Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep - Dog Walk

Episode Date: April 11, 2022

Our story tonight is called Dog Walk and it’s a story about a daily excursion out into the neighborhood streets. It’s also about games played through the fence, walking with a spring in your step and a window seat where you can watch the street. So get cozy and ready to sleep. Order the book now! Get our ad-free and bonus episodes.Purchase 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, with audio engineering by Bob Wittersheim. Get merch, bonus, and ad-free episodes all at nothingmuchhappens.com. Now, I have a story to tell you, and the story is simple, without much action, but full of relaxing detail. Our minds race, you know this. And this story is a way to move your mind off the expressway and onto an exit ramp toward a serene resting spot.

I'll tell the story twice, and I'll go a little slower the second time through. If you find that you are still awake at the end of the second telling, don't worry. Take yourself back through any of the details of the story that you remember. This also works if you wake in the middle of the night. Use the details to get right back on the exit ramp.

And before you know it, you'll be drifting off to peaceful sleep. Now, it's time to turn off the light and set aside anything you've been working on or looking at. Adjust your pillows and pull your blanket up over your shoulder. All of this preparation you are doing before you close your eyes is setting you up for an excellent night's sleep.

Sometimes it even helps to say to yourself, I'm about to fall asleep, and I'll sleep sound all night. Take a deep breath in through your nose. Let it out with a soft sigh. Let's do that again. Breathe in and out. Good. Our story tonight is called Dog Walk, and it's a story about a daily excursion out into the neighborhood streets.

It's also about games played through the fence, walking with a spring in your step, and a window seat where you can watch the whole street. Dog Walk where you can watch the whole street. Dog walk. It was our afternoon treat, now that the days were warming up and we could count on sunshine more often than not. After the lunch dishes were set to drip dry in the rack and the counters wiped down, I'd peer through the window over the sink to check the temperature on the thermometer screwed into the frame. It was one of those old ones on a swivel arm,

so that you could turn it to face through the window for easy viewing. It had been red once, though the paint was mostly chipped away, and it had the name of the local hardware store printed inside the dial. It was one of those small, inherited gifts that gets passed down when a house is sold from one person to another. Like the pencil sharpener in the basement, or the pegboard in the garage. I hadn't noticed it till after I'd signed the papers and was walking through the empty rooms with the keys in my hand. I'd leaned closer to the window and seen this old thermometer and smiled so wide. I love it.

So after lunch, I'd check the thermometer to see if we needed our coats. And we'd get ready for our walk. My cat, Marmalade, knew the routine, although she was unimpressed with the idea of going anywhere on a leash. She'd climb up into her window spot. A little hammock I'd rigged up. That let her supervise the whole street. And meow occasionally as I put on my shoes and found my sunglasses. was careful to spell out W-A-L-K around,

would start to jump and race from room to room with pure puppy excitement. It was time for our walk. Today felt a lot closer to spring than yesterday had. Like a hand on a giant clock somewhere that had been dragging slowly and had finally ticked into place. I'd worn just a light sweater and decided not to wrestle

crumb into his. The air was warm and full of the scent of budding trees and fresh blades of grass. So I buckled him into his harness, and we stepped outside. Marmalade watched us from the window, her tail flicking lazily in the air. She couldn't fool us. She may feign disinterest from her perch, but we knew she would keep track of us for as long as she could see us

and look for us as we came back around the block. I waved at her, and Crum and I set out. Crum was still a little new to walks, and though he was a few years old, still chock full of young dog energy. And the first block or so, he pulled me with so much spirit and spark that I'd often thought about getting him a wagon that he could pull, or a sleigh and a glowing red nose for next winter.

I'd learned to keep a pocket full of treats handy and reward him for listening, for stopping, for sitting. And soon he'd burned through that initial burst, and we were walking quite companionably down the sidewalk. When we came to a corner, I'd ask him to stop, and he would.

Then I'd let him pick. He'd sniff the air and point his nose left or right, and off we'd go. Sometimes we'd circle the same block a few times, but what did I care? It was something I'd learned early on, walking Crumb. This was his walk. I let him sniff till he was well and properly done with each tree root and curb. A friend had explained it to me when I first got him, and mentioned that our walkies seemed to lead us nowhere.

She'd compared it to me browsing in a bookshop. If you only got to read two words on the back of a cover before being pulled on to look at something else, it would drive you crazy. Crumb needs to get the story from each spot he stops at, and then to move on when he's ready. Well, I could certainly sympathize with wanting to read the blurb on the back of every book. So I'd learned to be patient. And in between sniffing, he was so fun to watch. He had a smart little doggy trot that made me laugh

whenever he got going on all cylinders I could see his quick mind jumping from the robin on the fence post to the garbage bin set out at the end of a drive. He chased leaves as they tumbled in the breeze and more than once took an experimental bite out of a fluffy dandelion without breaking pace. He wanted to know about everything, and I liked his boundless curiosity, though I hoped it would never extend to skunks.

Today, we meandered from street to street, and while I waited for him to thoroughly sniff a fire hydrant, I noticed a small, shrubby stand of pussy willows in bloom. I reached out to touch the soft, fuzzy nubs that were about to split into petal-less flowers for bees to tumble through in the coming weeks. I would put it in my journal when we got home. I liked to mark down the first robin of spring,

the first flower and budding tree. And compare them year to year. Crumb had finished checking his pee mail. I reminded him most of it was spam anyway, and he didn't have to hit reply all each time. And we turned

another corner, closer to home. I heard some snuffling coming from under the edge of a tall wooden fence and smiled. This was one of Crumb's favorite stops. We couldn't quite see the dog who lived here through the slats in the fence. But Crumb and he communicated just fine.

