Enlarged with AI from a smaller original
Snoopy and Woodstock on a wrist
Other · Mixed · Photo
A small tattoo of the cartoon dog Snoopy lying down, with the yellow bird Woodstock sitting on his back, is shown on the inner wrist of a hand. The linework is bold black outline with minimal shading, and Snoopy is left mostly unfilled while Woodstock is coloured yellow. The tattoo sits centred across the wrist against a plain, warmly lit background with a laptop at the edge of the frame.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
By the third week of the heatwave the lane beyond the village had gone the colour of old toast, and you had flattened yourself into the shade of the hedge like a rug someone had forgotten to take in. Your back legs were stretched out behind you. Your chin rested on the cool earth. Nothing in the world required you to move, and you had made this a matter of principle.
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Woodstock arrived at a quarter past two, which was the hour he always arrived, having argued with a magpie on the way about who owned the blackthorn. He landed on the highest part of you, which was your back, and announced that the view from up there was excellent. You told him the view from a dog was no view at all. He said that was why he never looked at dogs. Then he settled, and the afternoon went on around the two of you, slow as syrup.
The postman came down the lane with his bag bumping his hip and stopped to stare. "Is he dead?" he asked the woman at the gate. "Only resting," she said. "Some days he takes the whole street for a pillow." Woodstock puffed out his feathers at this insult, the postman laughed, and somewhere out in the barley a tractor coughed into life.
When the sun finally slid behind the oaks, you got up, shook yourself from nose to tail, and sent Woodstock tumbling off with an outraged chirp. But before you went in for supper you lay down again in exactly the same spot, just to see whether the bird would come back. He did. Nothing else happened that night, which, you decided, was the whole point.
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