Realistic coloured fox head tattoo on the side of a woman's thigh, with a brown floral skirt lifted above it.

Fox head portrait on upper thigh

Realism · Thigh · Colour · Photo

A realistic portrait of a fox's head, facing forward with its ears raised, is tattooed on the side of a thigh. The fur is rendered with fine, soft strokes and shading in orange, tan, and brown, with darker grey tones along the jaw and cheek. The fox fills the centre of the frame against a dark background, and a hand holds up the edge of a brown floral skirt above it.

Realism Thigh Fox Animal Portrait

Find an artist for this

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

Frost had kept the yard hard as slate for nine days, and the hens had gone quiet in the mornings, which Dad said was the first sign of a fox. He set a wire trap by the feed store and told me to keep the kitchen light off so the animal wouldn't get suspicious of the house. I didn't care much about the trap. I cared about the fox, which I had only seen once, a flick of rust across the top field like someone had dropped a match in the snow.

Keep reading

On the third night I took the bucket of scraps out myself and sat on it by the henhouse door with my boots buried in straw. The moon was thin and the barn light buzzed. Something moved under the hedge and then there it was, sitting upright three yards off with its ears pricked and its breath smoking. Its face was narrow and wary, the fur at its cheeks gone grey where the frost had caught it. We looked at each other for a long time. I did not reach for the scraps. I thought if I stayed still enough it might decide I was just another fence post.

It didn't decide anything. It turned, unhurried, and trotted off along the wall toward the quarry bank, and the trap stayed empty. When I told Dad the next morning, he didn't ask how I knew it was a vixen. He just nodded at the hedge, where a neat line of prints crossed the frost, four small pads and the long soft drag of a tail.

He left the trap set until March but never sprung it. Some mornings I'd find a single dropped feather on the henhouse step, orange at one end and white at the tip, and I'd leave it where it lay.