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Tag: Susan & Oishi

  • 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.

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

    A Comic About Anxiety, Prayer, and the Peace That Makes No Sense

    As narrated by Oishi, at 2 a.m.

    It was an ordinary night. Sus brushed my teeth, tucked me in, kissed my paw, and whispered, “Goodnight, my sweet badoodle.” All was calm… until it wasn’t.

    At exactly 2:04 a.m., Susan transformed from a semi-functional hooman into a full-blown melodramatic elephant—wailing in the dark like a tragic opera soloist. Naturally, I woke up. She was sitting on the floor, back against the bed, sobbing.

    “Oishi,” she sniffled, “I’m feeling fidgety and depressy. I’m having a menty B.”

    Translation: disquietude and misery. In hooman terms—she was anxious and depressed.

    She began listing her worries like a grocery list no one asked for:

    • Her overdue credit card bills
    • A report due in 8 hours she hasn’t started
    • Fear of being judged by people she doesn’t even like
    • And the weather. Yes, the weather.

    Some things were preventable. Like binge-watching Law & Order: SVU as if she’s part of the cast. (Spoiler: she’s not Olivia Benson.) Some were out of her control—like storms and the speed of donut deliveries.

    And while I appreciate the lion squeaky toy she got me last week, our bed now looks like a plushie war zone. She’s no heiress. She needs to chill.

    But what truly broke my stoic dog heart was watching her spiral over things already buried in the past—mistakes from years ago, things no one remembers but her.

    So I did what any emotionally intelligent Shih Tzu would do. I retrieved the Bible using my teeth (you’re welcome), flipped to Philippians 4:6–7, and dropped it in front of her.

    “Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.
    And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”

    She read it. Her tears slowed. Then she blinked at me and said, “Oishi… what does transcends mean?”

    Paw to forehead.

    I explained, “It means to go beyond. To surpass. To rise above the noise, even when your brain is hosting a full-blown karaoke of panic.”

    Still confused, she asked, “But how do I thank God when I’m anxious? Am I supposed to say, ‘Dear Lord, I’m depressed and fidgety—thanks!’?”

    That’s when I knew we needed divine backup.

    Jesus arrived (smiling). Mighty Paw came too (annoyed). Together, they explained:

    Praying with thanksgiving isn’t about pretending you’re not anxious. It’s about choosing gratitude in spite of it. It’s saying:
    “Lord, I’m overwhelmed… but I know You’ve carried me before, and You’ll carry me again.”

    Gratitude shifts your focus from the storm to the Savior.

    The peace God gives doesn’t always make sense. It’s not based on how calm life is. It surpasses understanding—guarding your mind like a fortress, holding your heart when it’s falling apart.

    And right there, Susan got it.

    She brought out cocoa. We snuggled in. And yes, we finished the Law & Order finale (she still hasn’t started her report, but sure—let’s prioritize Olivia Benson roleplay).

    She slept like a baby. I didn’t. Her snoring kept me up.

    The end. (Now let me sleep all day. Don’t @ me.)
    – Oishi

    🐾 “Signed with sass and scripture.”

    📝 Writer’s Note

    Anxiety and midnight panic attacks are no joke.
    They’re real, disorienting, and often arrive without warning—especially at 2 a.m.

    This comic tells that story with humor and heart, not to downplay the struggle, but to bring light into it. Because while the pain is real, so is the peace that comes when you surrender your worries to God.

    Your problems may not magically disappear,
    but your perspective will shift—
    because the Prince of Peace is right beside you. Always.

    🐾
    Thank you for being here.
    If you’ve ever had your own 2 a.m. spiral, we hope this story brings a little laughter, a little peace— and a reminder that you’re not alone.

    -Ember

  • Susan & Oishi: 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: Episode 8 – Praise, Petty Thoughts, and Pina Coladas

    Narrator: Oishi (as if it would be anyone else)

    It was a Sunday morning — but not just any Sunday.
    Susan and I woke up unusually early and started bouncing on the bed. She was already in her green bathing suit.
    (My eye twitched. I considered pretending to be blind. But I let it slide. I was excited too.)

