Solid black blackwork tattoo of a bull's head silhouette with horns on the back of a person's neck, in a black and white photo.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Bull silhouette on the back of the neck

Blackwork · Neck · Black and grey · Photo

A small, solid black silhouette of a bull's head with curved horns sits at the centre of the back of the neck. The shape is filled with black ink with no visible shading or linework, and the photograph is black and white. The subject's hair and head are cropped out of frame, and the tattoo fills a small area against plain skin.

Blackwork Neck Bull Horn Silhouette

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dear Tom, the bull got into the Pippin orchard again on Tuesday, and this time he didn't bother with the gate. He went straight through the lower hedge like it was made of wet string, then stood among the trees with the windfalls bruising under his hooves and looked at me as if I was the one trespassing. Dad says he's a Hereford cross from the Ashworths' place over the ridge. Mrs Ashworth says he belongs to nobody but himself. I've decided he's a bit of both, which is what I say about most things these days.

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I didn't run. I took the yard broom and held it crossways the way Dad taught us for the cattle, and I talked to him about the price of sugar and your appalling handwriting until he got bored. Black as a boot he was, with those horns curling up out of his head as if someone had drawn him in one stroke of a fat pen and then decided not to bother with the rest. Nothing to him but outline and weight. You'd have liked him. You always liked things that didn't need explaining.

He went back over the hedge at dusk, slow, the way a man leaves a pub he isn't quite finished with. I counted the trees he'd flattened. Eleven. The Bramleys will forgive him; they always do. I'm leaving the gap open tonight so he can come back for the rest of the drops if he likes, and I'll be out at first light with the broom, just in case.

Come home for the picking. The ladders are still in the barn and I can't reach the top rows on my own.

Love, Ruth