Kristoff opened his mouth to retort (Or apologize. He actally wasn't sure which.), turning to face the man now in the doorway. They hadn't given him anywhere else to sit, after all. What was he supposed to do? The arguement died in this throat, however, when the stranger's tone changed just so. He had to frown at the word 'vagrant,' though. He wasn't a vagrant. He's also still not sold on going inside, and this guy... Why would you just let somebody into your house like that?

The dog got his attention, then, sniffling and pacing. Almost like a voice in the back of his mind, but not quite, he knew what the animal was about. It was curious, but it didn't approach. It didn't act without being told to. It was a good listener, and it suggested, somehow, that Kristoff ought to try listening to this other man, too. It might get him housed and fed. Wouldn't that be great?

So another reply died before it got loose. Kristoff looked at the dog for a long moment, then back to the man, then back to the dog. Clearing his throat, he finally got something out, rolling onto his feet to stand. "What kind of dog is that?"