    For weeks now, our neighbors had been planning a neighborhood outing. Post-dinner meetings, heated debates about who brings the rice cooker, and of course, the classic standoff over who would drive. Everyone wanted to be on the trip, not responsible for it.

    So they voted.
    And the unlucky winner?
    Boyo. Yes — that Boyo. The guy who once blasted “Bed of Roses” on repeat until even the cats started howling.

    Susan and I were packing. She handed me my goggles, and for a moment — I felt something.
    (Not quite a heart flutter. Let’s call it… elevated awareness.)

    The thought of the beach — the breeze, the barbecue, the possibility of new hoomans who weren’t from The Signal Co. — it thrilled me. I even wagged.

    The van ride was chaos and joy. Singing, laughing, someone choking on chips. Susan was screeching “Apt! Apt! Apt!” from that Bruno Mars/Rose collab like she was auditioning for the role of “Off-Key Hype Woman.” No one minded. We were all just… in it. Present.

    When we arrived, we stepped out and took it all in. The salty air. The breeze. The mountains folding into the sea.
    It was perfect.

    Neighbors got to work — grill stations, beach mats, someone trying to build a tent they clearly never read the manual for.
    Susan peeled off her cover-up, scooped me up like the emotional support king I am, and together we sat by the waves.

    We played fetch. We ate like we hadn’t seen food in years.
    We talked. We laughed.
    And for once, she didn’t complain about work, or traffic, or slow Wi-Fi. She just smiled.

    As the sun dipped low, we sat quietly on the sand, wrapped in the afterglow of joy and grilled meat.

    And then — she said it.

    “God must have a beautiful imagination. Look at this view. It’s perfect. What a Creator.”

    I was stunned.
    Usually, she reserves her poetic moments for when she’s holding a donut in one hand and ranting in the other.

    But this?
    This was awe.

    ✍️ Writer’s Note:

    I stumbled upon this line today:
    “Worshipping God means acknowledging and celebrating His power and perfection in gratitude.”

    And maybe… that’s exactly what this moment was.

    No music. No altar.
    Just Susan and Oishi, sitting by the sea —
    surrounded by mountains, waves, and the quiet company of God’s imagination.

    “What a Creator.”
    “Look at all this.”

    Sometimes worship is loud.
    Sometimes it’s a soft whisper wrapped in awe.

    This is worship, too.

    —From the heart of Susan & Oishi 🐾

  • 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: 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: Oishi’s Nightmare Black Hawk Down (feat. a Shih Tzu with Spiritual Trauma)

    Chaos Descent

    Alpha, Bravo, Zulu, Ketchup, Tomato — do you copy?!

    The wind howls. Sand whips around like it’s mad at someone. I blink awake (apparently I passed out) and find myself in a helicopter, strapped to a brooding, muscle-bound hooman who looks like Spartacus. (Listen, I’m a dog, not blind. The man has arms carved by destiny.)

    The pilot’s voice crackles: “You are clear to jump.”
    Jump?! From what? Why?! Where even are we?!

    Beside me is a woman with glasses, wearing a laptop like it’s tactical gear. She looks ready to leap. I, on the other paw, am internally crying and possibly externally peeing. But thank the heavens I’m in diapers.

    We reach the edge. Broody McMuscles gives me goggles. I whisper, “You got this, Oishi. You’re on a mission.”

    But I’m not.
    I don’t know the mission.
    I am a Shih Tzu. I do not jump.
    I nap. I lick Susan’s forehead during meltdowns. I eat chimken.

    So I panic. And I pray:
    “Suuuuusaaaaan! Where are you?!”
    I call out to the Mighty Paw, Sir Barkelot, and the Pawtriarch Angels of Barking Light:
    Your Little PhilosoFurr is in deep doodoo!

    The Landing

    The chopper hits the ground. My legs are jelly. They take off my goggles.

    I expect chaos.
    Instead, I see her — a beautiful woman in uniform walking toward me like she’s on the cover of a holy calendar. She smiles, pats my head, and I blush like a puppy in love. I gently lick her hand and touch her crucifix.

