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It’s not just humans who enjoy a photo shoot before welcoming a new bundle of joy. Jazzy the dog is all smiles in her maternity photos.Saginaw County Animal Care & Control posted images to social media recently showing Jazzy in her pregnancy glow.“Jazzy was recently surrendered to our shelter for no fault of her own. Along with our unbelievably photogenic Jazzy, we await the arrival of an amazing gift - her puppies coming very soon!” the post reads.The images show her lying on a white rug surrounded by flowers and white step stool nearby. The chalkboard reads “Puppies coming soon August 2020.”Jazzy is due any day now. The facility is not taking adoption requests for the puppies at this time. 708
Instagram announced Tuesday they were kicking off National Bullying Prevention Month by testing two new features that combat users writing comments that are considered bullying and harassing.The social media platform said in a blog post that one of the new features would automatically hide similar, negative comments that have already been reported." We know from research that, while people don't want to be exposed to negative comments, they want more transparency into the types of words that are hidden," Instagram said in the blog post.To see the remarks, Instagram says you can tap on "view hidden comments."Instagram added that they've also expanded their existing systems to include "an additional warning when people repeatedly attempt to post potentially offensive comments."Since launching comment warning, the company said they'd seen a shift in user's behaviors when providing real-time feedback as they are writing negative comments. 956

ISLA, Mexico (AP) — Patience among 4,000 Central American migrants appeared to be wearing thin on Saturday, as exhausted members of the caravan journeying toward the United States openly disagreed with organizers who are shepherding the group through southern Mexico.Several thousand migrants opted to rest in the towns of Juan Rodriguez Clara, Veracruz and Isla, Veracruz, which are about 40 miles (64 kilometers) from their previous rest stop in Sayula. Another contingent splintered off by hitchhiking rides and walking to Tierra Blanca, Veracruz, which lies about 80 extra miles (128 kilometers) to the north.Many said they no longer had faith in those organizing the large group after confusion broke out regarding buses that would have taken migrants on a route to Mexico City.On Friday, Veracruz Gov. Miguel Angel Yunes reneged on a brief offer to provide transportation, saying that it would not be correct to send the migrants because Mexico City's water system was undergoing maintenance and 7 million of its people would be without water over the weekend.In the lapse between his decisions, organizers told members of the caravan that buses would indeed be available, causing some migrants to go to sleep with the impression that they should wake up early to stake out a place in line.Human rights activist Ernesto Castaneda said there's still a possibility that bulk transportation will be arranged Saturday.But as migrants struggle with exhaustion, blisters, sickness, and swollen feet hundreds of miles from the closest U.S. border, tempers flared within their ranks."People are mad and confused," said Saira Cabrera, a 36-year-old traveling with her husband and two children aged 7 and 13.Gerardo Perez, a 20-year-old migrant, said he was tired."They're playing with our dignity. If you could have only seen the people's happiness last night when they told us that we were going by bus and today we're not," he said.It remained to be seen if the group would stick together and continue employing the 'strength in numbers' strategy which has enabled them to mobilize through Mexico and inspire subsequent migrant caravans to try their luck.On Friday, another caravan — this time from El Salvador — waded over the Suchiate River into Mexico, bringing 1,000 to 1,500 people who want to reach the U.S. border.That caravan initially tried to cross the bridge between Guatemala and Mexico, but Mexican authorities told them they would have to show passports and visas and enter in groups of 50 for processing.The Salvadorans opted instead to wade across a shallow stretch of the river to enter Mexico. Police in the vicinity did not try to stop the migrants, who later walked along a highway toward the nearest large city, Tapachula.Mexico is now faced with the unprecedented situation of having three caravans stretched out over 300 miles (500 kilometers) of highways in the states of Chiapas, Oaxaca and Veracruz, with a total of more than 6,000 migrants.The first, largest group of mainly Honduran migrants entered Mexico on Oct. 19. The caravan has shrunk to less than 4,000 migrants, although it has become difficult to give exact numbers as migrants advance toward small towns any way they can.Another caravan, also of about 1,000 to 1,500 people, entered Mexico earlier this week and is now in Mapastepec, Chiapas. That group includes Hondurans, Salvadorans and some Guatemalans.Mexican officials appeared conflicted over whether to help or hinder their journeys.In the smaller caravans, immigration agents and police have at times detained migrants. There has also been pressure on the main caravan, with federal police pulling over freight trucks and forcing migrants off, saying that clinging to the tops or sides of the trucks was dangerous.But several mayors have rolled out the welcome mat for migrants who reached their towns - arranging for food and camp sites. Mexico's Interior Department says nearly 3,000 of the migrants in the first caravan have applied for refuge in Mexico and hundreds more have returned home.With or without the government's help, uncertainty awaits.President Donald Trump has ordered U.S. troops to the Mexican border in response to the caravans. More than 7,000 active duty troops have been told to deploy to Texas, Arizona and California.Trump has also told the U.S. military mobilizing at the southwest border that if U.S. troops face rock-throwing migrants, they should react as though the rocks were rifles. He plans to sign an order next week that could lead to the large-scale detention of migrants crossing the southern border and bar anyone caught crossing illegally from claiming asylum.Though some migrants clashed with Mexican police at a bridge on the Guatemala border, they have repeatedly denied coming with any ill intentions, saying they're fleeing poverty and violence."We aren't killers," said Stephany Lopez, a 21-year-old Salvadoran with the first caravan. 4935
