Black and grey traditional style tattoos on two feet, a pig in a top hat with a banner reading Friends and a rooster with a banner reading Not Food.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Pig and rooster with Friends and Not Food banners

Traditional · Other · Black and grey · Photo

Two feet are shown, each with a bold black outline tattoo. The left foot has a pig wearing a top hat above a banner reading FRIENDS, and the right foot has a rooster above a banner reading NOT FOOD. The linework is heavy and uniform with minimal shading, and the tattoos are in black and grey only.

Traditional Other Pig Rooster Top hat Banner Friend

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The Harvest Supper was three weeks off when Mrs Pritchard started sharpening the carving knife on the back step, and Gordon decided it was time to wear his good hat. It was a black silk top hat he had found in the hayloft, dented on one side and smelling of mice, and he wore it at a tilt that he believed made him look like a man who had never once been invited to a barbecue. I told him he looked like a pig who had been to a funeral and enjoyed it.

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Gordon had a theory. Nobody eats a creature with a name and a hat, he said, and the proof was on the lane: the Hendersons kept a hog called Sir Reginald who had sat on the wall at the village fete for six summers and was now a retired grandfather at the sanctuary. I did not believe a word of it, but I did believe in the chalk. So at dusk we sat on the upturned water trough while I scratched on the barn wall with a flint: FRIENDS, and beneath it, because I am an honest bird, NOT FOOD. Gordon read it twice, took off his hat, and said the spelling was fine.

The turn came the night before the supper, when Tom came out with a torch and a clipboard and counted us aloud. Gordon stood very straight and his hat slipped over one ear. Tom looked at us for a long moment, then sighed and said, 'Mum's ordered a goose from Hartley's instead. Don't tell her I told you.' He wandered off whistling, and I understood that a hat cannot make a friend invisible, only better dressed for the occasion.

In the morning the hat hung on the gatepost, rain collecting in the crown. Gordon stood beneath it with his snout raised, as proud as any gentleman at a county show. I climbed onto the trough and crowed at the sun until Mrs Pritchard threw a boot at me, which Gordon said was the closest thing to a blessing either of us would ever receive.