Speaker 1: Welcome to bedtime Stories for grown ups in which nothing
Speaker 1: much happens, you feel good, and then you fall asleep.
Speaker 1: I'm Catherine Nikolay. I write and read all the stories
Speaker 1: you hear on Nothing Much Happens. Our audio engineer is
Speaker 1: Bob Wittersheim. We're proud members of the Curious Cast podcast network.
Speaker 1: You can follow us on Facebook and Instagram and Twitter
Speaker 1: for pictures of cozy things and calm reminders to breathe
Speaker 1: and enjoy the small pleasures around you. If you need
Speaker 1: more nothing much in your life, go to Nothing Much
Speaker 1: Happens dot com, where you can order some lovely pieces
Speaker 1: inspired by our stories. Hoodies coming soon. Now, let me
Speaker 1: say a little about how this podcast works. I have
Speaker 1: a story to tell you, and that story will become
Speaker 1: a soft nest to lay your mind in for the night,
Speaker 1: both as you fall asleep and if you need to
Speaker 1: return to sleep later. Just follow along with the sound
Speaker 1: of my voice and the simple details of the story.
Speaker 1: Let it be like a lullaby for your thinking mind.
Speaker 1: As it's rock to sleep, your whole body will become
Speaker 1: heavy and relaxed, and before you know it, you'll be
Speaker 1: waking up tomorrow feeling ready to go. I'll tell the
Speaker 1: story twice, and I'll go a little lower the second
Speaker 1: time through. If you waken the night, you could listen again,
Speaker 1: or just think back through the shape of the story,
Speaker 1: anything that you can remember, and you'll go right back
Speaker 1: to sleep. With this technique, we are conditioning your nervous
Speaker 1: system to respond in a particular way, and the more
Speaker 1: you do it, the better your sleep will get. Now,
Speaker 1: turn off your light, arrange your pillows just so, pull
Speaker 1: the comforter over your shoulder, and let your whole body settle.
Speaker 1: Sometimes it helps to say to yourself, I'm about to
Speaker 1: go to sleep, and I'll sleep deeply all through the night.
Speaker 1: Let's take a deep breath in through the nose and
Speaker 1: out through the mouth. Nice. Let's do that one more time.
Speaker 1: Breathe in and out good. Our story to night is
Speaker 1: called the dog Days of Summer, and it's a story
Speaker 1: about a day with a best friend. It's also about
Speaker 1: a cucumber picked fresh from the garden, meeting friends in
Speaker 1: the park, and the most important lessons we learn from
Speaker 1: the animals we share our lives with the Dog Days
Speaker 1: of Summer. We'd woken nose to nose as usual. We'd
Speaker 1: laid still for a while, blinking at each other, shifting
Speaker 1: out of the last dream of the morning, and listening
Speaker 1: to the birds singing in the branches. Then she started
Speaker 1: to wag her tail, happy energetic thumps that shook the bed,
Speaker 1: and I couldn't help but laugh. My dog wakes up
Speaker 1: happy every day. Every day she starts off giddy and excited,
Speaker 1: and today she had every right to be. I was
Speaker 1: all hers and we had plans to do some favorite things.
Speaker 1: She jumped out of bed and I followed, still a
Speaker 1: little sleepy, rubbing my eyes and taking deep breaths of
Speaker 1: morning air. We stepped outside together, and while she nosed
Speaker 1: through the grass and attended to her morning toilette, I
Speaker 1: stood and just looked into the branches of the oak trees.
Speaker 1: Squirrels were tracing roots through the limbs, carrying breakfast in
Speaker 1: their bulging cheeks. Robins and one tall blue jay were
Speaker 1: flitting about in the leaves morning business. I stooped near
Speaker 1: the edge of the vegetable patch to absent mindedly pull
Speaker 1: a few stray weeds from around my tomato plants. The
Speaker 1: grass was dewy, it felt cool on my feet, and
Speaker 1: the plants sparkled with it. I lifted a broad, prickly
Speaker 1: leaf in the garden and found under it a perfect cucumber,
Speaker 1: which I twisted off the vine. I stood and took
Speaker 1: a long fall of that humid summer morning air that
Speaker 1: smells so richly of green growing things and lush black earth.
Speaker 1: Have you ever been carried away back in time by assent?
