https://x.com/kuhnsteven90717/status/1998769695365697989?s=52

They say what’s happening in Venezuela is about drugs.

That’s only half the story.

Drugs are the cover.
Money is the target.

Private banks.
Family offices.
Offshore cash.

Trillions in drug money keeping a globalist system alive.

Trump isn’t hitting governments.

He’s cutting funding arteries.

And the globalists are losing their minds.

👉 patreon.com/steveneugeneku…

10 December 2025

#FollowTheMoney #FinancialWar #Globalists #Truth @joerogan @patrickbetdavid @Bannons_WarRoom @BowesChay @the_irascible

🔥BREAKING: Governor Ron DeSantis just proposed a $117 billion Florida budget for 2026-2027 with a 2ND AMENDMENT sales tax holiday

The $117B is LESS than New York City's annual budget, despite Florida having nearly 15 million more people.

And it's more than $100B less than New York STATE'S budget - despite Florida having more residents.

"We're really showing HOW IT CAN BE DONE."

"We have the lowest number of state government workers per capita, and are the lowest or second lowest in state spending per capita of all 50 states."
🇺🇸Join👉 @SGTnewsNetwork
📎 X  (Twitter)▪️Truth Social

❗️Kiev openly admits ANOTHER TERROR ATTACK on civilian tanker in Black Sea neutral waters

SBU source claims 'navy drones hit 'Dashan' vessel, part of Russia’s 'shadow fleet''

Ukrainian media parading video evidence of the terror attack itself
@MTodayNews

Fostering The Future – Melania Trump
https://www.melaniatrump.com/pages/fostering-the-future

The night my husband almost froze to death outside, my phone sat on the nightstand acting as if everything was perfectly normal, quietly flashing cheerful ads about home renovations.
The clock said 2:41 a.m. when I reached out in the dark and touched nothing but a stretch of cold, empty blankets.

I didn’t scream.
I didn’t shout his name.
I just… stopped breathing for a few seconds.

Then something else registered.

The dog bed in the corner of our room was empty.

“Daniel?” I called softly, even though a voice inside me already knew I wouldn’t hear a reply.

My husband is seventy-eight now. There was a time he could finish a ten-hour shift at the paper mill, come home covered in dust, and still make it to every baseball game our boy played. But these days, some mornings he wakes up confused about which doorway leads to the kitchen.

Dementia didn’t arrive like a storm—it crept in. First, a wrong date here and there. Then he started mixing up names. Then came moments that might’ve been funny if they didn’t hurt so much. Just last month, he tried spreading butter on his coffee.

We live right on the edge of a small Wisconsin town. Winters here aren’t simply cold—they can be deadly. That night the temperature hovered around three degrees.

When I walked down the hallway, I saw the front door cracked open, leaking a thin ribbon of sharp, icy air into the house.

My stomach dropped.

Daniel’s boots were still neatly by the door. His heavy coat still hung from its hook. But his slippers were missing… and so was the faded blue robe he always wore before bed.

And the dog bed remained empty.

“Scout?” I whispered, my voice trembling.

Scout is our old yellow Lab—sixteen now, with gray around his muzzle and joints that creak when he moves. His eyes have gone cloudy with age, and he walks slowly, each step deliberate. He and Daniel have always had a quiet understanding between them.

Every day, Scout curls up beside Daniel’s leg. When Daniel rises, Scout rises. When Daniel sits, Scout lowers himself to the floor beside him. He stays near him as if he somehow knows Daniel needs someone keeping watch.

That night, the leash still hung by the door. Which meant Scout hadn’t waited to be taken out. He had simply followed the man he’d loved all his life.

I grabbed my keys—no shoes, no jacket, nothing but cold fear—and bolted to the van. As I reversed out of the driveway, the headlights swept across the yard and revealed two sets of tracks pressed into the thin snow.

Slow, uneven footsteps.

And next to them, dog prints—one dragging.

I followed the tracks in the van, easing along the shoulder of the quiet two-lane road. Ice glistened under the streetlights. Cars fly down that road during the day, but at night it feels like an empty, dangerous stretch. Just beyond the shoulder is a deep ditch that fills with water in spring and freezes rock solid in winter.

While I drove, memories played in my head like an old film reel:
The first time I saw Daniel leaning against a jukebox.
Our wedding day beneath a cheap string of lights.
The porch he built board by board.
His gentle way with neighbors who needed a hand.
And then the doctor quietly saying, “Lila, these are signs of Alzheimer’s.”
And the night Daniel looked across the dinner table and asked me, “Have we met before?”

