Black line tattoo of a sitting pug with grey shading on its face and ears, with two small red hearts above it, on the inner forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Sitting pug with hearts on a wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Mixed · Photo

A sitting pug in a simple outline, with grey shading on the face, ears and body spots. Two small red hearts float above its head. The tattoo sits on the inner wrist and forearm against plain skin.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dun Pike had been a mule road for three hundred years, and in all that time nothing had stopped a train on it quite like the pug. It sat square in the middle of the track just below the summit cairn, round as a loaf, tongue out, looking at Ruth Calder as though she were the one who had lost her way.

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"He's not moving," said Tom Haig, the youngest of the drovers, for the third time since dawn. "I've tried the carrot. I've tried singing."

Ruth crouched on the wet stone and held out her hand, palm down, the way her grandmother had taught her to approach a nervous ewe. The pug considered the hand. Then it considered the drop to the valley on its left, and the sheep bell somewhere behind, and gave a long, put-upon sigh that made the mules flick their ears.

She had not come up Dun Pike to be defeated by a dog with a squashed face. She had come because the letter in her coat said her brother was at the inn at Lower Scarth, and the letter had been wrong about most things. So she sat down beside the pug, back against a boulder, and waited. Tom groaned and sat too. The mules, sensing a long afternoon, lay down in the heather.

By four o'clock the cloud had lifted off the tops and the light came sideways over the pass. The pug shifted, looked at the sun, and got up with great dignity. Ruth stood and brushed her skirt, and saw two small red hearts pressed into the damp earth where it had been sitting, or perhaps they were only lichen. Either way, the road ahead was clear, and she followed it down.

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