Speaker 1: I remembered in an instant a camping trip when I
Speaker 1: was a child, maybe I was five or six. We'd
Speaker 1: stayed in a tiny cabin and cooked outside as the
Speaker 1: sun set. My father had entertained us with a story
Speaker 1: he'd started on the first night and added on to
Speaker 1: each evening with twists and turns, bandits and princesses and
Speaker 1: buried treasure. I thought of the good dogs we'd had
Speaker 1: as I was growing up. They'd taught me as a
Speaker 1: child how to be gentle, how to play, and the
Speaker 1: goodness that comes from caring for someone else. I smiled, remembering,
Speaker 1: and patted my hand against my thigh to call my
Speaker 1: dog to me. She patted over nose damp from poking
Speaker 1: through the dewy plants, and sniffed at the vegetables I'd
Speaker 1: picked breakfast. Then I asked, She ran for the door.
Speaker 1: This is part of our routine each morning when we
Speaker 1: come back in from the garden. She races as fast
Speaker 1: as she can to the kitchen and sits tail drumming
Speaker 1: against the cabinet for her treat. When I first brought
Speaker 1: her home and we were still getting to know each other,
Speaker 1: I used to just hand it to her and she
Speaker 1: would politely take it and carry it under the kitchen
Speaker 1: table to eat. But after a few weeks, when she'd
Speaker 1: gotten more comfortable and was letting me see more of
Speaker 1: who she was, she would take the treat and try
Speaker 1: to toss it to herself in the air. I imagine
Speaker 1: she was trying to teach me, to show me that
Speaker 1: even a snack could be fun, everything could be play,
Speaker 1: and she trained me well. So when I caught up
Speaker 1: with her in the kitchen and asked her if she
Speaker 1: was sure she wanted a treat here, there was more
Speaker 1: tail thumping and her eyes opened as wide as they could.
Speaker 1: I took a biscuit from her jar on the counter,
Speaker 1: and darting my hand left and right, sent her in
Speaker 1: excited circles. Finally, I tossed it into the air, and
Speaker 1: she expertly clicked her teeth around it, right, I said,
Speaker 1: patting her head and turning to the coffee pot. Let's
Speaker 1: see about to day. I made my coffee, filled her
Speaker 1: bowl with kibble, and dropped a couple slices of seedy
Speaker 1: bread into the toaster. I sliced my cucumber, and when
Speaker 1: the toast popped up, I spread it thickly with hummus.
Speaker 1: I layered on the cucumber, sprinkled on salt and pepper,
Speaker 1: and some sprouts from a jar on the window sill.
Speaker 1: My girl was crunching away, and I dropped into the
Speaker 1: chair closest to her so we could breakfast together. In
Speaker 1: between bites, I said casually. So I was thinking dog park.
Speaker 1: She stopped herful and looked at me. I'm not sure
Speaker 1: if she'd heard me, right, I said it again, dog park.
Speaker 1: She jumped, She danced, She wriggled up beside me to
Speaker 1: have her back scratched and patted. When dogs are happy,
Speaker 1: their instinct is to share it. For me. This is
Speaker 1: proof enough that the universe bends towards kindness. Now that
Speaker 1: the words had been spoken, she was eager to go.
Speaker 1: Another lesson from her to me. When you know what
Speaker 1: you want, go get it. We got dressed, me in
Speaker 1: shorts and sandals, her in her harness and neckerchief which
Speaker 1: proclaim if her goofy smile wasn't enough to do so
Speaker 1: that she was happy to be petted. I jingled the
Speaker 1: keys and we raced to the car. I rolled down
Speaker 1: her window so that she could feel the wind in
Speaker 1: her ears and smell all the good sense of the neighborhood.
Speaker 1: Soon we were turning into the gravel lot beside the park,
Speaker 1: and I watched her dipping her head eagerly side to side,
Speaker 1: looking between the trees, trying to see through the fence.
Speaker 1: Who was here today, old buddies, new friends. Inside. Off
Speaker 1: her leash, she dashed about, sniffing at the other dogs,
Speaker 1: barking and bowing to get a game going. There were
Speaker 1: a few old timers with sweet white faces, laying about
Speaker 1: and watching the younger one's chase. There were scrappy little
Speaker 1: dogs bossing the group and running fast on stilty legs.
Speaker 1: Fluffy slower dogs dipping back and forth between the play
Speaker 1: and the comfort of mom or Dad's ankles. I sat
Speaker 1: on a bench in a shady corner and watched them all.
