“Oh… who are you?” you asked the dog, that was suddenly at your legs. “Riley…” you whispered, as you looked at his collar. But you saw more: Blood. “Well… it is not yours…” you said while you looked at the blood stains on the collar. The dog laid his head into your lap. “Hey! Don’t fucking touch him!?” you heard a sharp voice. You looked up, looking at a soldier. “Your dog… he has blood on the collar…” you whispered. “Blood on the collar means: Just don’t ask!” he just hissed at you.