Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep - Crumb Comes Home

Episode Date: January 17, 2022

Our story tonight is called Crumb Comes Home and it’s a story about a little dog and his first few months with his new family. It’s also about learning new things, Christmas sweaters, and taking long naps when you know you’re home for good. Buy the book Get beautiful NMH merch Get autographed copies Get our ad-free and bonus episodesPurchase Our Book: https://bit.ly/Nothing-Much-HappensSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Welcome to Bedtime Stories for Grownups, in which nothing much happens. You feel good, and then you fall asleep. I'm Katherine Nicolai. I read and write all the stories you hear on Nothing Much Happens. Audio engineering is by Bob Wittersheim. If you enjoy these bedtime stories, I think you will find even more enjoyment from my book, also called Nothing Much Happens.

Along with favorite and never-before-heard stories, there are beautiful illustrations, recipes, guided meditations, and more. Available wherever books are sold, or along with our ad-free and bonus feeds at nothingmuchappens.com. Now, let me say a little about how this podcast works. The story I'm about to tell you is like a soft nest to settle your mind into. And you do that just by following along with the sound of my voice and the simple, soothing details of the story. I'll tell it twice, and I'll go a little slower the second time.

Just by listening, you are training your brain to shift into a focused, calm place rather than wandering. And over time, you'll notice that you'll fall asleep faster and return to sleep more easily. Building better habits takes time, so be patient. Now it's time to put down anything you've been looking at and switch off the light. Listen, you have done enough for the day. Please feel that down to your bones. It is enough. And your rest and comfort are important. So slide down into your sheets and get as comfortable as you can. Take a slow, deep breath in through the nose and let it out through your mouth. In and out. Good. Our story tonight is called Crumb Comes Home.

And it's a story about a little dog and his first few months with his new family. It's also about learning new things, matching Christmas sweaters, and taking long naps when you know you're home for good. Crum comes home. It had been about six months since Crum had come home. And when he had, he'd come to stay. since Crumb had come home. And when he had, he'd come to stay. He was a little brown dog with spiky, wiry hair and a lot of energy.

I wasn't sure what to expect when I'd driven home with him that day last fall I'd tucked him into his car seat beside me and piled some supplies into the footwell a big bag of kibble, a new leash and collar, his own food dishes, a sweater, and a new bed. He'd watched me load it all into the car, just thumping his tail against the seatbelt, and to the degree that a dog with a prominent snaggletooth

and a funny mustache can, he smiled. He didn't seem to be anxious at all, to be going somewhere with a stranger. Instead, he was excited and happy. He'd been waiting for me, and finally, I had shown up. I kept one hand on his back as we drove back to the house. He turned his head now and then to lick my wrist. We passed the park, and I promised him we'd go for a walk there soon. When we pulled into the driveway, I unclipped him from his seat and scooted him over onto my lap.

Now, crumb, I said in a low voice, "'when we go in, I'll introduce you to Marmalade.' "'He looked up at me, his mouth falling open a bit and panting excitedly. "'Now, she was here first, and she's the queen of the castle, okay? He closed his mouth and tilted his head to one side. I know, I know, but that's how it is. You and I were just her subjects, got it? He spotted a falling leaf outside the window and jumped onto the console beside me.

We'll talk more later, I laughed. As I scooped him up and carried him into the house. Marmalade, my orange kitty, now nearly two years old, and apparently having heard my car in the drive, was sitting on the third step in the hall. Her eyes got big when she saw Crumb in my arms, and she looked at me with shock. I carried him over and sat down on the step beside her with him in my lap.

We talked about it, I reminded her. You agreed I should bring him home. She looked like she had no such memory and slowly stretched out her nose toward him. He had been busy, looking around the room, struggling to get out of my arms to explore when he noticed her. And it was, well, I don't know how else to say it. For him, at least, it was love at first sight. His ears spread out low and soft on his head, and his little whip of a tail started wagging so fast it seemed to blur in the air. he dipped down into what might have been a play bow,

but didn't try to jump or choke. He just bowed down to her. Her face relaxed out of its previous shock, and she closed her eyes and lifted a paw to her mouth and began to bathe. No big deal, she seemed to say. I have this effect on people.

