hanging by the wi-fi thread, and your soul feels like a draft email unsent.

    And yes… Susan still loves me.
    Tragically. Obsessively.
    And I love her too.

    – Oishi 🐾
    (CSO – Chief Sarcastic Officer, Certified Theologian by Experience, Dog Therapist in Residence, Signal Co.)

    📡 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.

  • Creation and One Reluctant Sunday School Teacher: Susan’s Genesis Crisis

    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.

  • Susan & Oishi: Ep.9 “Siopao, Sweat & the Goddess Delusion”

    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.

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

    Narrator: Oishi
    Susan woke up early. Excited.
    (Overreacting, as usual, about something that’s not even life-altering.)

    I, on the other hand, was still in bed—peacefully judging the world in my sleep.
    Then it happened.
    She scooped me up and—without warning—threw me straight into bath time.

    Susan, what the heck. It’s 6 AM. I’m emotionally unprepared. Where are we going?

    Narrator: Susan
    HORATIO T. from HR made an announcement yesterday:
    🎉 “Activities! Bring Your Pet to Work Day!” 🎉
    And you know I love Oishi like he’s my emotional WiFi.

    So naturally, I screamed.
    My heart raced.
    I jumped like I’d just won a blender in a church raffle.

    Today was finally the day I got to dress Oishi in something other than that tired red bandana.

    I chose a Mandalorian-style knight costume.
    Because my little PhilosoFurr isn’t just cute—
    He’s my ProtectPaw.

    Narrator: Oishi (in full knight mode)
    I am Sir Oishi, the Paw Knight.
    Protector of the Living Room.
    Sworn defender of Susan the Melodramatic.
    I lay down my sword and vow that no sock, squirrel, or passive-aggressive neighbor shall harm us.
    WOOF WOOF.

    At the Office:
    (You can picture the scene: barking, meowing, tail-wagging chaos.)
    Food everywhere.
    Hoomans showing off like it’s the Met Gala for pets.

    Horatio T. (still trying to be the main character) tapped the mic and paused for maximum drama.

    “First, we’ll announce the raffle winner. Then… the Best Costume Award.”

    He pulled out a name from the raffle box, squinted, then said:

    “The lucky winner of a brand-new rice cooker is… SUSAN V!”

    Susan got up like she was accepting a Grammy.
    Photos were taken.
    Hugs were awkward.
    She grabbed the mic:

    “Thank you for this opportunity—”

    But Horatio snatched it back mid-sentence:

    “Thank you, Susan. You may go now.”
    (Tragic.)

    Then… the main event.

    “3rd Place: A Chihuahua in a pink dress.”
    (Original. Groundbreaking. We’ve seen it before.)

    “2nd Place: A fish… in an aquarium.”
    (Why is this in the same category? Who approved this?)

    “And 1st Place goes to… Sir Oishi, The ProtectPaw!”

    Susan gasped.
    Tears.
    She scooped me up like Simba on Pride Rock.
    Everyone clapped.
    I blinked twice, unimpressed, but internally flattered.

    She whispered,

    “You did it, my little warrior philosopher.”
    And I knew then…
    I may not understand her human drama,
    but I love how proud she is of her emotionally distant dog.

  • Susan & Oishi: A Tale of The Signal Co. Ep. 1 – Character Introduction

    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 & Oishi: Ep. 5 We Are Not Ready: A Paranormal Sitcom

    Narrator: Susan, Frightened to the Max

    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.”

  • Susan & Oishi Ep. 2: Oishi’s Birthday (Bark) Bash!

    Happy Bark Day to Me!

    My hooman Sus officially filed for “mental health leave” to prepare for my birthday. (Don’t tell her I ratted her out, but let’s be real — I am the mental health issue. You’re welcome.)

    We hit the supermarket first. And by “hit,” I mean I was chilling in the cart like royalty, surrounded by groceries — fruits, cereals, milk, and most importantly, chimken. It felt like I was floating through heaven with the Mighty Paw and the Pawtriarch Angels of Barking Light blessing my snout. Divine.

    Back home, Sus started cooking like she was hosting the Barklorette finale. Chimken. Porky. Beef steak tenderloin. Mashed potatoes. I was drooling so hard my tail created its own wind pattern. And the cake? I wanted to dive in face-first. This smart, handsome, totally humble pup was ready for a FEAST.

    And then… doom arrived.

    The doorbell rang. My heartbeat spiked. I was sweating. Shaking. Existential dread. Sus opened the door and there they were — strangers. Loud ones. Touchy ones. Hoomans. Everywhere.

    My brain tried to calm me down: “Oishi, they don’t bite.”
    My inner savage replied: “Yeah, but I do.” 😎

    Guests started eating. I was silently beefing with Steve, who wouldn’t stop taking my chimken. Bro, eat a banana and leave me the meat of heaven! Brenda? Oh, Brenda kept rubbing my ear and giving me belly rubs. I hated it. Then… I didn’t. It tickled. It was weirdly pleasant. (This is a safe space, right?)

