Stylised fox in bold black tribal linework
Black and grey · Flash
A stylised fox stands facing the viewer with its head slightly turned, drawn as a single design on a plain white background. The fur is built from bold, tapered black fills, with white gaps forming the eyes, muzzle, ears and legs. The composition is centred and simple, with no shading, grey tones or colour.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
Nobody had told the fox the show was finished, so it kept turning up at the back gate of the winter quarters every morning, standing square on the frozen mud with its head tipped as if it expected a cue. We called it Juno, though it never answered to anything but the rattle of the feed tin.
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I was the last wardrobe mistress left on the books. By February I was mending red coats for nobody, sewing sequins back onto a costume for a ringmaster who had gone to live with his sister in Skegness. Old Vellacott had died in the Tuesday frost, and his sons sold the big top to a farmer near Kettering for the canvas and the poles. The band's instruments went to a pawnbroker in Leicester. All that remained was the caravan, a shelf of unpaid invoices, and the fox.
I meant to hand her to the sanctuary on the Stamford road, but when I opened the gate she walked past the van and set off along the towpath without looking back, as if she had her own appointment. I followed her in my wellingtons, carrying the tin. She led me to the old ring field where the grass had grown up through the sawdust and the iron stakes still stood in their neat circle, rusted to the colour of her coat.
She stepped to the middle, turned her head to the left and held it there, the way she must have stood under the spotlight for a thousand nights. I had no music, only the tin whistle in my apron pocket. I played the one tune the band ever learned properly, badly, with my fingers stiff from the cold. The fox sat down in the centre of the ring, neat as a paid performer, and waited for the rest of the act.
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