That first night, there was a slight dust-up when it came to sleeping arrangements. Crumb was so excited to be cuddled up in a nice big bed with a human that he was jumping from pillow to pillow. Marmy was clearly ready for her beauty rest, and the pup was disrupting her serenity. One swift hiss from her, and he dropped into the space beside my shoulder.

He turned around twice, and I pulled a blanket up over him. Marmee slept on the pillow on my other side, and that became the arrangement to this day. I soon learned that, though he was a few years old, there were plenty of things he'd never done before. One was walking on a leash. And we'd spent the autumn months learning as a team how to make walks safe and enjoyable. He turned out to be a quick learner.

He was a smart pup, and eager to please. So once he figured out that Mom had treats in her pocket, and that at least occasionally listening to her earned him some. He'd gotten the hang of a lot of things. He learned to ask to go out with a few yips at the back door, and he could sit and lay down and come when I called. He still ran from the bath, and twice I'd caught him breaking into the pantry to tear into a bag of treats. But even when he was a bad dog, he was a good boy. Marmalade had taught him to jump when the toast popped out of the toaster in the morning, and sometimes he even barked in excitement when it happened. In the winter, I'd put both their beds by the fire and poor Crumb just wanted to lay in marmalades with her. For a while she'd stalk out

whenever he attempted a cuddle. But one especially cold day when an icy wind was pushing through the tiny cracks in our old windows and doors, she tiptoed over into his bed and stretched out beside him. They'd slept like that a few hours. And when they woke, Marmee cleaned his face for him and purred while he wriggled beside her. And now that was how they napped most days. Sometimes when he chewed her cat toys or got too riled up with puppy energy, chasing a ball down the hall,

she'd meow in agitation, but I reminded her that once she'd been out in the snow, once she hadn't had a home or a family, and now that she did, she shouldn't begrudge Crumb his own. And in families, well, you have to have a little patience with one another. You have to give each other room to be individuals and make allowances for each other's differences. Then I would scoop her up into my arms and carry her to our chair by the window.

And I'd pet and soothe her while Crumb ran circles through the living room. He'll grow out of it, I whispered to her. At Christmas, they'd put up with matching sweaters and shown off for friends at a party on the 24th. Marmee sat haughtily with a few people on the sofa while Crumb's first Christmas, and I was excited for him when we woke up the next day. I gave him a box of fresh baked treats and a new ball. Marmee had been gifted one of my good scarves that I'd been trying to keep her from laying on.

I'd given up plucking her ginger hairs off of it and instead laid it in her bed with a sprinkling of catnip, and spent the morning sipping my coffee and watching them enjoy themselves. That's family too, just taking joy in theirs. Crumb comes home. in theirs. Crumb comes home. It had been about six months since Crumb had come home. And when he had,

he'd come to stay. He was a little brown dog, with spiky, wiry hair, and a lot of energy. I wasn't sure what to expect when I'd driven home with him that day last fall. I tucked him into his car seat beside me and piled some supplies into the footwell. A big bag of kibble, a new leash and collar, his own food dishes, a sweater, and a new bed. He'd watched me load it all into the car, just thumping his tail against the seatbelt. And to the degree that a dog with a prominent snaggletooth and a funny mustache can. He smiled.

He didn't seem to be anxious at all, to be going somewhere with a stranger. Instead, he was excited and happy. He'd been waiting for me when finally I had shown up. I kept one hand on his back as we drove to the house. He turned his head now and then to lick my wrist. We passed the park, and I promised him we'd go for a walk there soon. When we pulled into the driveway, I unclipped him from his seat and scooted him over onto my lap. Now, Crumb, I said in a low voice,

When we go in, I'll introduce you to Marmalade." He looked up at me, his mouth falling open a bit and panting excitedly. Now, she was here first, and she's the queen of the castle, okay? He closed his mouth and tilted his head to one side. I know, I know, but that's how it is. You and I are just her subjects. Got it? He spotted a falling leaf outside the window and jumped onto the console beside me.

