We asked our myriad contributors “What animal would you have on your coat of arms?”. This is the shite they came up with:
My coat of arms beast would be the cockatrice. According to commonly
held heraldic opinions, it strikes fear into the heart of all beholders, which just sounds a bit awesome to me.
There being a giraffe on my coat of arms makes about as much sense as there being a camel on Stoke-on-Trent’s.
I choose White Wolf. He is secretive, deep and has mysterious powers.
My coat of arms has on either size of a lozenge a True Cat (dexter) and a
False Dog (sinister). They are
the invisible pet equivalent of the angel and demon on your shoulder, whispering advice and issuing challenges.
My friend had a Jack Russell with bad eczema and it was the nastiest, most ill-tempered mutt with everyone. Except, he turned into the sweetest little puppy with my mate’s Mum… who fed him. So I’m having him on my coat of arms, because he had his shit sorted out and I hope to be like him one day.
A cat: Independent and strong, cats only really need humans to open jars and do the washing-up. They can turn on the charm and scratch all within the blink of an eye. They are the true masters of the universe—
honestly, I reckon the Egyptians were onto something.
What credibility would my attempted short story have if I didn’t say dog?
Besides which dogs deserve a coat of arms. Cats (especially big ones) get all the attention.
The proverbial monkey with a typewriter hammering the keys in the hope of smacking out the best possible words in the best possible order. If one monkey, or a
thousand, can churn out a classic then there’s hope for me yet.
Two scorpions, fucking. If you have to ask why, you’ll never understand the answer.
Some kind of mythical animal mashup like a manticore or chimera. A creature hacked from loads of other bits and pieces and probably just plain weird. And probably made out of paper. And old books. And photos.
I’m a web producer living in Birmingham, thus my coat of arms features the hawk. Gavin—derived from Sir Gawain, King Arthur’s nephew famed for his loyalty, courtesy and valour—is Celtic for ‘white hawk of battle’, ‘little hawk’, ‘white knight’ and ‘midfield general’.
The Dolphin name sailed with the
Vikings to these shores—different
spelling back then mind. My coat of arms has three dolphins naiant—for swiftness, diligence, and love—great look. Alfred the Great preferred dolphins to people. He called them to arms to fight the Viking invaders.
A duck. Here are some facts about ducks: they engage in gang rape; they’re also known to engage in necrophilia; they can swim like motherfuckers. Fuckers of
mothers. Do not mess with ducks. I would also
accept a puppy.
Sorry? I don’t completely understand the question. Look, I’m not a writer or anything. I just make beautiful jewellery. Ask me a question about that instead.
A lion, mainly because my three year old daughter is obsessed with them. Everything with her is lion this, lion that, lion the other. For Christmas she wanted a lion in a rocket. She didn’t get one. I’m not a magician.
Oh ye silver lions, who bestrideth the arms that recall the menace of Dundee and the red rings of thy own spiced anus, what speak ye about this man who writeth under a name that be not his own nor yours that his also his. “Er, yeah, he be wrong in his own head and shit. But he doth like a good biscuit.”
A coat of arms in the two-thousand-and-tenties needs not just an animal but one imbued with post-modernism; I hereby request Jasper Carrott’s dog Mr Blue Sky. Rampant.
During the celebrations to mark the Silver Jubilee, my mother; a baby otter, met an older iguanadon with a driver’s licence. Intoxicated by ‘blue’ flavour 20/20, she was lured round the back of the skips where they made clumsy love under the bunting. After a brief period gestation I was ejected onto a coat of arms. He never called her.
It’s a red panda, because I’m inquisitive and difficult to classify. I hate to be too hot or too cold. If you try to put me in a cage, I will escape. And I like to sleep on my tail.
A beast rampant, I’m a part-time auteur, gourmand, flâneur, chocolatier, philosopher and German.
Wisely if sincerely’ says the stag on my clan’s coat of arms. I’m a mock Jock (so bang goes the sincerity?) with a background in illustration, graphic design and
mechanical tinkering. I’m so bloody professional I actually have a Terms of Service sheet.
A lovely little ocelot. Because they’re like cats, but even more awesome. And who wouldn’t want to be depicted by an animal who is eccentric, curious, nocturnal and adorable, with hidden claws—literally.
I have two hedgehogs copulating to represent the beauty that is nature. It also represents the fact that if you try to fuck someone, there is always the danger of getting spiked through the heart. Motto: I stoop to get conkers.
The Libby H coat of arms features a floppy-eared brown-and-white dog, illustrating my loyalty, love of company and penchant for sniffing people’s privates.
A llama because it is my favorite animal. They are known for their sociability and curiosity which I think are wonderful traits and ones I try to foster to keep learning.
The animal on my coat of arms is a leopard, why? Because it looks amazing. It’s a slight, rosette covered big cat that’s agile, fast and good at climbing trees. Its fur looks better on itself than anyone else, whoever or where ever they may be; grrrrrrrrrr.
A raccoon, because cute, fluffy and wide-eyed as they are, somehow I wouldn’t mess with one.
A pampered cat as there can be no life better than sleeping all day to get the energy to sleep all night.
An octopus holding a different drawing utensil in each tentacle: like me, they’re born to use ink.
I don’t have a coat of arms. They’re silly.
Upon my coat of arms sits a proud mandrill eating the flesh of its prey…which is a mixed-race, dead, prostitute from Balsall Heath. Sums up our family. Probably.
Wounded Swan. Illustrates motto; Transfixus sed non Mortuus.
The tomcat would proudly adorn my Crest. He is my natural zoomorphism: Moody, yet eager to please. A loner, yet needy in love. Messy, yet snappily preened. Destructive, yet a seeker of beauty. We are a strutting contradiction in terms.
The rabbit. Sneaky, lying, big-eared, bug-eyed, horny, greedy, jittery,
paranoid, needy, mercurial bag of base urges and appetites. There’s no more appropriate totem for a writer—or at least for this writer. Plus, Bugs Bunny when he cross-dressed. I mean, you would, wouldn’t you?
I am greedy. I have an otter, a shire horse, a posse of ducks and a panda pimping out my coat of arms. Okay, so the horse is a wee bit big, but an otter in your sink, ducks in the bath and a panda generally bumbling around would be pretty skill. Ooh, you could ride the shire horse to work.
A water buffalo—the most noble and majestic of large bovines. And perfect with a side salad.
Steven D Quirke
A tiding of magpies would grace my coat of arms. The most intelligent of the corvidae family, able to recognise its own reflection and utilise tools. Plus this beautiful bird is festooned with mythology and folklore galore. And I am a sucker for mythology and folklore…
I’ve always felt a strong affinity with the Venezuelan moose frog. This unique creature—the only known example of an amphibian with antlers—secretes a black viscous fluid, shapes it into rudimentary symbols then passes it off as humour. It also regularly performs stand-up comedy, presumably to ward off predators.