Black and grey realism tattoo of a dachshund wearing a collar and tag, placed on a person's upper back.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Dachshund portrait on upper back

Realism · Back · Black and grey · Photo

A detailed portrait of a dachshund looking forward with large, glossy eyes, a dark nose and a collar with a tag. The fur is rendered with soft shading and fine texture, with strong contrast in the ears and muzzle. The piece is in black and grey ink and is centred on the upper back, with the person's skin and a white sheet visible around it.

Realism Back Dog Collar Portrait

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Every evening at a quarter to six, Ruth Tennant lifted the brass tag off its hook by the lamp room door and listened for the scrabble of claws on the iron stairs. Hector never waited for her. He took the hundred and twelve steps one at a time, short legs working like a clockmaker's, stopping on each landing to look back down at her as though she were the one holding everything up.

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The keeper's log at Carrick Point recorded the weather, the tide and the oil burned. Ruth wrote in the margin that the dog had reached the gallery first again. Nobody on the mainland read the margins, which suited her. Her husband Alf had been gone three winters. The wick still needed trimming, the lens still needed polishing, and Hector still needed his supper set out on the sill where he could watch the grey water turn silver.

On the twelfth of November the fog came in off the Sound thick as wet wool. The horn sounded every half minute. Ruth's hands shook on the clockwork and the beam went dark for eleven minutes before she got it turning again. Out on the black water a fishing coble had lost its bearings, and a man was shouting somewhere beyond the rocks. Hector barked from the gallery rail, once, then again, and kept on barking, the tag ringing against the iron each time he swung toward the sea.

The coble found the channel by sound rather than light and came in past the reef with its engine coughing. Ruth stood at the window with her palm flat on the cold glass. Afterwards she clipped the tag back on, and Hector curled up on the mat by the warm lamp housing, nose on his paws, as if he had only ever been keeping watch.