Realistic black and grey tattoo of a chihuahua's head with small script beside it, placed on the outer ankle.

Chihuahua portrait on an ankle

Realism · Ankle · Black and grey · Photo

A realistic portrait of a small dark chihuahua head, looking forward with large round eyes and upright ears, sits on the outer ankle. The dog is shaded in black and grey with soft brown tones on the ears and muzzle, and fine script runs down beside its face. The tattoo is centred on a close crop of the lower leg against a dark background.

Realism Ankle Dog Portrait Pet Script

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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

The little dog came out of the bracken on the third morning after the fair, ears up like two sails, and sat at the edge of the lane as if it had an appointment. I was splitting kindling by the gate of the cottage at the forest's edge, and I took it at first for a fox kit that had lost its nerve. Then it looked at me with those wide black eyes, and I knew it had been looking for someone for a long while.

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Nobody in Holcombe Marsh would claim it. Mrs Fenwick at the shop said it belonged to the travelling tinker who had left in the autumn, and the tinker, when I asked him, said he had sold it for a pie and a pair of boots. I fed it scraps of bacon rind and it ate them standing up, watching the treeline. Every dusk it trotted to the old oak where the path forks and stood there until the owls started, then came back to my step and curled against the door.

On the seventh evening I followed it. The path went deeper than I had ever gone, past the charcoal burners' hut and into the beeches, where the light goes green and thin. Under a fallen trunk lay a tin box with a name scratched on the lid, and beside it a collar with a brass tag gone black. The dog nosed the tin open and sat down beside it, very still, as if keeping watch for someone who had promised to come back by Michaelmas.

I did not have the heart to take it home that night. I left the tin where it was, laid my coat over the roots, and walked back with the dog trotting ahead, not once looking behind. At the gate it stopped, turned its wide face towards the trees, and waited. I understood then that I was not the one it had been waiting for, only the one who would have to carry the news.