Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep - W-A-L-K (Encore)

Episode Date: June 11, 2026

Pre-register for the new Nothing Much Happens App here. Originally Aired: June 16, 2025 (Season 15, Episode 48) Our story tonight is called W-A-L-K, and it’s a story about a little brown dog and his favorite outdoor activity. It’s also about the smell of watered lawns in the evening, a frisbee and friends from down the block, porch lights and watermelon, and the moment when you close the door on the day. Subscribe to our Premium channel. The first month is on us. Sign up for our newsletter to stay in the know. Pre-order Kathryn’s new book, On the Street Where You Live. 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. 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. Hi, I'm Catherine Nikolai, and if you're looking for something gentle to listen to that isn't news or true crime or self-improvement, I made this for you. Stories from the Village of Nothing Much is like easy listening, but for fiction. Cozy, warm, calm stories, about ordinary moments that feel a little magical. They're grounding, soothing, and quietly uplifting without being cheesy, relaxing without putting you to sleep, and just dreamy enough to remind you that there's still sweetness in everyday life. Perfect for your commute while you're tidying up,

or when you want a little escape, that feels simple and good. Search for stories from the village of Nothing Much, wherever you listen. 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 on Nothing Much Happens. Audio engineering is by Bob Wittersheim.

For years now, we've met each other in the village through stories. and now for the first time, the village is becoming a real place. The Nothing Much Happens Community App is opening soon with new ways to listen, wind down practices, community projects, live events, and a cozy gathering place for villagers from around the world. Pre-registration is open now. Founding members will receive exclusive launch pricing, and the first 50 people to pre-register will receive a limited edition weighted pillow. You can join the wait list at village.noughtnoughton.com or find the link in today's show notes.

We can't wait to welcome you into the village of nothing much. Now, I have a story to tell you. It is a way to gently unwind and guide your mind to someplace soft and safe. Just by listening, you'll build a reliable response that will help you fall as sleep faster, and return to sleep more easily, the more you use it. Most people report that it takes about a month of regular use to see the best results. I'll tell the story twice, and I'll go a little slower the second time through. Our story tonight is called W-A-L-K, and it's a small. story about a little brown dog and his favorite outdoor activity. It's also about the smell of

watered lawns in the evening, a frisbee and friends from down the block, porch lights and watermelon, and the moment when you close the door on the day. So lights out campers, tuck yourself in and let your whole body relax. You are about to fall asleep, and you will sleep deep all night. Take a deep breath in through your nose. Let it out your mouth. Nice. One more. Breathe in.

And out. Good. W.A.L.K. We just finished dinner. I was still sitting. at the table on the back patio, leaning back in my chair, with my hand resting on my full belly. We'd had corn on the cob, veggie burgers with all the fixings, and tiny potatoes we'd cooked right on the grill, and tossed with herbs and olive oil. We had a watermelon, ripe and ripe and, and, and, you

ready to cut, but I think both of us were too full to do more than look at it right now. Birdie, our greyhound, was lying under the table, with his long flank resting on my foot, often when we ate. He stretched out under the legs of our chairs. By now, he trained us to be careful before we stood up. I think it was his gentle way of keeping track of us. He'd have a paw touching his dad's ankle, his hip touching mine. And that way he knew, even as he slept, that we were close. Crum, his smaller and scruffier brother, was another story. He spent most of dinner jumping and fussy, trying to get our attention with each bite. Just in case, you know, we'd forgotten he was there and were interested in handing over a bit of the burger.

A few of those crispy potatoes. Or the last bite of the bun. We didn't feed him from the table, or at least I'd. didn't. So I don't know where he could have learned such behavior. And tonight, he was particularly revved up. We'd both had busy days, and he'd missed his morning walk. His dad was carrying plates into the house, and I could hear the sink filling up with water as he came back for the last few dishes. He leaned close to my ear and said, I think he might want to go for a,

Don't say it, I whispered hurriedly. He cleared his throat. For a W-A-L-K, we both looked at Crum, who was watching us intently. His head tip, to one side. I don't think we were actually fooling him.

