Small solid black poodle silhouette tattoo with a textured fill on the back of a hand, near the wrist.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Poodle silhouette on the back of a hand

Hand · Black and grey · Photo

A small poodle silhouette sits on the back of a hand, shown in profile with its curly topknot, ears and pom-poms clearly shaped. The fill is solid black with a slightly speckled, textured finish rather than smooth shading. The rest of the frame is a pale neutral background and a black and white striped top, with the image lit evenly.

Hand Dog Silhouette

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

By the third week of September the windfalls had gone soft in the long grass, and Nell Tiller had given up pretending she could keep pace with them. She stood at the gate of Hollin Orchard with a wicker basket on her hip and watched Marrow, the grey poodle her aunt had left her, work the rows with the grave dignity of a bank clerk. Mr Dunmore had clipped him that morning in the village. He had left the topknot high and round and the two pom-poms on the hindquarters neat, the way the old dog had been done for twelve years.

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The trouble started at the Bramley row. Marrow stopped with one forefoot raised, his head lifted towards the hedge, and went as still as he did before he flushed pheasants. Nell called him. He did not come. Instead he trotted between the trunks, pale apples lying under his feet like dropped coins, and vanished where the old flint wall bent out of sight. She found him twenty minutes later crouched beneath the last tree, his curls full of burrs and bruised fruit, nosing at a cracked enamel mug turned upside down in the grass.

Under the mug lay a tin of barley sugars gone sticky with age and a folded card in her aunt's looping hand. It listed the trees by name, each one followed by a date and a tiny pen-drawn paw. Beside the last entry, in fresh ink that could not have been her aunt's, someone had written: Tell the dog I kept the good ones for him.

Nell sat down in the wet grass. Marrow came over, shook the burrs out of his pom-poms in a shower of dust and seeds, and dropped a split windfall into her lap as if he were settling a debt. She laughed until her eyes stung, and then she picked up the basket and started on the Bramley row, because the light was going orange and there was still a great deal of fruit on the ground.