    She smells like stability. Unlike Susan.

    But still… where is Susan?

    The Briefing

    Briefing room.
    Hooman’s been talking for 27 minutes. No one asked for this.
    I see an opening.
    Slide over to the computer.
    Type one name: Susan.
    She understands me. She has snacks. She doesn’t say “circle back.”

    The Combat: “Firewall & Furballs”

    And then — BOOM.

    Explosions. Gunfire. Yelling.
    The woman with the laptop is typing like a demon while dodging bullets. The muscley hooman is flipping bad guys like pancakes. I, meanwhile, am sprinting around like a squeaky toy possessed.

    I have no idea what’s going on.
    But I’m in it now. I bark. I run. I don’t fetch — I philosophize under pressure.

    Eventually, we all race back to the helicopter. There’s smoke, shouting, maybe a slow-motion shot of me flying through the air like a furry meatball.

    The Aftermath: 

    We make it.

    And finally, I learn their names:

    • The radiant woman I licked? Sera Wilde. A fitting name for a goddess in camo.
    • The smoldering weapons expert? Rhys Halden.
    • The laptop warrior queen? Nova. Unshaken. Unbothered. Unmatched.

    Rhys pats my head. “You did good today, buddy.”

    Darn right I did.
    I’m also 80% fear pee and 20% dignity right now.
    And… I miss Susan.

    The Awakening

    And then — I hear her.

    🎤 “Just when I thought I was over you…”
    It’s Susan.
    Singing Air Supply with the same goat-on-a-sunset-hill voice she used at karaoke with Yohanes and Brenda.

    I have never felt more seen.
    It’s her. My melodramatic, emotionally unstable hooman. My Susan.

    Final Thought from the PhilosoFurr

    It was a nightmare.
    (Except for Sera. Sera was a dream.)

    But I’m back.
    Susan won’t stop singing, but I don’t care.
    I am safe. I am loved.
    And I love my one and only… Sus.

    🐾 

  • Susan & Oishi: Ep. 3 – Karaoke Night

    Susan & Oishi: Ep. 3 – Karaoke Night

    Narrator: Susan, the Emotionally Unsupervised Hooman
    Friday night: the people’s champion. Universally voted the second-best day after Saturday. After a long week of Zoom meetings, adulting, and Pete’s never-ending monologue about accounting taxes (ugh), it was finally here.

    Narrator: Oishi (yes, I’m a dog—keep up)
    Susan came bursting through the door like a caffeinated hurricane, slamming the car shut and storming into the house. I was mid-nap, belly-up, living my best Shih Tzu life, when suddenly—scoop!

    She squealed, “OISHI! We’re going Karaokeeeee with Yohanes and Brenda! They booked a bar!”
    Then she tied my red bandana like I was going to prom. I licked her face out of sheer survival instinct. She tasted salty, but emotionally enthused. I tolerated it.

    We arrived. It was a tiny room with a screen, two mics, and the heavy scent of regret. Susan grabbed the remote and went full maniac mode. The second the intro played, she clutched the mic like she was accepting a Grammy. Yohanes and Brenda screamed “GO SUS!” like she was Beyoncé’s backup singer.

    Then it started.
    🎵 “I cried a tear, you wiped it dry…” 🎵
    Yes. Anne Murray’s You Needed Me. The drama. The vibrato. The unblinking eye contact.

    I was concerned. But that concern escalated when Yohanes and Brenda started singing APT by Rose and Bruno Mars. Not just singing—dancing. If I were a human, I would’ve put my hand on my forehead and softly muttered, “No.”

    But… it wasn’t all bad.

    There was food.
    Savory. Glorious. Human-grade food.
    While they performed their emotional talent show, I worked the snack table like a professional. I’m not proud. I am full.

    We went home. We ate more.
    Then I passed out.

    Oishi, out. 🎤🐾

    No deep reflections from your Little Philisophurr today. Why?
    Because Susan said this one’s just a regular Friday.
    Not everything has to be profound.
    Sometimes, we just vibe.

  • Susan & Oishi Ep. 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 🐾