    And then came the singing. 🎂

    Everyone gathered around me like I was some kind of plush deity. As a stoic pup, this level of attention is not my thing. So naturally, I coped the only way I knew how:

    🪄 “In the name of Mighty Paw, Sir Barkelot the Eternal, and the Pawtriarch Angels of Barking Light… Disappear, party hoomans — except my loving unstable hooman. WOOOSH!”

    Yeah, I imagined that. I regret nothing.

    But despite the commotion, I had the best barkday. My Super Sus went above and beyond. And that means something — even to a licensed Pawtherapist.

    🎓 Oishi’s Barkday Wisdom (you knew this was coming):

    1. Loosen up, hooman. If you stay stiff and serious, you’ll miss the fun. I hated the party. Then I belly-laughed during the belly rub. Coincidence? Nope.
    2. Appreciate the real MVPs. I was so busy side-eyeing guests, I almost forgot the mountain of love Sus put into this day. She faked a mental health breakdown. For me.
    3. Be present. Don’t be like Yohanes glued to his phone. Or Pete from accounting organizing receipts and trauma-dumping tax advice on Sus. Be like Brenda. She lived in the moment. Ate well. Rubbed bellies. A queen.

    “By the end of the night, it was just me and Sus again.

    She was watching a crime doc, breathing like she’s on the case herself.

    I wanted to say, ‘Sus… breathe. You’re not on payroll.’

    But hey—she threw me a memorable barkday.

    So I curled up beside her, accepted the weird show,

    and whispered in my mind:

    ‘It’s the neighbor. It’s always the neighbor.’”

    So here’s my official prayer for you:

    Dear Mighty Paw, bless this hooman with a softer heart, looser spine, and better pawmate appreciation. No to defeatism. Yes to optimism.

    🐾 Mic drop.

    Oishi out.

  • Susan & Oishi Ep. 1 “I Got You, Buddy” Where It All Started

    A Rescue with Bark (and a Lot of Drama)

    Narrator: Oishi (Yes, I’m a dog. Try to keep up.)

    Once upon a mildly humid afternoon, a male dog named Ketchup and a lady dog named Mustard locked eyes at the park.

    Boom. Romance. Scandal. Questionable leash etiquette.
    And nine weeks later, me: a squishy, judgmental little pup with excellent hair and no inheritance.

    From the moment I opened my eyes, I was filled with wonder. Big world. Big feelings. So naturally… I got lost. Because of course I did. Born with curiosity, not GPS.

    I wandered. Sniffed some trash. Contemplated the void. Then, tired and slightly dramatic, I collapsed under a tree, waiting for fate. Or snacks.

    Enter: Susan.
    A human. Hair flying, eyes wide, full rescue-mode activated. She scooped me up like I was a clearance item at an emotional Black Friday sale.
    She whispered, “I got you, buddy.”

    Cue slow-motion. Wind. Music. Oscar-worthy emotional zoom.
    In that moment, I made a vow:

    • I will stay by her side.
    • I will protect her.
    • I will ignore most humans unless they have beef jerky.

    Life was good. Susan worked. Came home. Pet me like I was therapy wrapped in fur. On weekends, we hit the park. Simple. Wholesome. No drama.

    Until… drama.
    She went from “I got you, buddy,”
    to “Why is this happening to me, Oishi?”

    Former queen. Now a stressed-out goblin powered by caffeine and online shopping.

    Every night, she’d hold me like I was an emotional stuffed toy and mumble about:

    • how work drained her,
    • how the pizza guy was late,
    • and how our neighbor keeps blasting “Bed of Roses” like they’re were trying to summon 1992.

    I stared at her like, “Susan… are you okay? Do I need to stage an intervention or just knock over a wine glass dramatically?”

    I’m a Shih Tzu. I don’t know much about existential dread, but I do know when someone’s spiraling into a mid-level life crisis while holding a dog like a support burrito.

    Narrator: Susan (The Melodramatic Hooman)

    It was raining. I was overworked, overcaffeinated, and probably emotionally bankrupt.

    Then I saw him—tiny, soaked, pathetic in a cinematic kind of way.
    I pulled over. Ran to him. Scooped him up. Whispered:
    “I got you, buddy.”

    And that was it.
    We didn’t know it then, but maybe that moment was heaven-sent.


    Me — drenched in burnout. Him — lost, tired, and hopeful.
    We found each other.


    And somehow, we both knew…
    “God must’ve been listening.”
    Because He didn’t just give us a rescue story.
    He gave us a companion.

    Oishi became my emotional WiFi.
    He doesn’t speak, but I swear he judges with love.

    Sometimes, I imagine him saying things like:

    • “Susan… the pizza guy isn’t a villain. He’s just late. Like your rent.”
    • “Yes, life is hard, but maybe don’t buy three pairs of shoes during a panic spiral?”
    • “Maybe your coworker wasn’t rude. Maybe… you were just hungry.”

    Oishi doesn’t stress. Doesn’t overthink.
    He naps like it’s a paid job.
    He exists like every day is just another opportunity to sit in a sunbeam and ignore everyone.

    So now, I’m trying.
    To slow down.
    To be present.
    To learn from my emotionally distant dog guru.

    Because sometimes, the best life coach is a furball with great hair and zero emotional baggage.

    Still rising 🔥 Still barking 🐾