Speaker 1: It made my heart shine to see my girl, confident,
Speaker 1: uncomfortable at ease in her life. She was already a
Speaker 1: few years old when she'd come to live with me,
Speaker 1: and I remembered her uncertain face on the drive home
Speaker 1: from the shelter. I told her that her last bad
Speaker 1: day was yesterday, that from now on she was safe,
Speaker 1: and her whole life would be about play and naps
Speaker 1: and walks and whatever else she liked. But that's something
Speaker 1: you have to show, not tell. By now, I'd shown her,
Speaker 1: and she trusted me. The games were winding down, the
Speaker 1: doggies were getting pleasantly worn out, and leashes were clicked
Speaker 1: on to collars. My girl found me and I poured
Speaker 1: the water from my bottle into a bowl i'd brought.
Speaker 1: She took a good long drink, and we got back
Speaker 1: in the car. I wanted to treat her all day,
Speaker 1: so I thought next we'd stop by her favorite pet
Speaker 1: shop and pick out a new toy. Then later a
Speaker 1: long walk and a nap on the shady back porch.
Speaker 1: After dinner, I'd throw her ball for her until she
Speaker 1: got tired, and I wouldn't make her have a bath
Speaker 1: till tomorrow. Eventually we'd climb back into bed. She'd turn
Speaker 1: around three times, PLoP down and let out that little
Speaker 1: doggie huff, and we would sleep the dog days of summer.
Speaker 1: We'd woken nose to nose as usual. We'd laid still
Speaker 1: for a while, blinking at each other, shifting out of
Speaker 1: the last dream of the morning, and listening to the
Speaker 1: birds singing in the branches. Then she started to wag
Speaker 1: her tail, happy energetic thumps that shook the bed, and
Speaker 1: I couldn't help but laugh. My dog wakes up happy
Speaker 1: every day. Every day she starts off giddy and excited,
Speaker 1: and to day she had every right to me. I
Speaker 1: was all hers, and we had plans to do some
Speaker 1: favorite things. She jumped out of bed and I followed,
Speaker 1: still a little sleepy, rubbing my eyes and taking deep
Speaker 1: breaths of morning air. We stepped out together, and while
Speaker 1: she nosed through the grass and attended to her morning toilette,
Speaker 1: I stood. I just looked into the branches of the
Speaker 1: oak trees. Squirrels were tracing roots through the limbs, carrying
Speaker 1: breakfast in their bulging cheeks. Robins and one tall blue
Speaker 1: jay were flitting about in the leaves morning business. I
Speaker 1: stooped near the edge of the vegetable patch to absent
Speaker 1: mindedly pull a few stray weeds from around my tomato plants.
Speaker 1: The grass was dewy, it felt cool on my feet,
Speaker 1: and the plants sparkled with it. I lifted a broad,
Speaker 1: prickly leaf in the garden and found under it a
Speaker 1: perfect cucumber, which I twisted off the vine. I stood
Speaker 1: and took a lung full of that humid summer morning
Speaker 1: air that smells so richly of green growing things and
Speaker 1: lush black earth. Have you ever been carried away back
Speaker 1: in time by assent? I remembered in an instant a
Speaker 1: camping trip when I was a child, maybe I was
Speaker 1: five or six. We'd stayed in a tiny cabin and
Speaker 1: cooked outside as the sun set. My father had entertained
Speaker 1: us with a story he'd started on the first night
Speaker 1: and added on to each evening, with twists and turns,
Speaker 1: bandits and princesses and buried treasure. I thought of the
Speaker 1: good dogs we'd had as I was growing up. They'd
Speaker 1: taught me as a child how to be gentle, how
Speaker 1: to play, and the goodness that comes from caring for
Speaker 1: someone else. I smiled, remembering, and patted my hand against
Speaker 1: my thigh to call my dog to me. She patted
Speaker 1: over nose damp from poking through the dewy plants, and
Speaker 1: sniffed at the vegetables I'd picked breakfast. Then I asked,
Speaker 1: she ran for the door. This is part of our
Speaker 1: routine each morning when we come back in from the garden.
Speaker 1: She races as asked as she can to the kitchen
Speaker 1: and sits tail drumming against the cabinet for her treat.
Speaker 1: When I first brought her home and we were still
Speaker 1: getting to know each other, I used to just hand
Speaker 1: it to her and she would politely take it and
Speaker 1: carry it under the kitchen table to eat. But after
Speaker 1: a few weeks, when she'd gotten more comfortable and was
Speaker 1: letting me see more of who she was, she would
Speaker 1: take the treat and try to toss it to herself
Speaker 1: in the air. I imagine she was trying to teach me,
Speaker 1: to show me, but even a snack could be fun.
