Paw Planet, 7922 Santa Fe Drive, Overland Park, KS (2026)

12/24/2025

Lo dejaron morir solo en la nieve, pero el perro viejo pasó su última noche dando su calor a un bebé abandonado y le salvó la vida
La nieve caía sin descanso aquella noche, cubriendo el mundo con un silencio blanco y cruel.
El perro viejo ya no recordaba cuándo había dejado de ser útil. Durante años había cuidado la casa, ladrado a los extraños, acompañado a sus dueños en las noches largas. Pero un día escuchó palabras que no entendía del todo, solo el tono definitivo:
—Ya no sirve… es viejo.
Lo subieron al coche. Él pensó que iban a casa.
No fue así.
La puerta se abrió en una carretera secundaria, en medio del frío. El hombre evitó mirarlo a los ojos. El perro saltó, confiado, moviendo la cola. El coche arrancó. El sonido del motor se perdió entre el viento y la nieve.
El perro esperó.
Esperó mucho tiempo.
Cuando entendió que no volverían, su cuerpo temblaba más por el cansancio que por el frío. Sus patas ya no obedecían. Se acurrucó junto a un poste, dispuesto a dormirse… y no despertar.
Fue entonces cuando escuchó un sonido distinto al viento.
Un llanto.
Débil. Quebrado. Humano.
Con el último resto de fuerza, el perro se levantó y siguió el sonido hasta un contenedor abandonado.
Dentro había una caja de cartón empapada. Y dentro de la caja… un bebé.
La siguiente parte está en los comentarios, todos hagan clic para ver cómo continúa la historia. 👇👇

12/23/2025

"LAS ENCADENARON Y SE LAS LLEVARON: EL DESTINO DE LAS MONJAS DE LINDISFARNE QUE LA HISTORIA CALLÓ.
En la madrugada del 8 de junio del año 793, cuando la niebla aún cubría las aguas grises del Mar del Norte, treinta barcos vikingos emergieron como fantasmas cerca de la isla de Lindisfarne. Los monjes y monjas del monasterio no tuvieron tiempo de prepararse. Habían escuchado rumores de paganos del norte, pero creían que su isla era sagrada, intocable, protegida por la mano de Dios. Esa protección divina resultó ser una ilusión cruel cuando los guerreros nórdicos desembarcaron con hachas y espadas, dispuestos a enseñar una lección brutal sobre la diferencia entre la fe y la realidad.
Lo que siguió en las próximas horas cambiaría la historia de Europa. Los invasores masacraron a los monjes sobre los mismos altares donde rezaban, tiñendo de rojo las piedras sagradas. Saquearon el oro, la plata y quemaron la biblioteca más importante de la cristiandad. Pero con las mujeres... con las 23 monjas que vivían en clausura, hicieron algo mucho peor que la мυerte.
No las mataron allí. Las arrastraron por la arena, arrancándoles sus hábitos y velos, exponiéndolas a la mirada lasciva de cientos de guerreros cubiertos de sangre. Las seleccionaron como quien selecciona ganado: mirando sus dientes, sus caderas, su juventud. Hilda, una novicia de apenas 15 años, vio cómo asesinaban a su abadesa y cómo el mundo que conocía ardía hasta los cimientos.
Fueron encadenadas y arrojadas a las bodegas oscuras y malolientes de los barcos dragón. Durante semanas, soportaron un viaje de pesadilla, hacinadas en la inmundicia, alimentadas con sobras y sometidas a una tortura psicológica diseñada para romper su identidad. Los vikingos no solo querían sus cuerpos; querían destruir su alma. Querían demostrar que su Dios cristiano era débil, que no podía salvarlas.
Cuando finalmente llegaron a las costas heladas de Noruega, Hilda pensó que lo peor había pasado. Se equivocaba. Fueron llevadas ante los altares paganos de piedra para un ritual que los nórdicos llamaban ""Blodbånd"" o lazo de sangre. Un ritual diseñado para convertir a las esposas de Cristo en esclavas sexuales de por vida, uniendo su sangre con la de sus captores en una ceremonia blasfema y pública.
Hilda, temblando de frío y terror, fue empujada hacia el altar donde un Jarl la esperaba con un cuchillo ceremonial y una mirada que prometía un in****no en la tierra. En ese momento, rodeada de cánticos paganos y lejos de cualquier salvación, tuvo que tomar una decisión imposible: dejarse morir o encontrar una forma de sobrevivir en el corazón de la bestia...
(Lee la historia completa para descubrir cómo estas mujeres cambiaron la historia desde adentro. Lee más 👇

