Solid black stencil drawing of the head of Eeyore the donkey in profile, shown as a tattoo design on a plain white background.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Eeyore head stencil design

Black and grey · Flash

A bold black silhouette drawing of a donkey's head with floppy ears, a drooping eye, a tuft of hair on top and a broad muzzle. The linework is thick and solid with no shading, and the image is entirely black on white. It has the simple outline look of a stencil or flash sheet.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

No, sit where the lamp can reach you, because the donkey is the whole of it and you'll miss his face if you're fidgeting. We took him aboard at Avonmouth with a rope halter and a note pinned to his ear that said he was owed a crate of ginger, which none of us ever found. The bosun wanted him sold at Madeira. The cook wanted him for the pot. But the captain's daughter had named him Thistle, and that was that.

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He was grey as a wet slate and he had the saddest face you ever saw on a creature that wasn't dead. Ears down like spent sails. One eye half shut, as if he'd already seen how the day was going to end. Every morning he stood at the starboard rail and watched the water as though it owed him money. The lads laughed and called him the Admiral of Bad News, and I'll admit I laughed too, until the Cape.

Off the Horn the sky went the colour of a bruise and the foremast gave a crack like a musket. Men were shouting and running the wrong way, and Pell, the youngest, was standing under the falling rigging with his mouth open. Thistle didn't bolt. He walked over, slow and unbothered, and shouldered the boy clean out of the way just as the spar came down across the deck. Pell got a bruise. Thistle got a tuft of rope in his mane that he wore for the rest of the voyage like a medal.

We limped into Valparaíso with the pumps going, and the captain paid off the crew and left the donkey on the quay with a tin of molasses and a note that said only, Keep watching the water. I still do. Whenever the weather turns I think of that grey face at the rail, nose to the wind, certain the worst was coming, and never once wrong about it.

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