In the midst of these activities, my other child wanted to know what "enslave" means. She was trying to build a case to dissuade her brother from keeping the toad locked up. She knew someone who had insisted on bringing a butterfly indoors and how unfair she had thought that had been. She warned her brother of the peril of his ways. He did not quite get her point. He patiently explained how much safer the toad would be in an ice cream container with holes in the top.
Several hours after the last (as it turns out, fateful) toad visit, we were driving along in the car. After some quiet thought, my son asked. "So, what is enslave anyways?"
How come rescue and love can feel like enslavement sometimes?