Little Inked Lion

Friday night, I went under the needle and got another tattoo. Yes, another blob of ink drilled into my aging but still hanging in there skin. It's a big tattoo. When I say it's big, I mean that it is the biggest tattoo I've ever gotten. It's big enough that I thought about not showing the wife for as long as I could avoid doing so.

You, delicious reader, might be asking why on earth I would get YET ANOTHER tattoo. I know psychologists have a whole lot to say about tattoos. There are all sorts of thoughts and judgments about tattoos. Some think they are for attention; others insist they are secured as a sign rebellion. Do they freeze time, a moment, a memory? Do they suggest that the wearer is a drunken slut swimming in youthful discretion? Is it cool? Is it outlaw? Is it art? Is it anti-art? Is it just another way of branding ourselves? Is it ridiculous? Are they, in the words of the wife, "too pricey, too painful and too permanent?" Do people get tattooed in an effort to fit in or stand out? To be counter-culture or to be part of the culture? Are they about a masochistic need for pain or pleasure? Do they serve as a permanent, desperate quest for self-esteem? To scare anyone? To say screw you or bless you to the establishment, whatever that is?

My tattoos are about love. My tattoos are a purposefully placed, cartoon-blazon map. They pay homage to those who helped mold me into who I am, to those who have my back. They serve as a narrative, a story lived out loud. I didn't get tattooed to fit in or stand out.

I get tattooed as a giant, public THANK YOU card, a billboard I carry with me day in and day out. Every tattoo has a very specific meaning and records a piece of my history. I'm not fool--I know the placement and the cartoons and the medium don't serve justice to this love letter. As an art major, I know I could have drawn a picture, painted a mural or built a sculpture to say thank you. But, what fun would that be?   :-)

Back to the new lion tattoo. The biggest one. The newest one. I wanted to get something in memory of Freckles. Lucy is represented as a blue bird tattoo on the inside of my left leg. Lucy made it easy. Her symbol fell into our lap. She says "hello" all the time. Lucy just about waves to us. Freckles, a dog deserving a place on my map, wasn't so obvious. She's quiet, waiting for us to figure it out. The more I thought about Freckles, the more I thought about how she was bigger than her stature. She was in charge. She was loyal beyond measure, a guard dog in a fluffy (and smelly) coat. She was regal. A shih tzu.....

...it was then I remembered that the shih tzu is often referred to as "the little lion." Tibetan in nature, guards of the castle....Freckles was a little lion, both in breed and in being! If any dog ever thought it was royalty, it was her.

So...the next day, I was riding as a passenger in a co-worker's car. Without warning, I blurted out, "I'm going to see a lion!" 

I scared the shit out of her. I mean, she had no idea why I'd suddenly yell I was going to see a lion. I apologized and explained I was looking for a symbol representing my dead dog.

Um, yeah. That probably didn't ease her mind. Who the hell asks aloud for a symbol of a dead dog? I turned and peered out the windshield. I reiterated loudly, "I am going to see a--"

And, right there before both of us: a sign with a Lion on it. I can't make this stuff up. There it was.
I had never seen that sign before. I didn't have some unconscious knowledge that there was a lion up ahead. I think my co-worker almost drove off the road. I think I almost peed. I was SOOOO glad I had said aloud what my intention was. It gave it that much more power. Thank you, Freckles!

Being skeptical (oh, ye of little faith) I asked again later that afternoon. I asked aloud to Freckles if she liked the idea of a lion being her symbol. "If that's good with you, show me a lion." God bless America, there she was, in less than a minute! Another sign with a lion on it.

So, my map now contains a little lion. Well, a big lion. Okay, a really big lion. When you see it, I don't want to hear about how my tattoo lion is a male and Freckles was a female. Freckles was a lion. When you think of a lion, I bet dollars to donuts you think of a lion with a mane--which is a male lion. The signs I saw were lions with manes. No offense to female lions--you just don't look like lions when it comes to lions in the mind's eye. Freckles is all good with having a mane.

She'd be pissed if I didn't get her a mane.

I had the tattoo created as if it were made in one of my favorite mediums: a woodcut. I love the look of a wood cut print. I love making wood cut prints. I thought Freckles might like something a little different from the other tattoos. Still cartoonish in nature, it is a bit more regal, a bit more personalized, a bit more artistic in nature. A bit more....regal. Strong. Worthy.

Condolences to the wife. She hates tattoos....

....oh, the shenanigans she endures. Oh, the ink she ignores.