The only dogs you see here in Libby Prison are the ragged strays who patrol the perimeters of the walls for scraps.  They are even too underfed to be guards. Each morsel is so rare, so necessary, that fights often break out between–and amongst–the mongrels. The snarling and snapping is only broken up by midnight howling.  A strange language of suffering.  One you and your fellow prisoners feel all too well.  At least the dogs have their freedom.

Unsure what the message was intended to be, you set the strip of cloth aside until tomorrow when you can begin again anew.