Well, we'll talk more later, I laughed as I scooped him up and carried him into the house. Marmalade, my orange kitty, now nearly two years old, and apparently having heard my car in the drive, was sitting on the third step in the hall. Her eyes got big when she saw Crumb in my arms, and she looked at me with shock. I carried him over and sat down on the step beside her, with him in my lap.

We talked about it, I reminded her. You agreed I should bring him home. She looked like she had no such memory, and slowly stretched out her nose toward him. He had been busy looking around the room, struggling to get out of my arms to explore when he noticed her. And it was, well, I don't know how else to say it. For him, at least, it was love at first sight. His ears spread out low and soft on his head, and his little whip of a tail started wagging

so fast it seemed to blur in the air. He dipped down into what might have been a play bow, but didn't try to jump or joke. He just bowed down to her. Her face relaxed out of its previous shock, and she closed her eyes as she lifted a paw to her mouth and began to bathe. No big deal, she seemed to say. I have this effect on people.

That first night, there was a slight dust-up when it came to the sleeping arrangements, Crumb was so excited to be cuddled up in a nice big bed with a human that he was jumping from pillow to pillow. Marmee was clearly ready for her beauty rest, and the pup was disrupting her serenity. One swift hiss from her, and he dropped into the space beside my shoulder. He turned around twice

and I pulled a blanket up over him. Marmee slept on the pillow on my other side and that became the arrangement to this day. I soon learned that though he was a few years old, there were plenty of things he'd never done. One was walking on a leash, and we'd spent the autumn months learning as a team how to make walks safe and enjoyable. Crum turned out to be a quick learner. He was a smart pup and eager to please.

So once he figured out that Mom had treats in her pocket. And that, at least occasionally listening to her, earned him some. He'd gotten the hang of a lot of things. He learned to ask to go out with a few yips at the back door. And he could sit and lay down and come when I called him. He still ran from the bath, and twice I'd caught him breaking into the pantry to tear into a bag of treats. But even when he was a bad dog, he was a good boy. Marmalade had taught him to jump when the toast popped out of the toaster in the morning.

And sometimes he even barked in excitement when it happened. In the winter, I'd put both their beds by the fire. And poor Crumb just wanted to lay in marmalades with her. For a while, she'd stalk out whenever he attempted a cuddle. But one especially cold day, when an icy wind was pushing through the tiny cracks in our old windows and doors, she'd tiptoed over into his bed and stretched out beside him. They'd slept like that for a few hours, and when they woke, Marmee cleaned his face for him and purred while he wriggled beside her, and now that was how they napped most days. Sometimes when he chewed her cat toys,

or got too riled up with puppy energy, chasing a ball down the hall, she'd meow in agitation. But I reminded her that once she'd been out in the snow, once she hadn't had a home or a family. Now that she did, she shouldn't begrudge Crum his own. And in families, well, you have to have a little patience with one another. You have to give each other room to be individuals and make allowances for each other's differences. Then I would scoop her up into my arms and carry her to our chair by the window. And I'd pet and soothe her while Crumb ran circles through the living room.

He'll grow out of it, I whispered to her. At Christmas, they'd put up with our matching sweaters and shown off for friends at a party on the 24th. Marmee sat haughtily with a few people on the sofa while Crumb chased every thrown toy and begged for nibbles from the buffet. It was silly, maybe, but I kept thinking that it was Crumb's first Christmas. I was excited for him when we woke up the next day. I gave him a box of fresh baked treats and a new ball.

Marmee had been gifted one of my good scarves that I'd been trying to keep her from laying on. I'd given up plucking her ginger hairs off of it, and instead laid it in her bed with a sprinkling of catnip. spent the morning sipping my coffee and watching them enjoy themselves. That's family too, just taking joy in theirs. Sweet dreams.