12/23/2025

El esclavo que volvió adicta a la princesa… El rey ordenó matarlo al amanecer, pero ella intervino

La noche del 17 de agosto de 1687, en la hacienda San Jerónimo de Las Palmas, cerca de Cartagena de Indias, en el virreinato de Nueva Granada, alguien descubrió algo que nunca debió ser visto. El caporal Rodrigo Menéndez caminaba entre los barracones de los esclavos.

cuando escuchó un gemido que no era de dolor, sino de algo mucho más perturbador, se acercó a la ventana de la casa principal y lo que vio le el heló la sangre. Doña Catalina de Mendoza y Pimentel, hija del gobernador y prometida del conde de Turbaco, estaba en su habitación con Tomás, un esclavo negro de apenas 22 años. traído de Angola hacía tres meses.

Pero no era una escena de violencia o castigo, era todo lo contrario. Ella lo besaba con una desesperación que Rodrigo nunca había visto en una mujer blanca, y sus manos recorrían el cuerpo desnudo del esclavo como si fuera lo único que la mantuviera viva.

El caporal retrocedió en silencio, sabiendo que lo que acababa de presenciar podría desencadenar ejecuciones, escándalos y la destrucción de una de las familias más poderosas del virreinato. Tenía hasta el amanecer para decidir qué hacer con esa información. Pero lo que Rodrigo no sabía era que ya era demasiado tarde para todos ellos....

11/26/2025

"The pregnant and malnourished slave was sold as dead weight, but they were surprised to learn who...

The June sun of 1856 beat down relentlessly on the dock of the port of São Félix, in the far reaches of Bahia, transforming the wooden planks into burning embers that seared the bare feet of those displayed there as mere merchandise. The acrid smell of freshly rolled ci**rs mingled with the salty, fetid stench of the Paraguaçu River, creating a suffocating atmosphere that seemed to crush the shoulders of every soul present. It was slave auction day, and the cries echoed through the Bahian morning like a funereal omen announcing sealed fates.

Among the bodies lined up on the wooden platform, one woman stood out for her alarming thinness: dark-skinned, with eyes as deep as dry wells, and trembling hands that instinctively protected a swollen belly that betrayed an advanced pregnancy. Her name was Josefa, and at 23, she seemed to carry the weight of three lifetimes of suffering on her shoulders. The welts from whippings on her back formed a cruel map of resistance and pain, each scar telling a silent story of punished rebellion.

The auctioneer, a stout man named Cavalcante, with a bushy mustache and a shrill voice, raised his greasy arm, pointing at Josefa with barely concealed disdain.

“Behold this piece, gentlemen buyers!” he announced with an ironic smile that revealed tobacco-stained teeth. “She’s suitable for light work, embroidery, weaving, housework. It comes with a bonus, as the offspring will be born in two months, according to the doctor. Two for the price of one, gentlemen!”

But the landowners present barely shook their heads, exchanging disapproving glances. Josefa coughed intermittently, a hoarse, worrying sound that echoed like a harbinger of imminent death. Her chapped lips were tinged with violet; everyone knew what that meant. The woman had ""the lung disease,"" galloping tuberculosis, and was so malnourished that it seemed unlikely she would survive childbirth.

Her former master, the feared Colonel Gonçalo Drumond, watched everything from afar, leaning on a silver-handled cane, under the generous shade of a cashew tree. He had decided to get rid of this slave before she died on his lands, tarnishing his reputation as an efficient administrator. But more than that, Gonçalo had urgent reasons to make Josefa de São Félix disappear, reasons he kept burning in his heart like hot coals. Each rejected offer increased the despair in the woman's sunken eyes; she knew she was being sold as ""dead weight,"" a cruel term for the unproductive, the disposable.

It was then that a firm voice, laden with undeniable moral authority, cut through the murmur of the plaza like a sharp blade slashing through cloth.

