Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep - Backyard Sniffari

Episode Date: August 19, 2024

Season 14, Episode 23 Our story tonight is called Backyard Sniffari, and it’s about an afternoon in the grass with some of our favorite furry friends. It’s also about dragonflies and warm patio stones, a fresh lemon slice in your glass of iced tea, a new friend on the other side of the fence, and the warm, settled feeling of a family living their real life. We give to a different charity each week, and this week, we are giving to Drone to Home UK. They help unite missing pets with their families by providing drone-based search and rescue and promoting humane behavior towards animals.  Subscribe for ad-free, bonus, and extra-long episodes now, as well as ad-free and early episodes of Stories from the Village of Nothing Much! Search for the NMH Premium channel on Apple Podcasts or follow the link: nothingmuchhappens.com/premium-subscription.  Save over $100 on Kathryn’s hand-selected wind-down favorites with the Nothing Much Happens Wind-Down Box. A collection of products from our excellent partners: Eversio Wellness: Chill Now Vellabox: Lavender Silk Candle Alice Mushrooms: Nightcap NutraChamps: Tart Cherry Gummies A Brighter Year: Mini Coloring Book NuStrips: Sleep Strips Woolzies: Lavender Roll-On Listen to our new show, Stories from the Village of Nothing Much, on your favorite podcast app. Join us tomorrow morning for a meditation at nothingmuchhappens.com/first-this. Purchase Our Book: https://bit.ly/Nothing-Much-HappensSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Welcome to Bedtime Stories for Everyone, in which nothing much happens. You feel good, and then you fall asleep. I'm Catherine Nicolai. I write and read all the stories you'll hear, and nothing much happens. Audio engineering is by Bob Wittersheim. We give to a different charity each week, and this week we are giving to Drone to Home UK. They help unite missing pets with their families by providing drone-based search and rescue and promoting humane behavior toward animals. Learn more about them in our show notes. I'd like to thank some recent premium subscribers. We could not continue to do what we do without your support, plain and simple.

So thank you, Michael. Thank you, Xander. Thank you, Martha. Thank you, Tiana. Subscribers get ad-free access to the show, as well as monthly bonus episodes, of which there are now over 40. And our extra-long episodes. We recently released one that is over eight hours long, so you can listen all night. To subscribe, which comes out to about a dime a day, head to the link in our notes, or go to nothingmuchappens.com. If we can occupy your mind just enough to keep it from wandering, you will sleep. And doing this night after night, you'll condition the response so that you'll fall asleep faster

and return to sleep much more easily if you wake in the night. All you need to do is listen. I'll tell the story twice, and I'll go a little slower the second time through. Our story tonight is called Backyard Sniffari, and it's a story about an afternoon in the grass with some of our favorite furry friends. It's also about dragonflies and warm patio stones, a fresh lemon slice in your glass of iced tea, a new friend on the other side of the fence, and the warm, settled feeling of a family living their real life. Now, it's time.

You are about to fall asleep. Let your whole body relax. Soften your jaw and your shoulders. You are safe. Nothing more is needed from you today. I'll be here guarding over you with my voice as you sleep. Take a deep breath

in through your nose and sigh from your mouth. Again, fill up. And release. Good. Backyard Snifari. The patio stones in the yard were warm from the sun, and Marmalade, my fluffy orange cat,

was stretched out on them, purring loudly. Her head was raised a bit, but her eyes closed in a sort of late summer stupor. Occasionally she flexed her claws against the stones. I called out to her, telling her to give up the ghost and just lay her head down, to give in to her obvious sleepiness. She just cracked one eye and meowed, as if telling me to mind my own business.