In proximity, the United States and Canada couldn’t be closer. But when it comes to gun control, the two countries couldn’t be further apart. “A majority of the people do not feel the need to have a gun because we’re quite safe,” says Debbie Thorburn, a Windsor, Ontario resident.In Canada, they talk about guns differently because they look at guns differently.“You have the Second Amendment,” said Brian Green, a manager at General Guns in Windsor. “We don’t.”Detroit, Michigan saw 302 homicides in 2016, with most involving a firearm. Across the river in Windsor, during the same time, there were only three. “I would think that most Canadians are squeamish around firearms and don’t want any part of it,” said Al Frederick, Windsor’s police chief. “The difference, I think in my view, is the accessibility to firearms,” he said. “We don’t have a culture of people that are eager to carry or seek out to carry a firearm.”In Canada, unlike the U.S., it’s a crime for the average citizen to even walk around with a gun. But that’s far from the only thing separating the two countries.A first-time gun buyer in the United States can walk into a store and leave with a gun the same day; in Canada, it can take months.The U.S. still allows for some gun purchases without a background check. That’s not the case in Canada, where they’re mandatory for any gun license. “Your file is given to an officer and it’s their job to go through it and prove that you are able to have a license,” said Brian Green of General Guns.While there’s often a push to expand gun rights in the U.S., in Canada there are few leading that fight. As one Canadian told The Now this week, “Guns are a right where you live. They’re a privilege where we live.”“I don’t think there’s a nation on Earth where they have armed their citizenry which has reduced violence,” Chief Frederick said. 1909
In many rural communities, entire cities often rely on one business to support the economy, and when those businesses leave, it leaves the community devastated.For the town of Luke, Maryland, its paper mill went out of business last summer, and the deep financial impact is being felt by families and businesses throughout the region.“I could hear that mill day and night, sitting right here. You knew everything was alright. Listen up there now,” said former mill worker Paul Coleman, while looking out the window towards what used to be the noisy mill. “Pretty quiet, isn’t it? Pretty quiet. That’s eerie."Yet, it’s the silence that now haunts Coleman every day. “I had no sights, no goals on retiring. I would’ve kept on working as long as I could,” said the father of four daughters.For nearly 30 years, he worked alongside hundreds of people inside the Luke Paper Mill. He did several jobs over the years, but much of his time was spent as an electrician.“All my family has worked in there,” said Coleman. “The mill was the lifeblood of the community."The mill is nestled into the hills on the Maryland-West Virginia border. For the small towns around it, this big business was really the only business.“Everything was centered around that paper mill,” said Coleman.But last summer, this electrician got the news he couldn’t believe.“He said, ‘The mill’s closing.’ I thought he was kidding,” Coleman recalled. The closure was real, and almost immediately, his unemployment benefits fell short, and eventually, they stopped.“I thank God I had my 401K, which I had to dip into, so we’ve had to live off of that,” he said.Still, the bills piled up, especially the health insurance bills. “Reality is what it is. I know no one is going to want to hire a 62-year-old electrician,” said Coleman.On his fridge are several magnets from the Caribbean islands the family vacationed to over the years. We asked him about those trips, to which he replied, “Anything like that—it’s out of the question. You have to live within your means."The most painful adjustment to Coleman is not having what he needs for his daughter, who is disabled.The family was just able to fix their handicapped van, so they could bring his 21-year-old daughter home from weeks in the hospital. But now, more problems for this dedicated father.“My chairlift is broken down,” said Coleman. "That’s the chair lift we use to get her up and down the steps. I called the guy today and it’ll be ,000 to put a new one in. Where am I gonna get that?”So, each day, he gets to work, fixing what he can.“I don’t claim to be the best of anything,” said Coleman. “I’m not the best electrician, but you don’t have to be, you just have to keep moving regardless of what you’re dealt.”At the height of its operation, the mill employed more than 2,000 people. As technology increased and production decreased, fewer people were needed inside the mill, but even still, when the mill shut its doors, 700 people were left without jobs. That loss extended far past the mill—the entire community felt the pain of this closure.“It went from seven days a week to not really knowing what you’re doing tomorrow,” said Richard Moran, a man born and raised in Allegany County and who supplied coal to the mill for decades. “Lucky to get a 40 hour week now."Moran was forced to lay off dozens of workers when the mill shut down. Months later, his family’s legacy is hanging on by a thread.“Right now, we’re doing odd jobs basically, whatever we can pick up on the side,” he said.He’s not only lost income, he’s lost the future he dreamed of. “I know my kids won’t stick around here," he said. "There’s nothing for them here.”Coleman is worried for the future, too. “I think there’s just an attitude of hopelessness and helplessness that’s here,” he said.Both men agree that attitude is easily fueled by no new jobs and no way to relocate for most living in this rural community.“That’s not an option for me. This is my home, my entire family’s here,” said Coleman, as his granddaughter and two of his daughters all sat in the next room over.The United Steel Workers Local Union President Gregory Harvey said these struggles are only the beginning.“Unemployment ran out, insurance ran out, so now it impacts the area," he said. "Now, there’s people not spending money like they were spending money before."He’s working to get as many of his members and neighbors employed as he can, but the jobs in town are low-paying.“These guys were used to making ,000 a year, and now they’re making ,000. That’s a hit,” said Harvey, a third-generation paper maker himself.Still, the community holds onto hope that this closure isn’t the end. “My hope is that somebody buys this mill and reopens it back up, and if I get the opportunity to go back and work in a heartbeat, do I have to be an electrician? No. I’d go back and shovel a ditch or anything, whatever it took,” said Coleman about wanting to continue providing for his family.His plea like so many of his neighbors: a call to someone—to anyone—to rescue this town and these families.“You’re not investing in concrete. You’re not investing in these buildings. You’re investing in a workforce like no other,” said Harvey. 5223
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