""Two hundred thousand reales for her.""

Everyone turned in horror, the silence spreading across the dock like a sudden wave, to see who had made such an absurdly generous offer for someone in such a deplorable state. It was Father Lourenço Bittencourt, a middle-aged man with impeccably combed gray hair and an immaculate black cassock, despite the heat. His dark brown eyes shone with a determination that Colonel Drumond immediately recognized as a threat. Something about that offer reeked of impending catastrophe, of secrets about to be unearthed.

The astonished auctioneer shouted three times. No one met the bid. The dock fell silent, broken only by the muffled sobs of other enslaved women. Josefa looked up at the man who had just bought her life. There was something disturbingly familiar about that serious face, something that made her heart, hardened by grief, skip a beat.

Father Lourenço approached and offered her his hand to help her down. “Come, my child,” he murmured, his voice hoarse with restrained emotion. “You are safe now. No one else will hurt you.”

When their fingers touched, an electric current of mutual recognition, though still hazy, passed between them.

To be continued…👇"

11/26/2025

"Every year, my family ""forgets"" to invite me on their Christmas trip. This year, I bought a house in the mountains and posted a picture with the caption, ""Best Christmas present I could ever wish for!"" The next day, my parents called to tell me my brother and his wife were moving in with me. When I refused, they insulted me and called me ungrateful. That's when I cut off all communication with them.

I'll never forget the moment I realized my family had ""forgotten"" me again. It was the first week of December, and my phone lit up with pictures of my parents: smiling faces, snowy cabins, and matching Christmas pajamas. Under each picture was a cheerful caption like ""Family trip tradition!"" or ""All together again!""
All together, except me.

For the sixth year in a row, I'd been left out without a word. No invitation, no apology, not even a half-hearted excuse. I stared at the photos and felt the familiar sting of being treated like an outsider in my own family. My name is Emily Carter, I'm 32 years old, and for some reason, I've never been considered ""necessary"" for the Carters' Christmas celebrations.

But this year, something inside me finally snapped. I didn't cry or complain. Instead, I made the bravest decision of my life. I had saved for years, worked double shifts, and cut every unnecessary expense. So on December 10, I signed the papers for a small but beautiful house, tucked away high in the Colorado mountains. A place that was mine: peaceful, quiet, and completely free of judgment.

I posted a single photo on Instagram: me standing on the porch railing, the snow-capped mountain peaks shimmering behind me. My caption was simple:

""The best Christmas present I could ever have wished for.""

Within hours, my friends were congratulating me. My coworkers were cheering me on. Even former classmates I hadn't spoken to in years left supportive comments.

But the one comment that was missing was from my family.

Instead, the next morning, my phone rang. My mother's voice was sharp and cold.

""Emily, your brother and his wife have decided to move into your mountain house,"" she announced, as if reading the weather report. ""They need space, and yours is perfect.""

I froze. ""No, they're not.""

My mother exclaimed as if I'd slapped her. ""Don't be ungrateful! They're my FAMILY!""

But I stood my ground. I refused. And that's when the insults started: the curses, the emotional manipulation, the accusations.

That call was the final straw in a life already riddled with fractures.

And that was the day I cut all the ties I had left... Full story in the first comment 👇👇👇"

11/26/2025

"MAID DISCOVERS MILLIONAIRE'S MOTHER LOCKED IN THE BASEMENT… BY HIS CRUEL WIFE… No one in the mountain mansion imagined what was happening beneath their feet.

While luxury glittered in the salons and expensive perfumes filled the air, a secret capable of destroying everything was hidden in the basement.
Clara, the new maid, arrived that morning hoping to keep a job she desperately needed.

She knew that between the marble walls and the cruel orders of the lady of the house, something dark lingered in the silence.

The millionaire's wife, Verónica, seemed to enjoy humiliating others.

Her icy voice echoed through the hallways every time she saw Clara cleaning a corner or serving at the table.

She was beautiful, yes, but her heart was rotten with envy and fear.

Ricardo del Monte, the owner of everything, traveled constantly.

She believed her mother, Doña Leonor, lived peacefully in Europe, resting after years of work, but the truth was much closer.
Too close.

