EDUCATED BY SUNI

Good evening, folks. I hope you love dogs or, at least, claim to when asked. I just spent two weeks housesitting for my daughter. Which is a cute way of saying: I lived in a seven‑acre zoo run by a Labradoodle with a King complex.

Let me introduce the cast.

Six mini horses—basically lawn ornaments with opinions. Three cats—who didn’t acknowledge my existence unless I opened tuna. Rico the Aussie—smarter than half the people I know. And then… There’s Suni.

Suni is a 75‑pound Labradoodle who was rejected by four homes. Four. After spending two weeks with her, I understand why. Those families didn’t “reject” her. They dropped out of her program.

Because Suni doesn’t live with you, she educates you.

The moment Ashley and Josh left, Suni grabbed my pant leg like she was trying to tow me back inside.

Ashley had said, “Oh, she doesn’t do that anymore.”

Suni said, “I don’t recall signing a contract.”

I gave her a little nose‑thump, and she looked at me like, “Ah. A student with spirit. This will be fun.”

Inside the house, I discovered Suni’s preferred decorating style: Ross’s Slippers, Elevated.

She placed them on the exercise glider like trophies.

Not chewed. Not hidden. Just displayed.

Like she was saying, “Look what I found wandering around unsupervised.”

Ashley left me two pages of instructions. Two pages. I didn’t read them.

Because I’m a grown man, I’ve raised kids. I’ve coached sports. I’ve survived parent‑teacher conferences.

How hard could two dogs be?

Suni whispered, “Oh, sweet, innocent child.”

I decided to rake leaves. You know, be helpful.

Suni saw me building a leaf pile and thought, “Finally. Someone who understands enrichment.”

She dove in. Rico supervised like a foreman on a construction site.

By the time she was done, Suni looked like a walking bush. I had to brush her so long I started humming the Ipana toothpaste jingle.

If you’re under 50, that reference just flew past you like a satellite.

Dinner time.

I mixed up the dog bowls.

Apparently, this is a felony.

Rico stared at me like I’d committed treason. Suni refused to eat. Lucy wasn’t there, but I’m pretty sure she sensed the disturbance from California.

Lesson learned: Dog dining is not feeding. It is fine dining.

I basically ran a four-star‑rated restaurant for animals.

At bedtime, Suni used her patented “paw‑swim” technique to move me to the correct side of the bed.

Not a push. Not a nudge. A full‑body, synchronized swimming routine.

I moved. She approved. Rico nodded like, “Good choice.”

I lay there thinking, “I used to be in charge of things.”

By the end of the day, I had learned:

• Don’t leave slippers out.

• Don’t mix dog bowls.

• Don’t rake leaves unless you want a Labradoodle shrub.

• Don’t sleep on the wrong side of the bed.

• And for the love of sanity, read Ashley’s notes.

All those homes that rejected Suni? They missed out.

Because Suni isn’t a problem.

She’s a curriculum.

And I—Ross Sánchez—am now a proud graduate of SUNI UNIVERSITY.

“Thank you, folks. You’ve been amazing. And please—exit calmly, single file—no need to stampede to the shelter. Labradoodles are wonderful, but trust me… only adopt one if you’re ready to negotiate bedtime with a creature who thinks it’s your landlord.”

“Good night!”