Small black outline tattoo of a hedgehog on the side of a foot near the ankle, with a textured white rug in the background.

Hedgehog outline on a foot

Ankle · Black and grey · Photo

A small hedgehog is drawn in a single dark outline, with its spines shown as short dashes along the back and head. The ink is solid black with no shading, and the design sits on the outer side of a bare foot. A red-painted toenail is visible at the top of the frame, and the photo has a warm, grainy tone against a white textured rug.

Ankle Animal Outline

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The gap in the fence at number nine was Mr Pryce's doing, though he never admitted it. He had cut it for the cat years ago, and every Thursday the bins went out at six and the hedgehog came through that hole, nosing along the edge of the lawn as if it had an appointment. Mrs Okafor from the flat above called it Gordon. Her grandson called it Sergeant. Nobody had asked the hedgehog.

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By October Gordon had grown fat on the slugs under the runner beans and on the saucer of milk Mrs Okafor set down by the water butt, though the vet in town had told her milk was bad for them. She set it down anyway. Dayo came every Saturday with a torch and a notebook, counting the prickles on the animal's back while it sat beside the compost heap. He reached ninety-one once, then lost his place when Gordon uncurled and walked straight over his trainers.

The council sent a letter in November about the boundary wall. Mr Pryce, who had lived at number nine for thirty-one years and never once mended the fence, rang the number on the letter and asked what a hedgehog needed to survive the winter. The man said leaves, a log pile and a hole in the fence. Mr Pryce put the phone down, went out to the shed for his hammer, and found he had nothing to nail back shut.

On the first hard frost Dayo found a tuft of grey bristle snagged on the gate and the saucer untouched. Mrs Okafor said Gordon had gone to sleep under the log pile, which was where they went. Dayo knelt in the wet grass and pressed his palm flat against the cold boards, waiting for something to stir. In the spring, he decided, he would count again.