One night, while the mansion slept, Clara heard a wail.
It came from downstairs, from a place she had never entered.
A faint, trembling sound, a woman's voice pleading for help.
Fear chilled her blood.
Who could be there?
Why had Verónica always forbidden anyone from going near the cellar?

With her heart pounding in her chest, Clara took a small flashlight and went downstairs.
The smell of dampness, the dust, and the cold enveloped her like a punishment.
Something moved in the shadows: a whisper, a moan, and tired eyes that gleamed in the darkness.
That night, the humble servant would discover the most terrible secret of the mountain family, a secret that would change her life and reveal who the woman imprisoned in that cellar truly was.

In the mansion on the mountain, everything seemed perfect: the immaculate garden, the gleaming cars, the forced laughter of a life that existed only for appearances.
No one suspected that behind those walls lay a story that would shake the foundations of a powerful family.
Clara Jiménez arrived looking for work, hoping to earn enough to help her ailing mother.
Her humble gaze contrasted sharply with the coldness of the place.
From the first day, she felt that something was off, as if the air were thick with secrets that no one dared to speak of.

Verónica Salazar, the millionaire's wife, soon revealed her true colors.
Demanding, cruel, and arrogant, she treated Clara as if she were less than nothing.
Every word she spoke was a dagger, and every order a test of obedience.
Ricardo del Monte, preoccupied with travel and meetings, barely noticed the suffering that dwelled within his own home.
His absence was the perfect cover for the sins that Verónica elegantly concealed.

But fate has strange ways of revealing the truth.
A noise, a door ajar, a misstep, and everything can change in a second.
Clara, with her noble heart and pure instinct, will begin to notice details that others ignore.
A lost key, an echo under the stairs, a sigh in the darkness.
Something will call to her from below, from the place where no one has dared to look.

And what she will discover there will not only be the family's most painful secret, but also the reason why love and truth can still survive even in the shadows.

Dawn over the mountain mansion was so silent that even the birds seemed afraid to break the stillness.

Clara walked slowly down the long corridor, holding her bucket and damp cloth.

She still hadn't quite gotten used to the echo of her footsteps on the marble.

Everything was so clean, so bright, so foreign to her world of dusty streets and kitchens smelling of wood smoke.

Continued in the comments 👇👇"

11/26/2025

"She Never Knew Her Billionaire Husband Wasn't Human, Till The Mirror Revealed Him...
In the heart of a dense forest, a long python slithered silently through the underbrush. Its golden scales shimmered in the dappled sunlight, blending seamlessly with the leaves and shadows. But as the sun dipped below the horizon, a change began. With a long hiss, the python transformed into a handsome young man. He stood tall, clean, and elegant, wearing a very expensive dark suit. His shoes were shiny, his wristwatch sparkled like ice, and his hair was neat, framing a face that looked like it had stepped out of a magazine.
In his right hand, he carried a black suitcase that looked heavy and important. The man smiled at nothing—a slow, calm smile, the kind that hides secrets. Without looking back at the tree that had concealed him, he walked straight out of the forest. At the edge of the road, beside thick bushes, a black Benz was parked quietly, its body shining like a mirror.
As he opened the driver's door and sat inside, the engine started with a soft growl. He adjusted his suit, placed the suitcase on the passenger seat, and drove out onto the open road like someone who already knew where he was going.
The nightlife in Lago was bright and loud. Music filled the air, car horns blared, laughter rang out, and people shouted and danced. Everything mixed together like fire and smoke. The Benz moved gently through the busy streets and stopped in front of a popular nightclub. Blue and red lights flashed over the entrance as he stepped out of the car. People turned to look at him immediately. Nobody knew him, but from the way he dressed, the way he walked, and the expensive car he drove, they could tell he was not a poor man.
He pushed the club door open, and warm air rushed at him, filled with loud music and vibrant energy. People were dancing, drinking, shouting, and living life without a care. The DJ was playing a hot song, and the crowd was wild. The handsome stranger walked straight to an empty table in the corner and sat quietly, placing the suitcase beside him.
Nobody knew who he was, but almost everyone stole glances at him, especially because he looked too rich, too calm, and too mysterious. Then something caught his eye. A girl was dancing on the stage, moving with confidence like someone who had danced all her life. Her hair bounced, her smile was bright, and her steps were sharp. The club lights made her look like she was glowing.
Her name was Julia. Everyone in the club knew her. She was energetic, pretty, and always the center of attention. But tonight, she had no idea her life was about to change forever.
see more in comment👉👉"

11/26/2025

"She Walked to School Alone Every Day… Until a Dozen Bikers Appeared

Nine-year-old Sophie Miller lived with her mother Grace in a small rural town in Montana. Their house sat on the edge of a wheat field, old but full of warmth. Grace worked long hours at a local farm, earning just enough to keep food on the table. Life was simple, quiet — until Sophie started fourth grade.

