I'm sure I've mentioned a time or two in my journals and blogs that our house is pretty small. Honestly, it doesn't bother me much at all, except for the size of the bedrooms. Both are tiny and our fits only our queen sized and a nightstand - seriously. The way we positioned the bed, Mark has to climb over me to get in and out of bed, as I'm usually the last to bed and the first up in the morning, but when he works days and gets up at 4:20am, I get woken up too.
So the other day I got decided we needed to turn the bed. It's tight, but it'll work.
So, we began cleaning out the bedroom and the stuff under the bed to facilitate the move. The usual dust rabbits (these were way to big to be 'bunnies') missing socks and such were there but I also have something under the bed that most don't - dead dogs. No, no - not carcasses or anything - but the cremated remains of many of our dogs reside under my bed.
All the boxes were carefully removed with Mark demanding to know which dogs I was carrying out of the room on each trip. It turns out there are 12 dogs hanging out under there - Fly, Surge, Spud, Squeaky, Libby, Breezy, Howl, Buddy, Charlie, Butch, Striker and Chester, as well as the tin boxes that once held Orion and Snicker's ashes. Snickers ashes were spread on Cape Nome and Orion's on the Yukon River outside of Galena.
When ashes and memories were all carefully removed, we took the bed apart, I vacuumed, we moved the bed and remade it.
The last step before going to sleep in our 'new room' was to dust off the boxes and tuck them all safely back under the bed.
Some may think it is a tad morbid, but I can think of no souls better to share my dreams with.