For me watching Buck Breaking with my family was a nice way to reconcile with our past.
You see, my grandparents moved to Canada but their kin before them were Americans, Georgia to be exact. They weren’t slave owners but a couple generations were unrivalled dog breeders. They bred a bloodhound-coonhound cross and trained them specifically for detecting the aroma of an unbroken buck’s virgin keister. They could track a buck clear across two counties and tree even the fastest and strongest buck quicker than you can say “B-B-C.” Family legend says that the biggest male in the litter was always trained to cornhole a buck on command but I wonder if that’s really true or not. The family letters mention you could say “Rufus, break that buck, break him good!” and old Rufus would have that buck just where he wanted like it was nothing.
That breed is more than likely long gone and watered down after generations of outbreeding but I wonder if it’s tendencies are laying quiet in some dogs in the Georgia area. Like a dog with pointer in it that suddenly points out of nowhere. I pity the buck that comes across one of these dogs especially if the words “break buck” are uttered within earshot. That unfortunate black boy’s o-ring would be stretched and snapped before he could even think about bucking that canine off him.