Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep - Outside At Night, With My Dog

Episode Date: December 1, 2025

Our story tonight is called Outside at Night, with my Dog, and it’s a story that you might have read if you have my book, but has never appeared on the podcast before. I picked it to read for you this week in tribute to my own dogs, as we are healing from loss and stories are medicine. It’s a story about waking with a loved one when the moon is high. It’s also about flower bulbs and a heavy quilt, the scent of the night air as winter arrives and the warmth that comes from being there with the ones you love. Subscribe to our ⁠⁠Premium channel.⁠⁠ The first month is on us. 💙 Nature’s Sunshine is offering 20% off your first order plus free shipping. Go to ⁠⁠⁠https://www.naturessunshine.com⁠⁠⁠ and use the code NOTHINGMUCH at checkout. We give to a different charity each week, and this week we are giving to ⁠Tiny Paws Atlanta⁠. Their mission is to take in small dogs in need and rehabilitate them and then place them into the most suitable and loving fur-ever homes. ⁠⁠NMH Merch, Autographed Books and More!⁠⁠ ⁠⁠Listen to our daytime show ⁠⁠Stories from the Village of Nothing Much⁠⁠ ⁠⁠Sit Meditation with Kathryn⁠⁠ ⁠⁠Pay it forward subscription⁠⁠  Follow us on ⁠⁠Instagram⁠⁠ Visit ⁠⁠Nothing Much Happens⁠⁠ for more Village fun! Adventures of Marmalade, Crumb, and Birdy! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Get more. Nothing Much Happens with bonus episodes, extra long stories, and ad-free listening, all while supporting the show you love. Subscribe now. You know those afternoons when your brain just sort of stops cooperating? You're staring at your laptop, clicking between tabs, trying to remember what unearth you were doing. That used to be the moment when I would... trooped down to the kitchen and make another coffee and hope for the best. And I might wind up jittery and crashing later. So I started using Brain Edge from Nature's Sunshine.

It's a plant-powered drink mix that combines hand-harvested Yerba Mata with powerful neutropics to support focus, memory, and cognitive performance without the crash. And what I notice is simple. I can think clearly again. the fog lifts. I stay present and actually finish what I start. The new tropic botanicals enhance focus and clarity. Ingredients like Bacopa and Ginko support memory and mental stamina, and the Yerba Mante gives smooth, sustained energy without the jitters or the crash. I also like knowing that the Yerba Mata is wild harvested by indigenous communities in the South American

rainforests, and that Nature's Sunshine has over 50 years of experience sourcing pure, potent ingredients. So don't fight through feeling foggy and lethargic. Ignite your mental performance with brain edge. Nature's Sunshine is offering 20% off your first order, plus free shipping. Go to Nature's Sunshine.com and use the code Nothing Much at checkout. That's code nothing much at naturesonsshine.com. Welcome to bedtime stories for everyone, in which nothing much happens. You feel good, and then you fall asleep. I'm Catherine Nikolai. I write and read all the stories you hear when nothing much happens. Audio engineering is by Bob Wittersheim.

we give to a different charity each week and this week we are giving to Tiny Pause Atlanta their mission is to take in small dogs in need and rehabilitate them and place them into the most suitable and loving forever homes learn more about them in our show notes for ad-free and bonus episodes click subscribe in Spotify or Apple

or go to Nothing Much Happens.com. Since every episode is someone's first, I like to say a little about how this works. Silence at bedtime is a modern phenomena. Our ancestors rested in environments where the fire crackled, other members of the group stirred or talked, and the world outside.

made gentle noises. In other words, dark nights were accompanied by the sounds of safety, warmth, and company, which is why a soft voice and soothing words can lull you to sleep. The more you listen, the more reliable, your ability to fall and return to sleep will become. I'll tell the story twice. and I'll go a little bit slower the second time through. If you wake later in the night, don't hesitate to restart the episode. Our story tonight is called

Outside at Night with my dog, and it's a story that you might have read if you have my book, but has never appeared on the podcast before. I picked it to read for you this week in tribute to my own dogs as we are healing from loss and stories are medicine

it's a story about waking with a loved one when the moon is high it's also about flower bulbs and a heavy quilt the scent of the night air as winter arrives and the warmth that comes from being there with the ones you love.

