Black and grey dotwork tattoo of a pug in a space helmet and suit with an antenna, on the forearm.

Pug astronaut on a forearm

Dotwork · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A pug dog wearing a round astronaut helmet and a bulky spacesuit, with a control panel on its chest and a hose running down its side. The pug's face and suit are built from dense stippling, with bold black outlines defining the helmet, paws and suit folds. The design is in black ink and grey tones on a forearm, with a dark shirt sleeve and a brick wall behind it.

Dotwork Blackwork Forearm Pug Dog Astronaut Helmet

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The pug went up on the third Tuesday of the cold month, because the harbour master's daughter had dared him, and because nobody on the fleet at Skarra Bay had ever been up in the sky before. Old Tam Renfrew stood on the slipway with his hands in his oilskin and watched the rope go taut. The dog did not bark. He had a way of looking at things with his whole face, as if the world had disappointed him in a small, forgivable way, and he looked at the sky the same.

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They had built him a glass bowl for a helmet from a lamp-glass and a tin collar, and a suit of herring netting stiffened with tar. On his chest they fixed the old wireless panel from the Mary Ellen, all its dials and switches, so he would have something to keep busy with. Tam's wife had sewn a length of rubber hose along his flank so he could breathe the sea air if the lamp-glass fogged. The antenna was a fishing rod with a length of copper wire wound round it, and it poked up above the bowl like a boy's question.

He came down two days later, in the shallows off the Gannet Rocks, with a fish in his mouth that nobody could identify and a crackle in his collar that sounded, to the children, like a voice saying something in a language of gulls. Tam waded out to fetch him. The dog put a paw on the side of the boat and looked at him through the glass, the same look as before, but now a bit weary, as though he had seen more than was reasonable and would not be telling anyone about it.

They never sent him up again. He still sleeps by the fish-smoking shed, and when the fleet goes out at dawn he sits at the end of the quay with his antenna turned to the north, listening for something that has not yet come back.