Neo-traditional tattoo on a calf of a black poodle in a red Starfleet-style uniform, holding a phaser, set against an orange flame burst, with a badge reading SISKO below.

Poodle in Starfleet uniform on a calf

Neo-trad · Other · Colour · Photo

A black poodle wearing a red uniform with a grey collar and a small insignia stands with its arms crossed and holds a phaser-style weapon. It sits in front of a bold orange and black flame burst, and a teal and orange Starfleet-style combadge with the lettering SISKO runs along the bottom of the design. Heavy black outlines and solid fills give it a bold neo-traditional look, with colour dominating the composition.

Neo-trad Other Dog Flame Lettering

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Sit down on the bench, love, and mind the hose, for it's the only thing in this garden that answers back. You'll not believe me, but the dog who dug up my dahlias was a captain. Sisko, he called himself, though I never learned who he was calling. He came over the back wall one August evening with a grey coat of curls and a red tunic he'd got from somewhere, and he stood among the runner beans like he owned the deck.

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The trouble started with the sky. Every evening the sun went down behind the allotment shed in a blaze like a bonfire of old fence panels, and Sisko would sit at the top of the rockery, arms folded, watching it burn. He said it was a signal. He had a little silver weapon tucked under one paw that he swore was a phaser, though it was only my late husband's cigarette lighter, and he'd point it at the squirrels, and the squirrels would flatten themselves on the lawn out of pure respect.

Then the blackbird went missing. Then the milk. Then the last of the sweet peas, which he'd picked and laid out in a neat row on the back step like a formal commendation. I went out with my broom, ready to give him a proper telling off, and found him waiting by the gate with his badge polished and his tail set straight. He looked at me the way the vicar looks at a wedding guest who has forgotten the ring.

So I asked him what he wanted. He sat on the bench, lifted his chin at the sky, and I swear he said, quite clearly, that the ship was due back at dusk. I told him the only ship in this garden was the wheelbarrow. He gave me a look of great patience, and at sunset the orange light came up over the shed exactly as before. In the morning the bench was empty, the sweet peas were back on their stems, and there was a combadge lying in the lavender, warm as a teacup.