Fine line black outline tattoo of a dachshund on the inner forearm, in a fine line style.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Dachshund outline on a forearm

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A single black outline of a dachshund in profile, with its head turned to the left and its long body and short legs drawn in one continuous line. The linework is thin and even, and the tattoo is small and sits in the centre of a pale forearm. The plain white fabric on the left and the teal wall on the right keep the focus on the tattoo.

Fine line Forearm Dog Outline Animal

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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

Dear Tom, I found your dog at twenty past midnight on Ashgrove Street, sitting under the bus shelter as if he were waiting for the 43. He wears a red collar with a brass tag that says SAUSAGE, which I gather is not his real name, though he answers to it. He is the longest dog I have ever seen. From nose to tail he is about the length of my kitchen table, and his legs look like they were added at the end by someone who had run short of ink.

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It had been raining since eleven and the canal was black and loud under the bridge. I tried to lift him and he slid out of my arms like a loaf that had given up on the idea of being carried. Then he set off with his nose down, trotting past the chip shop, past the launderette where my own washing was still turning, and round the back of the bakery on Mill Lane. He stopped at a grey door, sat down and looked at me as though I were the one who was late.

The door opened before I could knock. A woman in a flour-dusted apron, who said her name was Mrs Okafor, handed me a paper bag and told me that the heel of the sourdough had been waiting for him since half past twelve. It was warm through the paper. She said he had been coming every night for a month, always alone, always on time, and that she had never once asked where he lived because she assumed he was a night worker like her.

So this is where the sausage has been going. Come and collect him before the bakery cat files a complaint. He has eaten two-thirds of a loaf and I suspect he is not sorry. Yours, Ruth, above the launderette.