Speaker 1: Everything could be play, and she trained me well. So
Speaker 1: when I caught up with her in the kitchen and
Speaker 1: asked her if she was sure she wanted to treat here,
Speaker 1: there was more tail thumping and her eyes opened as
Speaker 1: wide as they could. I took a biscuit from her
Speaker 1: jar on the counter, and darting my hand left and right,
Speaker 1: sent her in excited circles. Finally, I tossed it into
Speaker 1: the air, and she expertly clicked her teeth around it. Right,
Speaker 1: I said, patting her head and turning to the coffee pot.
Speaker 1: Let's see about today. I made my coffee, filled her
Speaker 1: bowl with kibble, and dropped a couple of slices of
Speaker 1: seedy bread into the toaster. I sliced my cucumber, and
Speaker 1: when the toast popped up, I spread it thickly with hummus.
Speaker 1: I layered on the cucumber, sprinkled on salt and pepper,
Speaker 1: and some sprouts from a jar on the window sill.
Speaker 1: My girl was crunching away, and I dropped into the
Speaker 1: chair closest to her so we could breakfast together. In
Speaker 1: between bites, I said casually, So I was thinking dog park.
Speaker 1: She stopped with her mouth full and looked at me,
Speaker 1: not sure if she'd heard me. Right, I said it again,
Speaker 1: dog park. She jumped, She danced, She wriggled up beside
Speaker 1: me to have her back scratched and patted. When dogs
Speaker 1: are happy, their instinct is to share it for me,
Speaker 1: this is proof enough that the universe bends toward kindness.
Speaker 1: Now that the words had been spoken, she was eager
Speaker 1: to go another lesson from her to me, When you
Speaker 1: know what you want, go get it. We got dressed,
Speaker 1: me in shorts and sandals, her in her harness, a
Speaker 1: neckerchief which proclaimed if her goofy smile wasn't enough to
Speaker 1: do so that she was happy to be petted. I
Speaker 1: jingled the keys and we raced the car. I rolled
Speaker 1: down her window enough so that she could feel the
Speaker 1: wind in her ears and smell all the good sense
Speaker 1: of the neighborhood. Soon we were turning into the gravel
Speaker 1: lot beside the park, and I watched her dipping her
Speaker 1: head eagerly side to side, looking through the trees, trying
Speaker 1: to see you through the fence. Who was here to day?
Speaker 1: Old buddies, new friends Inside. Off her leash, she dashed about,
Speaker 1: sniffing at the other dogs, barking and bowing to get
Speaker 1: a game going. There were a few old timers with
Speaker 1: sweet white faces laying about and watching the younger one's chase.
Speaker 1: There were scrappy little dogs bossing the group and running
Speaker 1: fast on stilty legs. Fluffy slower dogs, dipping back and
Speaker 1: forth between the play and the comfort of mom or
Speaker 1: Dad's ankles. I sat on a bench in a shady
Speaker 1: corner and watched them all. It made my heart shine
Speaker 1: to see my girl confident, uncomfortable, at ease in her life.
Speaker 1: She was already a few years old when she came
Speaker 1: to live with me, and I remembered her uncertain face
Speaker 1: on the drive home from the shelter. I told her
Speaker 1: that her last bad day was yesterday, that from now
Speaker 1: on she was safe, and her whole life would be
Speaker 1: about play and naps and walks and whatever else she liked.
Speaker 1: But that's something you have to show, not tell. By
Speaker 1: now I'd shown her, then she trusted me. The games
Speaker 1: were winding down, the doggies were getting pleasantly worn out,
Speaker 1: and leashes were clicked on to collars. My girl found me,
Speaker 1: and I poured the water from my bottle into a
Speaker 1: bowl I'd brought. She took a good long drink, and
Speaker 1: we got back in the car. I wanted to treat
Speaker 1: her all day, so I thought next we'd stop by
Speaker 1: her favorite pet shop and pick out a new toy.
Speaker 1: Then later a long walk and a nap on the
Speaker 1: shady back porch. After dinner, I'd throw her ball for
Speaker 1: her until she got tired, and I wouldn't make her
Speaker 1: take a bath till tomorrow. Eventually we'd climb back into bed,
Speaker 1: she'd turn around three times, plopped down, and let out
Speaker 1: that little doggie. When we would sleep, sweet dreams.