Full-colour tattoo of Dumbo the cartoon elephant with a feather and red bow tie across the top of a foot, on a black background.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Dumbo the elephant on a foot

Other · Colour · Photo

A cartoon Dumbo elephant sits on the top of a foot, shown with blue skin, large yellow-orange ears, a red and yellow bow tie and a small black feather on its head. The shading is soft and rounded, with highlights on the head and body and a pale blue wash behind the figure. The elephant fills most of the frame against a dark background, with the toes visible at the bottom.

Other Elephant Cartoon character Feather Bow tie Foot

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Hold your tea, the lot of you, because the next bit is the part your fathers never believed. The harbour was grey that morning, the gulls sat on the bollards like wet washing, and Mags Tulloch was on the quay counting mackerel boxes when the travelling show came down the hill road with a calf that had no business being born with ears like that.

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Those ears were marigold-coloured, big as a pair of lugsails, and they had never once lifted him off the ground. They tried everything. Tied him to the capstan with hawser, sat him in a dinghy and rowed him out past the breakwater, and every time he came back dripping and sulking with his red and yellow bow tie gone limp. The only thing he ever cared for was a single black gull's feather, which he kept tucked above his head like a sailor's pencil, and which he'd take out and stare at for hours.

Then the big storm came in off the Minch, and the fleet was still out. Nine boats, no lights worth the name, the sea gone the colour of slate. Mags stood on the wall shouting into the wind until the calf came trotting down the slipway, sat himself on the very end of the quay, and gave his ears one great flap. The gale caught them, lifted him clean off the stones, and up he went, bow tie flying, feather pointing the way like a compass needle. He hung over the harbour mouth and the boats found the gap by the sheer daftness of the sight, every one of them, nine for nine.

You'll say that's nonsense. Ask any of the old crews and they'll tell you the same story, though each of them swears it was their own boat he led home. And if you go down to the slipway on a grey morning, you'll find a single black feather wedged under the bench, and the tide has never once managed to shift it.