People often say, “You’re so strong.”

But the truth is, I’m exhausted. I’m heartbroken. And I love someone whose mind is slowly drifting away from me.

Half a mile from home, my headlights caught something in the ditch.

At first it looked like a heap of clothing.

Then I saw the familiar blue robe.

“Daniel!” I slammed the brakes and slid down the icy bank, my knees hitting frozen ground.

He was curled on his side, slippers half fallen off, his face drained of color, lips blue.

And stretched across him—like a living blanket—was Scout.

Continued 👇

"QUANTUM PHYSICS 'Crash Course' with Godly Truther Rob Cunningham connects the Puzzle Pieces with GOD's 'Frequency' Spoken Word and His Creative Resonance"
👇
https://x.com/KuwlShow/status/1997713665269858438?t=2XkXmo4EFk36to9D_Vc3mw&s=19

Part 2

The old dog had draped his body over Daniel’s chest, pressing his warmth into him. Frost clung to the dog’s fur like silver dust. His breaths were shallow, struggling, but he stayed there, determined not to move.

I touched Daniel’s cheek. Ice cold.

“Scout…” I whispered.

Scout slowly raised his head. His tired eyes met mine, soft and dull with age. He didn’t bark. He just let out a fragile, quivering whine, as if saying, I stayed with him. I didn’t let him be alone.

A surge of strength I didn’t know I had rushed through me. I pushed and dragged Daniel up the slick slope inch by inch, my fingers burning from the cold. Scout staggered after us, limping but refusing to leave Daniel’s side. Somehow I got them both into the van and sped toward the hospital, my hands shaking so badly the wheel blurred.

In the ER, nurses rushed Daniel inside. Warm blankets, monitors, soft but urgent voices.

“Severe hypothermia,” the doctor said. “Another twenty minutes, and his heart may not have made it.”

He paused. “Do you know what kept him warm out there?”

I glanced down at the bit of yellow fur still clinging to my robe.

“Not what,” I murmured. “Who.”

When Daniel was stable, I drove Scout to the emergency vet. The veterinarian felt along his ribs, listened to his slowing heartbeat, watched his labored breathing.

“He’s extremely old,” he said gently. “His heart is failing. Going out into that cold… he pushed himself far beyond what his body could handle.”

I sat beside Scout on the floor, resting my forehead against his warm side. He smelled like home. Like comfort. Like devotion. He lifted his head and gave my fingers one slow, deliberate lick.

Before the sun came up, we let him go.

Three days later, Daniel came home. We set up a hospital bed in the living room, and a nurse visited regularly. But the house felt hollow—no slow shuffling paws, no gentle thump of a tail, no steady presence curled beside Daniel’s feet.

One afternoon, while searching in the garage for some old paperwork, I found a little notebook tucked inside Daniel’s rusty toolbox. Page after page held his handwriting—sometimes neat, sometimes shaking.

One entry was dated five years earlier, the week he was diagnosed.

The doctor says I’ll start forgetting. I might scare Lila sometimes. I’m not worried about myself. I’m worried about her.

My eyes blurred, but I kept reading.

Talked to Scout today. Told him he’s been promoted. New job: stay with me if I wander. If Lila cries, sit beside her. He can be my extra brain. He’s always been smart.

And then the line that broke me completely:

If you’re reading this, Honey, and I’m not myself anymore, please don’t be upset with Scout for following me around. I asked him to. He’s just doing his job.

I sat in that cold garage and sobbed into that little notebook.

I had felt so alone carrying all this.

But even as his memory failed, Daniel had been thinking of us—giving our old dog one last purpose.

That evening, I sat beside him as he stared at the empty place where Scout always rested.

“Where’s the dog?” he whispered.

I took his hand gently. “He finished his job,” I said softly. “He had to go.”

A single tear slid down Daniel’s cheek.

“He was a good boy,” he murmured.

We rush through life chasing new things—new gadgets, new trends, new distractions. And sometimes we forget the quiet souls who move slowly beside us.

But often, the deepest love—the most loyal kind—comes from those steady, aging hearts.

So if you’ve got an old dog at home… pause. Sit close. Rub their tired hips. Tell them they matter.

And if you have an older loved one—a spouse, a neighbor, a parent—reach out. Share warmth. Share time.

Because sometimes the only thing standing between us and the cold darkness is an old soul who refuses to leave our side.

https://t.me/BkittsCafe