Fox's Glade Happy, lucky electric grid

Ike was a goldmine of information. Or a geyser. He erupted new tidbits of stuff Dwin had absolutely no idea of every time it was his turn to speak. Iceland. Hebrew. And now dogs. "What are dogs? Kind of serfs or slaves?" she had heard about packs, who practiced this kind of thing, but it had always seemed to her as an ancient and barbaric pracitce that no longer was done. Perhaps, she was wrong. 

"Or are they kind of an alien? Does this mean that you are one part alien? What does it feel like?" she shot next three questions like a machine gun.