Black and grey realism tattoo of a dog portrait with its tongue out, with roses and flourishes, on a thigh.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Dog portrait tattoo on a thigh

Realism · Thigh · Black and grey · Photo

A large black and grey tattoo of a dog's head with its mouth open and tongue showing fills the upper thigh. Roses and floral flourishes surround the portrait at the top and bottom, and the shading gives the fur and muzzle a soft, detailed look. The photo is taken outdoors on a wooden deck, with a colourful wrap covering the upper part of the frame.

Realism Thigh Dog Portrait Rose Flower Tongue

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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

Nobody owns the dog under the back stairs of the Majestic, though everybody feeds it. Mr Pruitt in the cloakroom swears it walked up from the Ferry Road the winter his wife left, with a frayed rope round its neck and a grin that would not quit, and by spring it had a name chalked on the bins and a bowl by the stage door. You are the one who sees it first on the Saturday the Hull band cancels, because you are the one sweeping up the crêpe paper roses from the balcony rail.

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By nine the floor is still half full, couples turning slowly to a gramophone Mr Pruitt wound up from the office. You pin the last red rose to your lapel. The dog gets up from the stairs, shakes itself, and walks the length of the hall as though it has paid at the door. It stops beneath the chandelier, tongue lolling, and sits square on the boards. Nobody laughs. Mrs Pruitt holds out one gloved hand, and the dog rises on its hind legs to take it.

It turns out to be a waltz it knows, or at least a sway it has picked up from the people who lean too close to its bowl. The gramophone scratches and the lights dip for the last number, and in the gloom the dog keeps its head high and steady, turning slow circles with the rest of you while the paper roses shiver on the rail above.

When the lights come up at half eleven the floor is empty and the dog is back under the stairs with its chin on its paws. Someone has tucked a single paper rose under its collar. You leave it there. Next Saturday you sweep around it.