It's time. Get as comfortable as you can. There is nothing left to do. You can let go of everything now. And if letting go feels difficult, why not just let me hold it for right now? Here, give it to me. I've got it now.

you just rest take a deep breath in through your nose and sigh from your mouth one more time breathe in and let it out good

outside at night with my dog I heard the soft pad of my dog's paws as he stopped beside the bed my ears were programmed to him by now I heard when he sighed in the night or turned over in his bed

and when he got up to stand quietly beside me. I heard that, too. He was an old boy, his muzzle gray, and his gait slow and careful. Our walks had gotten a bit shorter, but today he'd seen a squirrel, racing along the sidewalk,

and had suddenly found a bit of young dog energy in his limbs. He'd pulled me, chasing down the path. Thankfully he hadn't caught it, but he liked the chase, barking as the squirrel ran up a tree and teased him. chittering away in the language of small animals who know how quick they are. I patted his head and told him he tried his best, and shouldn't we be getting on to the park? I reached out now to rest my hand on him, swung my feet to the floor, sleepy, but understood. As he had gotten older, he sometimes needed to go out in the middle of the night, and I didn't mind at all.

I wrapped my robe around me, pushed my feet into slippers, and we padded down the stairs and out to the backyard. Most times, I just let him out and back in a few minutes later. But something about the way the air smelled, as I opened the door, pulled me out with him. It was pitch black, deep night, around 3 a.m. And we were in those weeks when the weather played back and forth between autumn and winter. The cold air opened my eyes, and I turned them upward to see a clear sky lit by stars and a moon, and a moon. A little past half-fall.

Waxing, gibbuss, I thought. After my dog had come back to my side, we both stood very still and just listened. Summer nights have buzzing bugs, croaking frogs, and a sort of sourceless hum. that comes from nowhere in particular but is simply present in the air. Maybe it is the fecundity of growing, surging plants, or just the buzz of liveliness that is left over from a day in the sun.

But it is undoubtedly noisy. There is a particular sound that can only be heard in the middle of the night, in the near winter. A shocking quiet. There were no cars driving past, no animals up and about besides us. and there was only the faintest sound of a very light wind moving through the empty branches high above us.

The land was sleeping. Her creatures curled in dens settling in for the new season. Bulbs were deep under mulch and dirt. Only dreaming now of the bright pinks and purples and yellows they would unfold into in the spring. We stood a moment more, and I let the cold air nip at my fingers

and move over the back of my neck knowing that I'd be back in my warm bed soon. I took a few very deep breaths and under the spicy scent of dry leaves, there was something clean and clear in the air. I thought it might be snow. These clear skies could be thick with clouds tomorrow. And if we got up again in the middle of the night,

as we probably would, we could be standing under the first falling flakes of the season. I bent down and put down and planted a slow kiss on the top of my old boy's head. Then we turned and went back inside. He stopped for a drink of water. I had one too. And then we slowly took the stairs back up to bed.

He turned a few times. and settled onto his big cushion. I spread his blanket over him and tucked it around his back. He'd be asleep in seconds. We could all learn this from dogs. They go from completely awake to deeply asleep in moments

and reverse it just as easily. I slipped off my robe and slippers and pulled back the heavy quilt on my bed. I slid down into the sheets and smoothed the quilt over me. I felt the chill go out of my body by degrees until even the tips of my toes were warm again.

My thought of the changing season, of the very quiet wind outside, and how grateful I was that my dog had taken me out into it. This is a gift our friends give us. They take us places we wouldn't go on our road, and show us things we'd have otherwise missed. I took a slow breath,

turned down to one side, and tugged the quilt up over my shoulder. I felt myself drifting toward sleep. I'd pull some of today into my dreams as I nodded off. The squirrel, flicking her tail high up in the tree. The pull on the leash, as my dog had suddenly wanted to run. The waxing moon and the sleeping land. The possibility of snow.