He knew just from the words, go for a, that his favorite activity was being discussed. We had various strategies for speaking about it in ways we hoped wouldn't turn him into a lamp knocking over,

screen door ripping, mom and dad, tripping tornado. We sometimes called it his daily constitutional, or perambulation time, or simply a W. But he often cottoned on to us. As he seemed to now, he'd sprung to his feet, and was sweeping his tail back and forth wildly behind him. His eyes were wide. and he kept switching his gaze from one to the other of us, waiting to see who was going to get up and put their shoes on. Okay, Crumbleberry, I said, clapping my hands onto my thighs and standing up.

We'll go. I figured I may as well let him get a good. excited out here, since there weren't any lamps to knock over. I had to carefully wiggle my foot out from under Birdie, who I knew would much rather snooze the evening away, then loped down the sidewalk with crumb and me. I scanned the windows, looking for our cat marmalade, and finally noticed a bundle of orange fur pressed against the screen in our bedroom. She too was well into her post-dinner nap. I turned to go in the house for shoes and the leash. When the screens led back and they were pushed into my hands, I chuckled knowing this was as much a courtesy to me as it was a way to keep crumb

out from under his feet while he did the dishes. This way we could go straight through the garden gate and out onto the street. I guess he sure told us, didn't he, Crum? I said as I stepped into my shoes

and clipped the leash in place. Crum responded by turning and pulling me with all his force over to the gate. And a few moments later, we were out on the sidewalk, taking in the evening air together. And the air did smell good tonight. That sweet summer freshness of watered lawns and flower gardens. As Crum sniffed through the grass, I drew deep lungfuls of it in and sighed it out.

Kram and I had walked these streets So many times together Years of early spring Ripe summer And chilly fall trips around the neighborhood I smiled to myself As I watched his confident little trot The tips of his ears bounced with each step

And he held his head high I did the same even when I thought I was too tired for a walk. Usually, within the first hundred steps, I'd start to feel my mood rising. And tonight was no exception. We turned a corner and spotted a familiar group coming our way. Crum began to pull at leash,

excited to meet up with his friends. Clover, a sweet golden retriever, who was just starting to show some gray on her face, and her little brother Crimson, an Irish setter pup, with beautiful red fur, were striding toward us with their two boys. Crimson was growing so fast. He'd been closer to crumb size. the last time we'd seen him, but now he was almost as big as clover,

and his ears were long and droopy. He had a long nose as well, that he still looked to be growing into. When the dogs got close enough, they began to sniff and drop into playboughs and bark. Clover sat down, panting slightly, while the younger, Pups circled each other. I noticed one of the boys had a frisbee in his hand, and I asked if they were heading to the park. The younger brother, who usually didn't talk much, seemed to have grown out of his shyness because he spoke right up to tell me that they were. But first, they were going to their aunt's house to see if she wanted to go too, and also she has ice cream bars in her fridge.

Smart plan, I said, and let them go on their way. Crum and Crimson had to be coaxed apart, and I promised I'd bring him around to their yard on Saturday for a play date. We turned another corner when I could start to feel crumb slowing down. the desperate energy he'd started with was mellowing into a relaxed pace, and he paused to leisurely sniff more deeply. The porch light was on when we climbed the front steps, and Marmalade met us, meowing at the door. I brought him back, Marmee, I said, as I unclipped his leash and eased out of my shoes.

From the kitchen I could hear the clink of dishes being put away. And the click of Bertie's toenails on the tile. Grum raced off to lap at his water bowl. And I sighed and paused before closing the door, looking out on our quiet street. The lit windows of our neighbors and the long shadows on the lawns. Good night, I thought. W.A.L.K. We'd just finished dinner. I was still sitting at the table on the back patio,

leaning back in my chair, with my hand resting on my full belly. We'd had corn on the cob, veggie burgers with all the fixings and tiny potatoes. We'd cooked right on the grill and tossed with herbs and olive oil. And we had a watermelon ripe and ready to cut. But I think both of us were too full to do more than look at it right now. Birdie, our greyhound, was lying under the table with his long flank resting on my foot. Often when we ate, he stretched out under the legs of our chairs. By now, he'd trained us to be careful before we stood up.

I think it was his gentle way of keeping track of us. He'd have a paw touching his dad's ankle, his hip, touching mine. And that way he knew, even as he slept, that we were close. Crum, his smaller and scruffier brother, was another story. He spent most of dinner jumping and fussing, trying to get our attention with each bite. Just in case, you know, we'd forgotten he was there

and were interested in handing over a bit of the burger. A few of those crispy potatoes or the last bite of the bun. We didn't feed him from the table. Or at least, I didn't. So I don't know where he could have learned such behavior. And tonight, he was particularly revved up.