At school, Sophie was different. Her clothes were secondhand, her shoes worn out, and her lunch often just a sandwich and an apple. For some reason, that made her a target. Every day, a group of kids — led by Alyssa, the daughter of a wealthy local businessman — found new ways to make her life miserable. They whispered behind her back, shoved her in the hallway, or “accidentally” spilled milk on her books.

But what hurt most wasn’t the bullying. It was when Mrs. Harding, her teacher, turned away every time. Once, when Sophie tried to explain, the teacher sighed and said coldly, “Maybe if you dressed properly and acted like the others, they’d treat you better.” Those words burned in her chest more than the bruises ever could.

One Monday morning, after another rough day, Sophie walked home alone. A small cut on her cheek stung in the cold wind — a “joke” from one of the bullies who’d pushed her into a fence. Her eyes were red, her backpack torn. Passing the old gas station on Main Street, she noticed a group of large men and women gathered near their motorcycles — leather jackets, heavy boots, loud laughter echoing. The back of their jackets read “Iron Souls Brotherhood.”

Sophie tried to slip by unnoticed, clutching her bag, but one of them — a tall man with a graying beard named Mike Dalton — spotted her. “Hey there, kiddo,” he said gently. “You alright?”

She froze. People always said bikers were dangerous, but there was something soft in his tone. She shook her head. “I’m fine.”

Mike didn’t believe her. Another biker, Rosa, walked closer, noticing the bruise. “That doesn’t look fine.” They didn’t press her, but their concern felt real — something she hadn’t felt from an adult in a long time.

When she left, Rosa turned to Mike. “That girl’s scared,” she said. “And someone put that mark on her face.”
Mike nodded, watching Sophie disappear down the road. “Then maybe it’s time someone made sure she’s not alone anymore.”
To be continued in C0mments 👇 "

11/25/2025

"Two teenage boys saved an old man's live who live in a trailer, until one day his lawyer suddenly called them. Ethan and Mason were 16 when they found an older man collapsed beside a secluded forest road, whispering a faint “help…”

They hurried over, lifting him gently and giving him water. He told them his name was Mr. Turner, age 72, and that he had lost his balance while walking home from the grocery store. Nearby, smashed eggs and a leaking milk carton lay in the dirt.

“I don’t know… maybe an hour,” Mr. Turner said weakly.

“Let us call emergency services,” Ethan suggested.

“No! Please. I’m alright. Just need to stand again. I can walk. Thank you, boys — I’ll be fine,” Mr. Turner insisted, gripping his cane to steady himself.

“We’ll take you home. We live that way,” Mason said, offering his arm so the man wouldn’t fall again.

When they reached his home, the boys were stunned. His trailer was fragile, rusted, and looked like it could crumble at any moment.

“I want to repay you,” Mr. Turner said, pulling out an empty wallet. Embarrassed, he picked up one apple from his table and offered it to them.

They went home — then returned the next day with grocery bags brimming with food, along with fabric and repair materials for the trailer. Mr. Turner’s eyes watered when he saw the abundance they brought.

After that, the boys visited him twice weekly. They became his only companionship.

Then, one day… Mr. Turner disappeared. His trailer was vacant. They asked neighbors, searched nearby roads, but he never came back. He was simply gone.

Years slipped by. Ethan and Mason turned 18. Then the phone rang.

“Hello. This is Jonathan,” a man said. “I’m Mr. Turner’s lawyer. Please come to my office. It’s important.”

Confused, they agreed.

Later that day, they entered the office.

“Why did you call us?” Ethan asked...

To be continued in Comment 👇"

11/25/2025

"My husband didn’t know I spoke German. When I heard what my husband said about me…

1. The Secret

My husband didn’t know I spoke German.

