Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep - Muddy Paws

Episode Date: February 19, 2024

Our story tonight is called Muddy Paws, and it’s a story about a walkoutside with Village pups Crumb and Birdie, and the inevitable aftermath. It’s also about a rubber ducky, a field full of good spots to stop and sniff, a bed laid out in the sunshine and the feeling of being safe and content at home with family. We give to a different charity each week, and this week, we are giving to Mondays atRacine Cancer Care, providing hands-on integrative wellness and beauty services toanyone undergoing cancer treatment of any kind. https://mondaysatracine.org 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 NMH Premium channel on Apple podcast or follow the link belowhttps://www.nothingmuchhappens.com/premium-subscription Listen to our new show Stories from the Village of Nothing Much on your favoritepodcast app.  https://www.nothingmuchhappens.com/stories-from-the-villagePurchase 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 Katherine Nicolai. I create everything you hear on Nothing Much Happens. Audio engineering is by Bob Wittersheim. We give to a different charity each week, and this week we're giving to Mondays at Racine Cancer Care,

providing hands-on integrative wellness and beauty services to anyone undergoing cancer treatment of any kind. Learn more at the link in our show notes. If you would like to support what we do, as well as get ad-free and bonus episodes of our shows, we'd love to have you. There is a link in our notes, or you can just search NMH Premium on your Apple Podcast app. This month's bonus story is called Cold Comfort, and it's about a little dog named Minnow

and her person making the best of a chilly Sunday. A real letter sent through the mail, and how play can heal. It's available right now to subscribers. Now, let me say a little about how this works. Without some path to follow, your mind can easily wander. And often it's that wandering that keeps you up.

It's why you can barely keep your eyes open when you're reading a book. But when you turn off the light and curl up, you're suddenly wide awake again. So the story I have for you, it's just a gentle path to follow and by listening to the sound of my voice we'll keep you from wandering and we'll settle your mind into sleep I'll tell the story twice and I'll go a little slower the second time through if you wake later in the night, don't hesitate

to turn the story right back on. Listeners tell me that when they do that, they're often back to sleep within seconds. Our story tonight is called Muddy Paws, and it's a story about a walk outside with village pups, Crum and Birdie, and the inevitable aftermath. It's also about a rubber ducky, a field full of good spots to stop and sniff, a bed laid out in the sunshine, and the feeling of being safe and content at home with family. So, it's time. Lights out. Devices down.

Get as comfortable as you can. Arrange pillows and blankets until you are completely at ease. You are safe. I will be here, keeping watch, guarding you with my voice. Let's take a deep breath in through the nose, out through your mouth. Nice. One more time. Breathe in. And out.

Good. Muddy pause. It had been worth it. The long walk through the neighborhood and out into the field beyond the dead end. We hadn't been able to go out in so long. There had just been too much ice and snow. But this week, after several days of warmer weather, nearly all of it was melted.

The sun was out, and the air smelled new. We'd still needed to bundle up, us in our coats and the dogs in their jackets. But as soon as we stepped outside, I think still-damp sidewalks, trying to avoid the rivulets of melt on the puddles. We'd spotted a few robins at the feeder and squirrels visiting their pantries, planted among tree roots and shrubs. Our little dog, crumb, brown and scraggly and full of energy, pulled at his leash.

He would have gladly run at full speed and for a bit I jogged with him and I could feel the pure joy of movement radiating up through his leash into my hand. Our rescued greyhound, Birdie, could have beat us all without even trying, but he was happy to stroll, and once Crum and I slowed, we all caught up together.

Crumb was sniffing at every tree and curb, and Bertie blinked contentedly into the sunshine. We waved at neighbors as we passed. Lots of folks were taking in the fair weather, and plenty of other pooches were out in their yard or following their noses along the sidewalk. We came to where the pavement ended and paused to look out at the field beyond. Should we? I asked. It's gotta be pretty muddy out there.

