We have ducks.

The basset pup brings in the bluest egg every morning (from the baby mallards who should not have -lings until next spring)  and carefully drops it at my feet. That is the golden pup who holds the golden secret: gentleness and respect. Her altar is not visible to me, but I suspect it is largest and most amusing to her at the time the farrier comes to re-shoe the horses next door and leaves bits of hooves all around. He is careful to take the nails out of the hooves, as he know about dogs, hooves, and horses.

Pup (who sometimes comes to the name of "Lucy" but more often comes to the name of "treat time!") also respects the nesting areas of the ducks and especially the geese, as she has been chased by several geese and had her ear pulled on more than one occasion. She loves the sport, and has found a Toulouse goose named Hank to play tuff dog and tuff goose with. They can go on all day, honking and barking and going round and round to keep up appearances.

Lucy keeps secrets very well.  She has other families, I am quite sure, whom she tells that she is destitute and alone (despite the rose-colored jewelry-called-collar around her neck that sports her phone number). Now, since Lucy has not been schooled yet and cannot read numbers, she doesn't realize that all adopted families are in on her rouse. She always returns as a flash of basset, zipping through the house and jumping on whatever is whitest and cleanest. Lucy worships mud. Which brings me to the next altar...
 

I have a small computer desk which faces east, where the sun rises through the leaves of the indoor ficus tree. I can see the 2 inch level of snow on the railing outside. Directly in front is a Power Mac 7200 (never become a billygator, wontdoitcantmakeme).

The monitor sits atop the HD, granting me a wonderful shelf to place my altar.

Four little mudmen who have never seen a touch of paint are sitting on the HD. Others have joined them over the past few months, to assist with the Taoist action of inaction. One is sitting with a knee up, where he rests his arm as he puffs on a pipe. Two are sitting on a log with some type of table between them. Atop the table appears like some type of game, Mahjongg came to mind when I first saw it. Of course, the gentle man on the left is smoking a pipe as well. The sleeping mudman is placed on the right of the others, leaning against a lovely drum. All four of these little men were found in a large box of Chinese collectibles I had ordered from a dear friend who sells at Ebay. They were wrapped in white tissue paper amidst the  bubble wrap and popcorn. I had not ordered them, these gents were a lovely gift and a very pleasant surprise.

I had been sending e-mail to my friend (whom we will call "Dan") teasing him about what the mudmen did in his store at night--what types of little pranks they could play throughout the evening. This series of e-mail went on weeks, suggestions and (probably) filling all of the (mud men) gents heads up with grand ideas.

Now, I know for a fact that these little brown men are getting down from the computer table; in the spirit of the great literary (note the word literary, which has nothing to do with the word "film" or "movie") achievement called "Stuart Little" I have placed a small string down the side of my table so they can get off the desk with more ease and less risk of breaking off part of ones' toe or mustache curl.

You see, the absolute proof of their antics comes in the form of animal teasery. When I awaken I quickly check the bassets' long, velvety soft ears. Now what do you think I discover? You are way ahead of me here, I can tell! Yes, there they are--in full view--imprints of small (teeny-kind-of) finger marks on the tips of a total of six ears. Sometimes the fingerprints have jam on them, as they are able to get to the pantry and steal sweets (absolutely their favorite kind of food, considered the ONLY food group in existence). I hold no qualms about it, especially since I find chocolate in a separate food group at the top my food pyramid.

I am also certain that the little mud men visit with the mice (we have one reddish colored mouse, named Rusty, who used to run back and forth on the narrow windowsill of the large picture window throughout the day). Rusty often jumps down to the plants and chews on a few--then, courageously teetering on the edge of the mason jar, leans over licking water meant for a philodendron cutting.

I envision the mudmen at night, confronting the little mice (in a very Taoist manner of compassion and non-action) and discuss ways of keeping the population down so that we can "just all get along." I can almost see that happening but even when I stay awake all night long, I know that they are staying invisible or using their cloaking device so those of us who are not aware of the obstacles of their floor-world--as even a trained observer (me ! ) cannot see them, Now I actually have noticed that the generational mouse condominium complex has been boarded up and Rusty has built a small ranch house for himself and his wife, Dolly. It has soft, warm fur from the yellow Cocker Spaniel as insulation, and I noticed a small, very teensy-weensy string of lights on the outside of the door during the holiday season.

The new home appears to be a one-bedroom ranch home, and is located closer to the refrigerator and the dog dish. Of course, as mice get older, they must prepare for the possibility of injuries and perhaps, arthritis. (I am very empathetic when it comes to arthritis and growing old...) Geriacticly, (that means "when we get older"); the trip all across the picture window and to the other end of the room will be a very difficult and painful chore. By juctipositioning (that means "moving inn a better place; or just moving, in some cases) their home closer to the food source, they will be able to live a long and happy life--and perhaps, invite the mud men over for tea and small bits of nuggets and dropped food prizes (one time Rusty found a small bit of chocolate cake with icing on it near the refrigerator!) The mud men, able to reach the grape jam and the Peanut Butter, bring gifts of peace and getting-along-ness (which is also called cooperation or truce-ness).

We are quite certain that the cat no longer keeps the mouse-tribe to a few (which was quite a savage ending for a mouse); she is 21 years old and just sleeps in the garden all day, comes in for her food, goes back out to see if her old friend is over at the horse barn, eats a bit of the barn cat's dry food, and comes back inside to sit on the bed and shed as much as she possibly can.

Well, here's part one in my ongoing series: descriptions of my altar and members of my home. Hope you enjoy it. I am trying to do my little descriptive writing exercise as encouraged in "Writing to the Bone" and keep at least myself amused. If you have some descriptions of your altar or altars, I would love to hear them.
 
 

And then, there is the meadow and the sky! The One Altar.

ducks love e-mail!