Black line tattoo of Zero, the ghost dog, with a small red nose, on the ankle of a pale-skinned person against a leafy patterned background.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Zero the ghost dog on an ankle

Ankle · Mixed · Photo

A simple outline of the ghost dog Zero, with a round eye and a small red nose, drawn in black linework with a wavy trailing body and tail. The fill inside the body is left as pale skin, so the design relies on the outline and the single touch of red. The tattoo sits on the ankle and the close, slightly angled shot is set against a dark-green leafy fabric.

Ankle Ghost Dog Cartoon character

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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

Sit closer, the lot of you, and mind that lantern, Edwin, it's not a toy. You want the dog of Hollin Wood, do you? Then you'll have the true version, not the one the innkeeper's boy sells for pennies.

Keep reading

The dog was a grey thing with a white ruff gone to rags, and his nose was red as a rowan berry because he'd run through the blood-ditch the winter the mill burned. Nobody living had seen him run. He floated, the way mist sits on the water meadow, his tail trailing out behind him like a torn sleeve, and wherever he passed the bracken went silver for a breath and then forgot it had.

Old Mother Sallow kept the last cottage before the trees. She left a dish of scraps on her step every night, and every night the dish was empty by dawn, and she never once saw who ate it. Her grandson Tam said it was the rats. Tam went into the wood one Michaelmas after a stray ewe and did not come back by the ordinary path. The ewe came home. Tam did not.

So on the first frost Sallow took her lamp and set the dish out, and she sat on the step with her knees cracked and her hands folded, and when the mist came up through the stiles she said, quite plainly, 'Bring him home, then, if you're the one who's got him.' The grey shape came out of the trees with its red nose low to the ground, nosed the dish, and looked at her with a round black eye that held no sorrow at all, only patience. Then it turned and went back the way it came, slow, a little ahead, stopping whenever she stopped. She followed it all the way to the oak where Tam had been lost, and there, hung on a low branch, was the boy's cap, still dry.