It wasn't bad advice, so I turned back to the magazine in my lap, which I'd been flipping through for ages. I had a bit of that same stupor. I wasn't necessarily sleepy. It was more that the bright sun and the warm air had slowed me down to half speed

and I found myself lost for minutes at a time watching the heavy heads of the sunflowers bob in the breeze, or the rise and fall of marmalade's side as she breathed. The magazine was full of pictures of pretty rooms, clean, sunny kitchens, and cozy bedrooms,

where the pillows were perfectly plumped and stacks of books matched by the size and color of their covers were evenly spaced on shelves. I liked imagining being in these spaces in the same way that I like to look at paintings at the museum or read titles at the library. I knew these photos took a small army of designers to pull off, and I had no expectation that our own house would ever look anything like them.

And that was fine with me. would ever look anything like them. And that was fine with me. Still, they were fun to flip through and wonder. What if we painted the hall upstairs this pretty pale blue what if we moved the sofa to the other wall in the living room and hung the picture of Birdie above the fireplace a dragonfly floated in the air in front of me for a moment and I watched it circle around to mar me The dragonfly floated in the air in front of me for a moment, and I watched it circle around to mar me, still swaying a bit on her stone.

I wondered if the buzz of the dragonfly and her own throttling purr would, I guess, harmonize, like two voices in a choir that started off discordant, but slowly fell into step. Just then, I heard the screen door behind me open and Crumb our little brown dog darted out running circles in the grass whatever the mechanism was

that slowed Marmee and me down, it seemed to have doubled his playback speed. He was a somewhat indistinguishable mix of breeds, with a riot of spiky fur, short legs, and big ears. When people asked us what he was, we answered, a lot of fun. He stopped his zooms for a moment to lick Marmalade's face, which she allowed, though she lifted one eyelid, to warn him that this little PDA better not go on for too long. I called him to me,

knowing he wasn't likely to know when enough was enough on his own. He bounded over, so happy in every moment. That was the true nature of his puppy heart. He was happy to see everyone, to do anything. Excitement came as naturally to him as breathing or wagging his tail. He hopped up onto the settee beside me and immediately flopped onto his back so I could rub his belly. I heard heavy paws on the patio beside me, and the final member of our four-legged crew ambled over.

Dear Birdie, a rescued greyhound brought a very different energy to the party part granddad part Eeyore he was a soft-hearted boy who preferred to have everyone in his family in one place. And once they were, he had nothing left on his agenda besides sleep.

He climbed up beside Kram and me, it sprawled out. I padded his long flank. And just as I was thinking he'd get overheated in the sun here, I heard the crank of the patio umbrella opening up over us, and looked up to see my sweetheart, who must have spotted the same need. Shade for Bertie, and what about you? Shade for me too, please, I said, and sighed as the coolness unfurled around us. Bertie let out a happy huff. We were a blended family,

and Marmee and Crum had been my babies. Birdie was his dad's boy. But lately he'd been spending more time by my side. We both had a deep love for sitting and doing barely anything, so we got along very well. I tapped a photo in the magazine

and said, I like this lamp. I think it would look good over the chair in the living room. He leaned down and looked at it appeasingly. This wasn't his bag, I knew that. We had different interests. When he sat down with a magazine, it was more likely to be about bicycles or board games,

but since this was interesting to me, he asked a question or two. Spent a moment listening to me explain the design on the shade, and finally nodded to say he agreed. He gave me a kiss on top of my head and took my empty glass from the side table, asking if I wanted a lemon slice in the next one. I did. Crumb's tummy rubs, having petered out,

he jumped down and began to sniff around the patio stones. Are you going on a sniffari, Crumb? I called to him. He looked up excitedly at me. This was our little joke. I'd even said it to a few other people, almost none of which had laughed. So, like I said, it was our joke, but we thought it was funny.

I eased Bertie's foot off my thigh and stood up to walk over to Crumb. He jumped up and then immediately dropped onto his elbows in a play bow. Was he completely sure what I was talking about? Probably not. Did he care? No. I beckoned him to follow, and we set off. Our yard wasn't very big, just a normal neighborhood lot with an old fence to mark the space. But Crum wasn't very big either, so it probably seemed huge to him.

