Small solid black paw print tattoo on the inner wrist, beside a blue and grey woven bracelet, in a simple style.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Small paw print tattoo on a wrist

Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A small black paw print sits on the wrist, made of one large pad and four toe pads in solid ink. The wrist is turned slightly, with a blue and grey woven bracelet above the tattoo and a dark top with a red graphic in the background. The image is a close, well-lit photograph with the tattoo in the lower right of the frame.

Forearm Paw print Paw Animal

Find an artist for this

Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Right, hush now, the lot of you, because the bride's grandmother has asked me for the one about Bramble and the ring, and I'll not tell it twice. Mind the gravy.

Keep reading

Bramble was a grey lurcher belonging to a ferryman's widow called Mercy Oakes, who lived at the top of the lock at Hebble Cut. Every morning she walked the towpath with the dog at her heels, and every morning the dog stopped at the same bollard, pressed one paw into the wet mud, and waited for it to dry. Mercy said it was his way of signing his name. The lock-keeper's boy said it was just a dog being a dog. Both were right, as it turned out, because the summer the canal froze hard, a young man called Tobias Quayle came down the towpath with a box in his coat and no notion which window was hers.

He'd walked from the station with the ring wrapped in a handkerchief, and he'd lost his nerve somewhere past the third bridge. Bramble found him first. He sat on the man's boot and would not budge, and when Tobias finally looked down there was a print in the frost on his cuff, clear as a seal on a letter.

So: the ring. Mercy wore it on a string round her neck for thirty years, but it was Bramble who carried the answer back up the lane. Whenever Tobias came calling after that, the dog walked him to the lock, a paw printed in the mud at every step, and that's the whole of the matter. Her mother used to say a good dog knows a good man by the way he stops to let it sniff. Now raise your glasses, and mind the step on the way out, the rain's made it slick, and I'd not want a paw to slip in front of the vicar.