Close photograph of a painterly orange and black fox tattoo sitting on a person's shoulder, with a parked red car and a blue wheelie bin in the background.

Painterly fox on a shoulder

Shoulder · Colour · Photo

A seated fox facing up and to the right is shown in orange, red, cream and black. The outlines are bold and the body is filled with loose, blended washes of colour that give a watercolour-like finish. The fox sits centrally on the shoulder with a blurred outdoor scene behind it.

Shoulder Fox Animal

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Frost had kept the yard hard since Tuesday, and Ruth Haddow had learned to listen for the hens before she looked for them. The silence meant something was sitting at the edge of the stackyard, not moving, just waiting for the light to go thin over the top field.

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The vixen was there again on the flat stone by the gate, her back to the wind and her head tipped up at the rooks lifting out of the ash. Her coat had gone the colour of a fire banked for the night, rust fading to cream at the throat, and her black stockings were dark with mud from the ditch. Ruth's father said she was a thief and ought to be shot. Ruth had watched her for three winters and had never once seen her run at the henhouse. She only looked up, as though the sky owed her something.

On the last night of December the frost came down like a lid and the pond skinned over at the edges. Ruth carried the scraps out at dusk and left the rind of Sunday's bacon on the step, not near the coop but near the stone. She went back inside and shut the door on the cold. In the morning the rind was gone, and the tracks ran out across the white field in a neat line, one set after another, stopping where the ash trees gave up.

Her father counted the hens at breakfast and came up one short. He swore, then counted again. Ruth said nothing. Out past the hedge the vixen sat in the new snow with her face lifted, looking at nothing at all, and Ruth thought the bird had been a fair price for a bit of rind.