Well, I hate to break it to you, but they are both already a mess, so we may as well let them enjoy it. I stooped down and observed that, indeed, both Crumb and Birdie were muddy and spattered. Paws and undercarriage, and even Crum's neck and face were wet. I laughed and shook my head, wondering why I had expected anything different. And we headed off the path and into the open field. I could see Crumb's senses working over time. His brain, like a supercomputer running a thousand equations at once,

was processing so many smells and textures and impulses as he darted from one bit of scrub and clump of still-frozen grass to another. He would sleep like a little furry log after this. Birdie, however, like he'd arrived at an event he didn't have much interest in but was too polite to decline, took a few steps toward a tree and feigned a sniff. He came back towards us and just stood patiently,

resigned to waiting it out while his brother had his fun. After another ten minutes or so of the blur that was crumb, filling his puppy cup with joy, and just as I realized he was contemplating rolling in something, I called his name,

gave his leash a little tug, and he ran back to us. I could feel the cold now working its way up through the earth and into my feet and we turned back to the sidewalk and headed for home. It had been worth it.

Or at least, I thought so. Would Crumb and Birdie agree after they realized it was about to be bath time? We chuckled as we came up the driveway to the back door where we had a stash of old towels we knew we were about to be demoted in the eyes of these two

from best parents ever to well our names would be mud. Inside the back door, we kicked off our boots and wrapped the dogs in towels. We awkwardly fumbled them down the hall to the bathroom, laying out more towels on the floor as I started to run the bath. Bertie cut his eyes sidelong at me and gave a long, suffering sigh as the water splashed into the tub. Crumb went into a silly spiral of panic.

He zoomed around the bathroom, leaving muddy paw prints on the towels and then attempting to burrow under them. I scooped him up and soothed him, telling him he was a good boy and that he'd be so handsome after a shampoo. In they went together, and we both knelt down beside the tub and started scrubbing. The warm water must have felt pretty good because after a few moments of uncertainty, they both relaxed a bit.

I took down Crumb's rubber ducky from a shelf, and he chewed on it as I lathered him up. His fur was thick and fuzzy and chocolate brown. It would stick out all over when it was dry, making him look like his crunchy namesake. I rinsed out the shampoo and squeezed the excess water out of his ears. He looked so little. My little energetic boy. I leaned in and touched my nose to his and got splashed as his tail began to beat against the water. Beside us, Birdie was patiently giving his dad one paw at a time to be cleaned. His fur was short and a beautiful gray that was almost blue. when he'd first been rescued, there were lots of things about living in a house with a family that were totally new to him.

He'd never walked up a set of stairs before. He'd never slept on a sofa or had a bath. Now, as he let his dad rinse the soap off his long back, he seemed so comfortable and trusting. I was so proud and happy for him. More towels, more wrapping them up, and lots more of us getting splashed as they shook the water out of their fur. I brushed Crumb's fur out, towel-drying and cleaning his ears as he wriggled around in my arms. Bertie's fur was so short that he dried nearly instantly. about to open the bathroom door and release the tornado that would be crumb,

rushing to rub himself on the rugs, we heard a long meow and noticed an orange paw poking out from under the door. Marmalade had arrived and wanted to know what we were all doing without her. I cracked the door as she pulled her paw back and looked up at me with affronted eyes. Believe me, I said, you wouldn't have wanted to come to this party. Crumb pushed past me and started zooming up and down the hallway, and Bertie slipped out behind him, on his way to his bed in the sunny front room. Crumb raced up to Marmalade. She leaned in close to him, smelling the unmistakable perfume of wet dog,

and shook her head with an almost audible, yuck. We had a whole wash load of towels to clean up, and a bathroom floor that needed mopping. But we were both smiling goofily. It had been worth it. Muddy pause. It had been worth it.

The long walk through the neighborhood and out into the field beyond the dead end. We hadn't been able to go out in so long. There had just been too much ice and snow. But this week, after several days of warmer weather, nearly all of it was melted. The sun was out, and the air smelled new. We'd still needed to bundle up, us in our coats and the dogs in their jackets.

But as soon as we stepped outside, I think we all felt the boost of some fresh air and time out of doors. As we tromped down the still damp sidewalks, trying to avoid the rivulets of melt and the puddles. We'd spotted a few robins at a feeder and squirrels visiting their pantries planted among tree roots and shrubs. Our little dog Crumb, brown and scraggly and full of energy, pulled at his leash.

