Hearing Allison talk about how many of their animals had been slaughtered for their own consumption literally caused Frank's stomach to roll over with the anticipation of the first decent meal he would have had in months. Of course, he had no idea how many people had been living here or still lived here. He'd only met Jennifer thus far. There could be a dozen or a score or many more people here who he simply hadn't yet met. 

He doubted that, though, as Allison hadn't made mention of anyone in a [i]present[/i] sense. She'd talked about her grandmother, but only in past tense, or so he thought he remembered. He was almost giddy with thoughts of freshly picked vegetables and jerked strips of beef or freshly barbequed chicken breasts and thighs.

When Allision directed him into one of the dog pens, Frank's joyous mood dissipated in an instance. He looked at her with shock, asking, "Are you shitting me?"

She was serious, though. And the only thing that kept Frank from becoming belligerent about it was the reason for locking him up: tending to his dead lover and friend, the mother of the child he carried in his arms.

He hesitated before moving to the pen's entrance, and once there hesitated again. He looked it over, finding it just as clean and seemingly unused as it had looked from afar. It was chain link on all sides and above as well -- to keep leapers from escaping vertically -- and had a concrete floor into which the lower edge of the fencing was very securely attached. It was a good ten feet across and twenty feet long, plenty for several dogs. 

Inside at the far end was a doghouse perhaps four feet cubed, with most of the front side open. Looking at it, Frank found it to be the only truly unacceptable aspect of it. He looked to Allison, complaining, "We're not going to be warm in that. Wind ... draft. I mean, if you're going to leave us out here over night."

Frank entered the pen, even pulling the door closed behind him. There was a padlock hanging open on the gate, but he left securing that to Allison. He listed, "Blankets, water, food ... a stove like you offered. Maybe a pad if you have one, or more blankets to act as a mattress." He hesitated, adding, "I don't mean to sound demanding. Am I sounding demanding?" 

Robert began crying again, not for any particular reason other than maybe he was hungry or needed changing. He again addressed the situation, saying, "I understand fully why you need to lock me up, I do. But ... I hope that when you get back with Jennifer ... I hope that you will allow me to be part of the service. She--"

His voice cracked with emotion, and for a moment Frank thought he was going to tear up. He fought it, though, never having been a publicly emotional type. He finished, "She was important to me, and I'd like to take care of her myself."