My Training Facility is in the country, rural, isolated. One day a few years ago a pickup came up the long drive and stopped at my door. I came out to see a grizzled farmer, face leathery from a lifetime of working in the sun, standing by his vehicle. “Sorry to bother you, but I, ah, have heard from a friend that you might be able to hep me.”
"Ok," I said. "What kind of help are you looking for?"
"Well, I have 200 acres just on the other side of the ridge yonder. And there’s been a young guy botherin’ my family, and living in the woods. Has been hard to ketch him. He tries to woo my daughter, eats my vegetables out of the garden, steals milk right outta my cows udder. Says he’s a runaway, but I don’t trust him. Sheriff has come out over and over and just can’t find him. Just disappears when the car drives up."
"Well, that sounds like a problem, but how can I help you?"
"Well," he looked off into the trees. "I done heard that you might be willin’ to, ah… take him and keep him."
"That’s possible, but if he keeps disappearing…"
"Oh," he smiled, "I done caught him this here mornin’. Trap nets. I got him in the bed of the truck."
We walked around to the back and he lowered the tailgate. And sure enough, there was a young buck stripped down to his underwear and tied up, quite cruelly. Fully mature physically. Probably not a runaway, most likely a young prisoner escaped from the minimum security prison three counties over. “Why not turn him over to the Sheriff like that?”
"Well," again he looked away. "I figgur that the law really can’t keep him outta my hair and offa my land permanently. And you will."
This farmer has become a fast friend. And I *did* help him get rid of his unwanted tenant.
The ironic part is that after a few years of hard training, this slave was sold, and is serving the former deputy sheriff who had searched so hard for him in vain. That’s when you start to think that some slave’s fate is just predetermined in the stars.