Small black outline tattoo of a cartoon sheep on the lower stomach, just above a red waistband, in a fine line style.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Cartoon sheep tattoo on the stomach

Fine line · Other · Black and grey · Photo

The tattoo shows a simple cartoon sheep with a fluffy outlined body, a round head, a small face and four legs. It is drawn in a single thin black line with no shading or fill. The frame is mostly skin with a red garment along the lower edge, and the sheep sits centrally.

Fine line Other Animal Cartoon

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Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Ask my father about the ewe that came out to Carrick Rock on the supply boat, and he'd tell you she was daft, and he'd be half right. Nobody on the mainland could make sense of a sheep that wanted to live on a lump of granite with a lamp on top of it. But she came in a crate in October, sulking and round as a cloud, and the boatman swore she'd climbed out of the hold herself before anyone could stop her.

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Hollis Penhale, who kept the light then, named her Mab and gave her the landing for a pen. She ate the lichen off the north wall and scowled at the gulls. Every evening, when the lamp was lit and the great lens began its slow turn, she climbed the iron stairs to the gallery, one hoof at a time, and stood at the rail bleating at each flash as it swept across the water. Hollis said she was counting. He swore she got to nine every time before the fog took her off the count.

The winter the fog came in thick for six weeks, the supply boat never made it out. Hollis ran short of tea, then of paraffin, and in February he sat on the gallery step with his hands round a cold mug, certain the world had forgotten them. Mab climbed up beside him and bleated once for each flash, steady as a clock. On the forty-second night a fishing smack heard that small, stubborn noise through the murk and turned in towards the rock.

They still keep a photograph of her in the kitchen at the station, though the frame has gone brown. Every night since, when the light goes round, you can hear the old ewes on the mainland complain it's just a sheep's bleat carried over the bay. The keepers know better. She was counting us home.