Three small solid black paw print tattoos on the inside of an ankle, shown with a black high-heeled shoe and rolled denim jeans.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Three small paw prints on an ankle

Fine line · Ankle · Black and grey · Photo

Three small solid black paw prints sit on the skin of an ankle, two side by side above one slightly lower. The prints are simple filled silhouettes with clean edges and no shading. The ankle sits above a black leather court shoe and a rolled denim hem on a wooden deck, with a soft grey background.

Fine line Ankle Paw print Animal

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dear Nell, the fair pulled off the common at Harrow Lane on Tuesday and I have not had a minute to write since. Keep reading though, because you will want the rest. Dad's old collie, Biscuit, went missing on the Monday night when the generator died and the whole ground went black. Mum had me up at four with a torch, walking the dodgem track and calling until my voice cracked.

Keep reading

At first light I found them. Prints in the wet sawdust by the teacups, small and neat, pressed as clean as rubber stamps. Three of them, two side by side and one a little behind, the way Biscuit always walked when her hip was playing up. They led past the coconut shy, under the rope of the big wheel and round the back of the generator lorry, where the trail stopped at the cab step. I followed them for an hour, half expecting to find her curled under a tarp, and never did.

Then Sally from the candy floss stall told me the lorry drivers had gone to Lowestoft before dawn with the whole fleet, and that the generator had been towed off with its door hanging open. Biscuit must have been sitting on that step waiting for someone who had already gone. I took the prints as far as the car park gate, and there they ended in a rut full of rain. I stood there with the torch switched off while the sun came up over the Ferris wheel.

She turned up this morning on the step of our caravan, muddy to the belly, with her bad hip and a fish head in her jaws that she had no business having. Dad says she must have walked the whole coast road. I did not argue with him. Tell Mum I have taken her boots off the hook so she stops fretting about the mud, and that the dog is asleep under the table now, snoring like a steam engine.