Traditional-style tattoo of a red and brown chicken with a bespectacled caricature face, beside the words Finger Lickin, on skin.

Caricature chicken with Finger Lickin slogan

Traditional · Mixed · Photo

A chicken with outstretched wings and yellow feet has the head of a bespectacled older man with white hair, drawn as a caricature. The words FINGER LICKIN appear in yellow lettering beside a drumstick-like shape, all outlined in bold black. Flat red, pink, brown and yellow fills sit against the black linework, with the design shown on a close crop of skin.

Traditional Glasses Slogan Lettering

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Mabel Thorne had been arguing with the hen for a week before the hen started arguing back. It was a rusty brown bird with pink under its wing and the bespectacled face of Harold Pruitt, who had sold her late husband the feed mill and never once looked her in the eye. The village of Dunmore Cross said the hen was just a hen. Mabel kept it in a crate by the back door and told it what she thought of its manners.

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On the Thursday, the bird woke her before the dawn, which was itself a scandal, because the cockerel had been dead since Lent. It stood on the windowsill with its wings spread wide, feathers catching the grey light, and it spoke in Harold's dry voice. 'You owe the parish four pounds,' it said, 'and a drumstick.' Mabel, who had never once let a man talk down to her, took her husband's old carving knife from the drawer and sat down at the table to think.

She did not kill it. She was not a cruel woman, only a stubborn one. Instead she roasted a plump, ordinary bird for the Sunday market and carried the speckled hen to the church fête in a basket, where it perched on the cake stall and gave out the wrong change to everyone who asked. By dusk the vicar had his tithe in full, and Harold Pruitt was nowhere to be seen.

Harold never came to the fête. Only his spectacles turned up on the cake stall the next morning, folded neatly beside the hen's empty basket, with a single yellow feather tucked into the hinge. Mabel set them on the windowsill and left them there. Some nights, she said, you could hear the little bird clucking the old man's laugh from under the eaves.