That single fact — one I had guarded like a guilty treasure — became the reason my entire life split into a before and an after.

For eleven months, I had been studying in secret.

Every night, after Marcus fell asleep on the couch with the TV still blaring, I would slip into the spare room, close the door softly, and open my online course. Headphones on. Voice lowered to a whisper. Repeating sentences I wouldn’t dare say aloud.

“Ich kann es schaffen…
I can do this.”

Why German?
Why hide it?

I didn’t know, exactly. At first it was curiosity — a free course advertisement, a fleeting thought. But then it became something else.

Maybe because it was something that was mine.
Something Marcus couldn’t belittle.
Something he couldn’t take away.

Because he had taken so much already — piece by piece, year by year — that I barely recognized myself anymore.

When we got married fifteen years ago, Marcus was attentive, ambitious, charming. Over time, the charm shifted into criticism, the ambition into control, and the attentiveness… vanished completely.

I became, in his eyes, something between an accessory and an inconvenience.

Whenever I got excited about anything — a cooking class, pottery, yoga, even reading groups — he had the same response:

“Not everything needs to be a project, Kesha.”
Or: “Stick with something for once.”
Or: “Do you even know how much I pay in bills?”

And eventually:
“Don’t start things you won’t finish. It’s embarrassing.”

So I stopped telling him.
Stopped trying.
Stopped being visible.

Until German.
German was mine.

2. The Viewing

The day everything unraveled began like any other Saturday, except that Marcus was in an unusually upbeat mood.

“We’ve got another condo viewing,” he announced over breakfast. “This one’s promising. Seller is a German expat. Good price. Good neighborhood.”

“Okay,” I murmured, clearing plates.

Marcus didn’t notice my tone. He rarely did anymore.

“We’ll go at eleven. Be ready.”

“Of course.”

He gave me a tight nod, grabbed his keys, and left to “run a few errands,” which usually meant sitting in a café scrolling sports forums. I washed dishes quietly, then went to the window and allowed myself a soft, humorless laugh.

A German seller.

Fate had a sharp sense of irony.

At 10:45, Marcus returned and honked the car horn to hurry me up — another habit I hated but never confronted. I slipped into the passenger seat, and we drove mostly in silence.

As we parked in front of a sleek, modern high-rise, Marcus adjusted his shirt and said:

“Since the seller is German, I’ll speak to him in his native language. Makes negotiations easier. Just smile. I’ll translate.”

I nodded meekly.

He still thought I didn’t understand a single word.

Good.

3. The Seller

A tall man in his fifties opened the door. Polished but kind-eyed.

“Willkommen. Ich bin Tobias Fuchs,” he said warmly, extending his hand to Marcus.

Marcus grinned proudly — the way men grin when they believe themselves cleverer than they are — and replied in German:

“Marcus Keller. Freut mich.
This is my wife. She doesn’t understand German, but she’s harmless.”

Harmless? ....."
Full story bellow

11/25/2025

"THE KING TESTED HIMSELF ON A MAID TO KNOW IF HE IS CABLE OF FATHERING A CHILD.

Good afternoon cupcakes ❤️😍
Happy Sunday!

If you haven’t read the last episode of the story, kindly scroll down and Read.

If you need the complete episode in PDF, send me a DM — it’s just 2,000 naira, because the full story is no longer available on Facebook.

And for those who promised to appreciate me at the end of the story…

My DM is open. You can message me only if it’s related to any of the above reasons. Thank you 👍💙

Meanwhile, who is your favorite character in this story? Irrespective of their roles.

Pick from the top 11:

1. Amaka

2. Mama

3. Ebere

4. Ngozi

5. King Azuka

6. Ijeoma

7. Chioma

8. Dr. Matthew

9. Chizara

10. Eze

11. Cynthia

Drop your choice in the comment section — let’s gist 💙 Not my DM.

08/28/2025

BREAKING: On the 18th floor, a loyal rescue dog risked his life to save a helpless baby dangling over the edge after his heartless parents deliberately abandoned the child, reaching out in a dramatic breathless moment that could have led to an unimaginable tragedy but luckily the dog managed to pull the baby back in time and narrowly survived

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