There was a quick bark, and they both dashed down the length of the fence, barked again, and raced back. I let out a bit more of the lead and stepped back to let them carry on. At a certain point, a winner was decided. It was Crum, at least. According to Crum, it was crumb.

He turned toward home with a swagger, and off we went. His walk had changed after being out for a bit. It was confident, happy, and relaxed now. Wherever he was going, he expected to find something exciting, something to play with. And since we often see what we go looking for, it seemed a good reminder to step out of my door with a bit more optimism and confidence in where my own two feet could take me. From the corner, we could see Marmee in the window.

She pretended to be watching birds at the feeder, but we both knew. She had her eye on us. As we came through the door, she jumped down and strolled over. I stroked her back as I took off Crumb's leash, and she wriggled past and under his chin, letting her long orange tail thwack him in the face. They stared each other down for a few seconds, then bounded off in another game of chase. Dog walk. It was our afternoon treat.

Now that the days were warming up, and we could count on sunshine more often than not. After the lunch dishes were set to drip dry in the rack when the counters wiped down. I'd peer through the window over the sink to check the temperature on the thermometer screwed into the frame. It was one of those old ones on a swivel arm so that you could turn it to face through the window for easy viewing.

It had been red once, though the paint was mostly chipped away, and it had the name of the local hardware store printed inside the dial. It was one of those small inherited gifts that gets passed down when a house is sold from one person to another. like the pencil sharpener in the basement or the pegboard in the garage. I hadn't noticed it till after I'd signed the papers and was walking through the empty rooms with the keys in my hand.

I'd leaned closer to the window and seen this old thermometer and smiled so wide. I loved it. So after lunch, I'd check the thermometer to see if we needed our coats, and we'd get ready for our walk. My cat, Marmalade, knew the routine,

although she was unimpressed with the idea of going anywhere on a leash. She'd climb up into her window spot, a little hammock I'd rigged up that let her supervise the whole street, and meow occasionally as I put on my shoes and found my sunglasses. Crum, my scruffy little dog, who I was careful to spell out W-A-L-K around, would start to jump and race from room to room with pure puppy excitement.

It was time for our walk. Today felt a lot closer to spring than yesterday had. Like a hand on a giant clock somewhere that had been dragging slowly and had finally ticked into place. I'd worn just a light sweater and decided not to wrestle Crumb into his. The air was warm and full of the scent of budding trees and fresh blades of grass. So I buckled him into his harness, and we stepped outside.

Marmalade watched us from the window, her tail flicking lazily in the air. She couldn't fool us. She may feign disinterest from her perch, but we knew she would keep track of us for as long as she could see us and watch for us as we came back around the block.

I waved at her and Krum and I set out. Krum was still a little new to walks and though he was a few years old still chock full of young dog energy on the first block or so he pulled me with so much spirit and spark

that I'd often thought about getting him a wagon that he could pull, or a sleigh and a glowing nose for next winter. I'd learned to keep a pocket full of treats handy and to reward him for listening, for stopping, for sitting. And soon, he'd burned through that initial burst, and we were walking quite companionably down the sidewalk. When we came to a corner, I'd ask him to stop. And he would.

Then, I'd let him pick. He'd sniff the air and point his nose left or right. And off we'd go. Sometimes we'd circle the same block a few times. But what did I care? It was something I'd learned early on till he was well and properly done with each tree root and curb. A friend had explained it to me when I first got him, and had mentioned that our walkies

seemed to lead us nowhere. She compared it to me browsing in a bookshop. If you only got to read two words on the back of a cover before being pulled on to look at something else, it would drive you crazy. Crumb needs to get the story from each spot he stops at, and then to move on when he's ready. Well, I could certainly sympathize

with wanting to read the blurb on the back of every book. So I'd learned to be patient. And in between sniffing, he was so fun to watch. He had a smart little doggy trot that made me laugh whenever he got going on all cylinders. I could see his quick mind jumping from the robin on the fence post to the than once took an experimental bite out of a fluffy dandelion without breaking pace. He wanted to know about everything, and I liked his boundless curiosity, though I hoped it would never extend to skunks. we meandered from street to street.

And while I waited for him to thoroughly sniff a fire hydrant, I noticed a small shrubby stand of pussy willows in bloom. I reached out to touch the soft, fuzzy nubs that were about to split into petalless flowers for bees to tumble through in the coming weeks. I would put it in my journal when we got home. I liked to mark down the first robin of spring, the first flower and budding tree. And compare them year to year.

Crumb had finished checking his pee mail. I reminded him most of it was spam anyway. And he didn't have to hit reply all each time. And we turned another corner, closer to home. I heard some snuffling coming from under the edge of a tall wooden fence and smiled. This was one of Crumb's favorite stops. We couldn't quite see the dog

who lived here through the slats in the fence. But Crumb and he communicated just fine. There was a quick bark, and they both dashed down the length of the fence, barked again, and raced back. I let out a bit more of the lead and stepped back to let them carry on. At a certain point, a winner was At least, according to Crum, it was Crum. He turned toward home with a swagger, and off we went. His walk had changed after being out for a bit. It was confident, happy, and relaxed now. Wherever he was going, he expected to find something exciting, something to play with. And since we often see what we go looking for,

it seemed a good reminder to step out of my door with a bit more optimism and confidence in where my own two feet could take me. From the corner, we could see Marmee in the window. She pretended to be watching birds at the feeder, but we both knew she had her eye on us. As we came through the door, she jumped down and strolled over. I stroked her back as I took off Crumb's leash, and she wriggled past and under his chin, letting her long orange tail thwack him in the face.

They stared each other down for a few seconds, then bounded off in another game of chase. Sweet dreams.