The Fool and The Queen of Pentacles
So, many years ago I read an article about the fate of greyhounds once their racing days were over. Some, the lucky ones, were found new homes, but many of them ended up dead and in a ditch, their ears removed to prevent their identification.
Things have changed since I read that article and many charitable bodies help rehome the 30,000 dogs that annually retire from the sport and need loving homes.
And for some reason it stuck with me: One day I would give one of these dogs a good home.
Wednesday was that very day!
It’s one thing to talk about rehoming a dog, quite another to be confronted by 48 of them peering through their kennel doors, all hugely delighted to see you and barking their heads off.
I was quite clear about what I wanted. I wanted a blue bitch. I’d even seen a couple on the rescue centre’s website so that I wouldn’t have to put myself through the torture of looking at every dog (and wanting every single one of them!)
However, I hadn’t reckoned on the formidable presence of the lady who runs the rehoming centre. Before we could suggest the names of the dogs that we wanted, ‘Flash’ was produced for us to take for a walk around the paddock.
Flash was a huge black dog who wasn’t much interested in us. And, to be brutally honest, we weren’t much interested in him. He wasn’t a blue bitch.
We returned to the kennels and the cacophony of excited barking that greeted us was quite overwhelming.
‘What did you think of him?’ she asked.
‘Well, he’s very nice and easy to walk on the lead,’ I said, ‘But we were really looking for a blue bitch.’
The lady nodded. ‘Oh yes, the unusually coloured dogs always go quickly. But it’s not about how you LOOK, in life that counts, is it? It’s about the nature of the dog,’ she said. Turning to one of the many smiling volunteers who walk the dogs for her, she said’ Bring down Jojo.’
Jojo wasn’t one of the dogs on my list.
He came in and my heart sank. He was a big black boy with a moulting coat, shaking legs and a severe dose of dandruff.
She handed me his lead….
…..And he leaned against my leg, gazing up at me with eyes darker than the devil’s waistcoat.
…and, fool that I am, I took a deep breath and stepped off the cliff.
Reader, when I set off from home that morning I was determined about one thing: I didn’t want a Big Black Dog.
So here he is: My Big Black Dog.
This is the first time that he laid down on his blanket, hence the nervous ‘skinned rabbit’ look about him. He didn’t recognise his name, Jojo, so we changed it to Nero because he’s black and it’s regal looking, as is he.
As I type he is spread out on the floor behind me, sleeping.
And I luff him.
Sooooooo what in the hell has this got to do with Tarot – or the Tarot court specifically – I hear you mutter. Well, it’s this.
The Queen of Pentacles often gets landed with the nurturing home-maker label which can make people think that she’s a bit of a soft touch.
And the woman at the Rescue Centre clearly had that caring and nurturing Queen of Pentacles nature, but also, running through her was a steely core, like a bit of high-tensile cable! She possessed the resolve to make the very best efforts for her hardest to re-home animals – the big black boys.
So the next time the Queen of Pentacles come up in a reading for you, remember the determination of Celia to do the best for her four-legged foster kids.
Have you had any Fool or Queen of Pentacle moments recently?