Yes, I was likely to. to be awakened again tomorrow night, and money nights after that. But I was happy for it. Outside, at night, with my dog. I heard the soft pad of my dog's paws, as he stopped beside the bed. My years were programmed to him by now. I heard when he sighed in the night or turned over in his bed.

And when he got up to stand quietly beside me, I heard that too. He was an old boy. his muzzle gray and his gait slow and careful. Our walks had gotten a bit shorter, but today he'd seen a squirrel racing along the sidewalk and had suddenly found a bit of a bit of young dog, energy in his limbs. He'd pulled me, chasing down the path. Thankfully, he hadn't caught it, but he liked the chase. Barking as the squirrel ran up a tree and teased him, chittering away.

in the language of small animals who know how quick they are. I patted his head and told him he tried his best. And shouldn't we be getting on to the park? I reached out now to rest my hand on him. swung my feet to the floor, sleepy, but understanding. As he had gotten older, he sometimes needed to go out in the middle of the night. I didn't mind at all. I wrapped my robe around me.

and pushed my feet into slippers. And we padded down the stairs and out to the backyard. Most times I'd just let him out and back in a few minutes later. But something about the world, the way the air smelled as I opened the door pulled me out with him. It was pitch black, deep night, around 3 a.m.

And we were in those weeks when the weather played back and forth. between autumn and winter. The cold air opened my eyes, and I turned them upward to see a clear sky, lit by stars, and a moon, a little past half-full, Waxing gibbous, I thought.

After my dog had come back to my side, we both stood very still and just listened. Summer nights have buzzing bugs, croaking frogs. and a sort of sourceless hum that comes from nowhere in particular but is simply present in the air. Maybe it is the fecundity of growing, surging plants, or just the buzz of liveliness. that is left over from a day in the sun. But it is undoubtedly noisy. There is a particular sound

that can be heard only in the middle of the night in the near winter, a shocking quiet. There were no cars driving past, no animals up and about besides us. And there was only the faintest sound of a very light wind moving through the empty branch.

high above. The land was sleeping. Her creatures curled in dens. Settling in for the new season. Bulbs were deep under mulch and dirt. Only dreaming now of the bright. pinks and purples and yellows they would unfold into in the spring. We stood a moment more, and I let the cold air nip at my fingers and move over the back of my neck,

knowing that I'd be back in my warm bed soon. I took a few very deep breaths. And under the spicy scent of dry leaves, there was something clean and clear in the air. I thought it might be snow. These clear skies could be thick with clouds tomorrow. And if we got up again in the middle of the night, as we probably would,

we could be standing under the first, under the first falling flakes of the season. I bent down and planted a slow kiss on the top of my old boy's head and we turned and went back inside. He stopped for a drink of water I had one too and then we slowly took the stairs

back up to bed he turned a few times and settled onto his big soft cushion I spread his blanket over him and tucked it in around his back. He'd be asleep in seconds. We should all learn this from dogs. They can go from completely awake

to deeply asleep in moments and reverse it just as easily. I slipped off my robe and slippers and pulled back the heavy quilt on my bed I slid down into the sheets and smoothed the quilt over me I felt the chill go out of my body

by degrees until even the tips of my toes were warm again my thought of the changing season of the very quiet wind outside and how grateful I was that my dog had taken me out into it

This is a gift our friends give us. They take us places we wouldn't go on our own and show us things we'd have otherwise missed. I took a slow breath and turned onto one side. tugging the quilt up over my shoulder. I felt myself drifting toward sleep. I'd pull some of today into my dreams as I nodded off. The squirrel, flicking her tail,

high in the tree the pull on the leash as my dog had suddenly wanted to run the waxing moon and the sleeping land the possibility of snow Yes, I was likely to be awakened again tomorrow night

And many nights after that But I was happy for it Sweet dreams