Well it's that or... His ears perk, and his tongue lolls out as he gets an idea. Or, you know, there's always Stan. He licks his chops, tilting his head to the side. Food, and a possible warm, dry place to sleep. Stan wasn't usually one for strays, but from time-to-time, he was known to let in one or two into a back room that could be locked, but was dry and warmer than outside at least.