He would have gladly run at full speed, and for a bit I jogged with him and could feel the pure joy of movement radiating up through his leash into my hand. Our rescued greyhound, Birdie, could have beat us all without even trying, but he was happy to stroll. And once Crumb and I slowed at every tree and curb, and Bertie blinked contentedly into the sunshine. We waved at neighbors as we passed. Lots of folks were taking in the fair weather, and plenty of other pooches were out in their yards or following their noses along the sidewalks. We came to where the pavement ended

and paused to look out at the field beyond. Should we? I asked. It's got to be pretty muddy out there. Well, I hate to break it to you, but they are both already a mess, so we may as well let them enjoy it. I stooped down and observed that, indeed, both Crumb and Birdie were muddy and spattered. Paws and undercarriage and even Crum's neck and face were wet. I laughed and shook my head, wondering why I had expected anything different. And we headed off the path and into the open field. I could see Crumb's senses working overtime.

His brain like a supercomputer running a thousand equations at once, was processing so many smells and textures and impulses as he darted from one bit of scrub and clump of still-frozen grass to another. He would sleep like a little furry log after this. Birdie, however, like he'd arrived at an event he didn't have much interest in but was too polite to decline, took a few steps toward a tree and feigned a sniff. He came back towards us and just stood patiently, resigned to waiting it out while his brother had his fun.

After another ten minutes or so of the blur that was crumb, filling his puppy cup with joy, and just as I realized he was contemplating rolling in something, I called his name, gave his leash a little tug, and he ran back to us. I could feel the cold now working its way up through the earth and into my feet, and we turned back to the sidewalk and headed for home. It had been worth it, or at least I thought so.

Would Crumb and Birdie agree after they realized it was about to be bath time? We chuckled as we came up the driveway to the back door where we had a stash of old towels. We knew we were about to be demoted in the eyes of these two. From best parents ever to, well, our names would be mud. Inside the back door,

we kicked off our boots and wrapped the dogs in towels. We awkwardly fumbled them down the hall to the bathroom, laying out more towels on the floor as I started to run the bath. Bertie cut his eyes sidelong at me and gave a long, suffering sigh as the water splashed into the tub. Crumb went into a silly spiral of panic. He zoomed around the bathroom, leaving muddy paw prints on the towels and attempting to burrow under them. I scooped him up and soothed him, telling him he was a good boy and that he'd be so handsome after a shampoo.

In they went together, and we both knelt down beside the tub and started scrubbing. The warm water must have felt pretty good, because after a few moments of uncertainty, they both relaxed a bit. I took down Crumb's rubber ducky from a shelf, and he chewed on it as I lathered him up. His fur was thick and fuzzy and chocolate brown. It would stick out all over when it was dry, making him look like his crunchy namesake. I rinsed out the shampoo and squeezed the excess water out of his ears. He looked so little, my little energetic boy. I leaned in and touched my nose to his and got splashed as his tail began to beat against the water. Beside us, Bertie was patiently giving his dad one paw at a time to be cleaned. His fur was short and a beautiful gray that was almost blue.

When he'd first been rescued, there were lots of things about living in a house with a family that were totally new to him. He'd never walked up a set of stairs before. He'd never slept on a sofa or had a bath. Now, as he let his dad rinse the soap off his long back, he seemed so comfortable and trusting. I was so proud and happy for him. more towels, more wrapping them up, and lots more of us getting splashed as they shook the water out of their fur. I brushed Crumb's fur out, towel drying and clinging his ears as he wriggled around in my arms. Bertie's fur was so short that he dried nearly instantly. just as we were about to open the bathroom door and release the tornado that would be crumb

rushing to rub himself on the rugs we heard a long meow and noticed an orange paw poking out from under the door. Marmalade had arrived, and she wanted to know what we were all doing without her. I cracked the door as she pulled her paw back and looked up at me with affronted eyes. Believe me, I said, you wouldn't have wanted to come to this party.

Crumb pushed past me and started zooming up and down the hallway. And Bertie slipped out behind him on his way to his bed in the sunny front room. Crumb raced up to Marmalade. She leaned in close to him, smelling the unmistakable perfume of wet dog, and shook her head

with an almost audible yuck. We had a whole wash load of towels to clean up and a bathroom floor that needed mopping, but we were both smiling goofily. It had been worth it. Sweet dreams.