We'd both had busy days, and he'd missed his morning walk. His dad was carrying plates into the house, and I could hear the sink filling up with water, as he came back for the last few dishes. He leaned close to my ear and said, I think he might want to go for a, don't say it. I whispered hurriedly.

He cleared his throat. For a W-A-L-K, we both looked at Crum who was watching us intently. His head tipped to one side. I don't think we were actually

fooling him. He knew just from the words go fora that his favorite activity was being discussed. We had various strategies for

speaking about it in ways we hoped wouldn't turn him into a lamp knocking over, screen door ripping, mom and dad tripping, tornado. Sometimes we called it his daily constitutional, or perambulation time, or simply a W. But he often cottoned on to us, as he seemed to now. He'd sprung to his feet and was sweeping his tail back and forth wildly behind him. His eyes were wide, and he kept switching his gaze from one to the other of us,

waiting to see who was going to get up and put their shoes on. Okay, Crumbleberry, I said, clapping my hands onto my thighs and standing up, we will go. I figured I may as well let him get excited out here since there weren't any lamps to knock over. I had to carefully wiggle one foot out from under Birdie, who I knew would much rather snooze the evening away

than lope down the sidewalk with crumb and me. I scanned the windows, looking for our cat, marmalade, and finally noticed a bundle of orange fur pressed against the screen in our bedroom. She, too, was well into her post-dinner nap. I turned to go in the house for shoes and leash when the screen slid back and they were pushed into my hands, I chuckled, knowing this was as much a courtesy to me as it was a way to keep crumb out from under his feet while he did the dishes. This way we could go straight through the garden gate and out onto the street.

I guess he sure told us, didn't he Crum? I said, as I stepped into my shoes and clipped the leash in place. Crum responded by turning and pulling me with all his force over to the gate. And a few moments later, We were out on the sidewalk, taking in the evening air together. And the air did smell good tonight, that sweet summer freshness of watered lawns and flower gardens.

As crumbs sniffed through the grass, I drew deep lungfuls of it in and sighed it out. Crum and I had walked these streets so many times together. Years of early spring, ripe summer, and chilly fall trips around the neighborhood. I smiled to myself as I watched his confident little trot, the tips of his ears, bounced with each step, and he held his head high. I did the same. Even when I thought I was too tired for a walk, usually within the first hundred steps,

I'd start to feel my mood rising. Tonight was no exception. We turned a corner and spotted a familiar group coming our way. Crum began to pull at the leash, excited to meet up with his friends. Clover, a sweet golden retriever, who was just starting to show some gray on her face

and her little brother Crimson, an Irish setter pup, with beautiful, red fur were striding toward us. With their two boys, Crimson was growing so fast. He'd been closer to crumb size the last time we'd seen him. But now he was almost as big as clover, and his ears were long and droopy. He had a long nose as well that he was still growing into. When the dogs got close enough, they began to sniff and drop into playboughs and bark. Clover sat down, panting slightly, while the younger pups circled each other.

I noticed one of the boys had a frisbee in his hand, and I asked if they were heading to the park. The younger brother, who usually didn't talk much, seemed to have grown out of his shyness, because he spoke right up to tell me they were, but first, they were going to their aunt's house to see if she wanted to go too, and also she has ice cream bars in her fridge. smart plan, I said, and let them go on their way. Crum and crimson had to be coaxed apart, and I promised I'd bring him around to their yard on Saturday for a play date. We turned another corner, and I could start to feel crumb slowing down.

The desperate energy he'd started with was mellowing into a relaxed pace. And he paused to leisurely sniff more deeply. The porch light was on when we climbed the front steps and Marmalade met us, meowing at the door. I brought him back, Marmee,

I said, as I unclipped his leash and eased out of my shoes. From the kitchen I could hear the clink of dishes being put away on the click of Bertie's toenails on the tile. Crum raced off to lap at his water bowl, and I sighed and paused before closing the door, looking out on a little.

our quiet street, the lit windows of our neighbors, and the long shadows on the lawns. Good night, everyone. I thought. Sweet dreams.