We started in the side yard, where a patch of dark red lilies were still blooming. Crumb had his nose to the ground, sniffing away adventurously. He went right through the stems, and I laughed as he came through the other side, with dried leaves stuck in his scraggly hair. I leaned down to pick them out and found a pretty green caterpillar on his back. It was a swallowtail caterpillar, harmless but still we'd obviously interrupted its day Crumb hadn't noticed so I was able to easily sweep it into a leaf

and resettle it under the shrub whispering our apologies before we went on with our snafari. We followed the line of the fence. The family next door had adopted a pretty collie a month or so before. Her name was Butterbean, and she and Crumb sometimes played a game of bark and rung along the fence. I peeked over the top and said, Sorry, buddy, she's not outside right now. He huffed, and we ventured to the back of the yard,

around the shed where the mower was stored. I'd left a few empty flowerpots beside the door, and as I picked them up to tuck them inside, I heard an excited scrabble from under the elm tree, and then a muffled squeak. Hope he'd found it. A month before, I'd watched him bury one of his toys, a floppy reindeer he'd gotten last Christmas. The antlers had been chewed off the first day, but the rest of him had lasted, squeaker intact. The toy was covered with dirt,

probably really smelly, but Crumb was so happy to be reunited that I couldn't help but laugh. I looked back at Marmalade, finally sleeping in the sun. Bertie, having taken over my spot on the settee, stretched out and happy, and my recently refilled tea sweating on the table beside him. Crumb raced toward them with his rediscovered treasure in his teeth.

I noted gratefully that the screen door was shut, so at least he couldn't carry it in to chew on the couch. Our life didn't look like the one in the magazine. It was so much better. Backyard Snifari. The patio stones in the yard were sun and marmalade, my fluffy orange cat was stretched out on them, purring loudly. Her head was raised a bit, but her eyes closed in a sort of late summer stupor. She occasionally flexed her claws against the stones. I called out to her, telling her to give up the ghost and just lay her head down, to give in to her obvious sleepiness. cracked one eye, and meowed, as if telling me to mind my own business.

It wasn't bad advice, so I turned back to the magazine in my lap, which I'd been flipping through for ages. I had a bit of that same stupor. I wasn't necessarily sleepy. It was more that the bright sun and the warm air had slowed me down to half speed, and I found myself lost for minutes at a time. Watching the heavy heads of the sunflowers bob in the breeze, or the rise and fall of marmalade's side as she breathed. The magazine was full of pictures of pretty rooms, clean, sunny kitchens, cozy bedrooms, where the pillows were perfectly plumped

and stacks of books, matched by the size and color of their covers, were evenly spaced on shelves. I liked imagining being in these spaces, in the same way that I like to look at paintings at the museum or to read titles at the library. I knew these photos took a small army of designers to pull off, and I had no expectation that our own house would ever look anything like them, and that was fine with me. Still, they were fun to flip through and wonder. What if we painted the hall upstairs this pretty pale blue? What if we moved the sofa to the other wall in the living room and hung that picture of Birdie above the fireplace

a dragonfly floated in the air in front of me for a moment, and I watched it circle around to mar me, still swaying a bit on her stone. I wondered if the buzz of the dragonfly or her own throttling purr would I guess

harmonize like two voices in a choir that started off discordant but slowly fell into step. Just then, I heard the screen door behind me open,

and Crumb, our little brown dog, darted out, running circles in the grass. Whatever the mechanism was that slowed Marmee and me down, it seemed to have doubled his playback speed. He was a somewhat indistinguishable mix of breeds with a riot of spiky fur, short legs, and big ears.

When people asked us what he was, we answered, a lot of fun. He stopped his zooms for a moment to lick Marmalade's face, which she allowed, though she lifted one eyelid, to warn him that this little PDA better not go on for too long. I called him to me, knowing he wasn't likely to know when enough was enough on his own. He bounded over, so happy in every moment. That was the true nature of his puppy to see everyone, to do anything. Excitement came as naturally to him as breathing or wagging his tail. He hopped up onto the settee beside me and immediately flopped onto his back so I could rub his belly.

I heard heavy paws on the patio beside me and the final member of our four-legged crew ambled over. Dear Bertie, a rescued greyhound brought a very different energy to the party. Part granddad, part Eeyore. He was a soft-hearted boy who preferred to have everyone in his family in one place. And once they were, he had nothing left on his agenda besides sleep. He climbed up beside Crumb and me and sprawled out. I padded his long flank, and just as I was thinking he'd get overheated in the sun here, I heard the

crank of the patio umbrella opening up over us, and looked up to see my sweetheart, who must have spotted the same need. Shade for Birdie, and what about you? Shade for me too, please, I said, and sighed as the coolness unfurled around us. Birdie let out a happy huff. We were a blended family, and Marmee and Crum had been my babies. Birdie was his dad's boy, but lately he'd been spending more time by my side. We both had a deep love for sitting and doing barely anything, so we got along very well.

I tapped a photo in the magazine and said, I like this lamp. I think it would look good over the chair in the living room. He leaned down and looked at it appeasingly. This wasn't his bag. I knew that.

We had different interests. When he sat down with the magazine, it was more likely to be about bicycles when he sat down with a magazine. It was more likely to be about bicycles or board games. But since this stuff was interesting to me, he asked a question or two, spent a moment listening to me explain the design on the shade, and finally nodded to say he agreed.

Then he gave me a kiss on the top of my head and took my empty glass from the side table, asking if I wanted a lemon slice in the next one. I did. Cummy rubs having petered out. He jumped down and began to sniff around the patio stones. Are you going on a sniffari, Crumb? I called to him. He looked up excitedly at me. This was our little joke. I'd even said it to a few other people, almost none of whom had laughed.

So like I said, it was our joke. We thought it was funny. I eased Birdie's foot off my thigh and stood up to walk over to Crumb. I clapped my hands against my knees and said, Should we go on Snifari? He jumped up and then immediately dropped onto his elbows in a play bow.

Was he completely sure what I was talking about? Probably not. But did he care? No. I beckoned him to follow, and we set off. Our yard wasn't very big, just a normal neighborhood lot, with an old fence to mark the space. But Crumb wasn't very big either,

so it probably seemed huge to him. We started in the side yard, where a patch of dark red lilies were still blooming. Crumb had his nose to the ground, sniffing away adventurously. He went right through the stems, and I laughed as he came through the other side, with dried leaves stuck in his scraggly hair. I leaned down to pick them out and found a pretty green caterpillar on his back.

It was a swallowtail caterpillar. Harmless, but we'd obviously interrupted its day. Crumb hadn't noticed, so I was able to easily sweep it into a leaf and resettle it under the shrub, whispering our apologies before we went on with our snifari. We followed the line of the fence. The family next door had adopted a pretty collie a month or so before. Her name was Butterbean, and she and Crumb sometimes played a game of bark and run along the fence. I peeked over the top and said, Sorry, buddy. She's not outside right now. He huffed, and we ventured to the back of the yard,

around the shed where the mower was stored. I'd left a few empty flowerpots beside the door, and as I picked them up to tuck them inside I heard an excited scrabble from under the elm tree and then a muffled squeak. Oop, he'd found it. A month before, I'd watched him bury one of his toys, a floppy reindeer he'd gotten last Christmas.

The antlers had been chewed off the very first day, but the rest of him had lasted, squeaker intact. The toy was covered with dirt and probably pretty smelly, but Crumb was so happy to be reunited that I couldn't help but laugh. I looked back at Marmalade, finally sleeping in the sun. Birdie, having taken over my spot on the settee, was stretched out and happy, and my recently refilled tea was sweating on the table beside him.

Crumb raced toward them with his rediscovered treasure in his teeth. I noted, gratefully, that the screen door was shut, so at least he couldn't carry it in to chew on on the couch. Our life didn't look like the one in the magazine. It was so much better. Sweet dreams.