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. Audio Engineering is by
Speaker 1: Bob Wittersheim. My book, also called Nothing Much Happens, is
Speaker 1: available wherever books are sold. Thank you for your support.
Speaker 1: Now let me say a little about how this podcast works.
Speaker 1: I have a story to tell you, and that story
Speaker 1: will become a soft nest to lay your mind in
Speaker 1: for the night, both as you fall asleep and if
Speaker 1: you need to return to sleep later. Just follow along
Speaker 1: with the sound of my voice and the simple details
Speaker 1: of the story. Let it be like a lullaby for
Speaker 1: your thinking mind. As it's rock to sleep. Your whole
Speaker 1: body will become heavy and relaxed, and before you know it,
Speaker 1: you'll be waking up tomorrow feeling ready to go. I'll
Speaker 1: tell the story twice, and I'll go a little slower
Speaker 1: the second time through. If you waken the night, you
Speaker 1: could listen again or just think back through the shape
Speaker 1: of the story, anything that you can remember, and you'll
Speaker 1: go right back to sleep. With this technique, we are
Speaker 1: conditioning your nervous system to respond in a particular way,
Speaker 1: and the more you do it, the better your sleep
Speaker 1: will get. Now, turn off your light, arrange your pillows
Speaker 1: just so, pull the comforter over your shoulder, and let
Speaker 1: your whole body settle. Sometimes it helps to say to yourself,
Speaker 1: I'm about to go to sleep, and I'll sleep deeply
Speaker 1: all through the night. Let's take a deep breath in
Speaker 1: through the nose and out through the mouth. Nice. Let's
Speaker 1: do that one more time. Breathe in and out good.
Speaker 1: Our story tonight is called The Dog Days of Summer,
Speaker 1: and it's a story about a day with the best friend.
Speaker 1: It's also about a cucumber picked fresh from the garden,
Speaker 1: meeting friends in the park, and the most important lessons
Speaker 1: we learn from the animals we share our lives with.
Speaker 1: The Dog Days of Summer. We'd woken nose to nose
Speaker 1: as usual. We'd laid still for a while, blinking at
Speaker 1: each other, shifting out of the last dream of the morning,
Speaker 1: and listening to the birds singing in the branches. Then
Speaker 1: she started to wag her tail, happy energetic thumps that
Speaker 1: shook the bed, and I couldn't help but laugh. My
Speaker 1: dog wakes up happy every day. Every day she starts
Speaker 1: off giddy and excited, and today she had every right
Speaker 1: to be. I was all hers, and we had plans
Speaker 1: to do some favorite things. She jumped out of bed,
Speaker 1: and I followed, still a little sleepy, rubbing my eyes
Speaker 1: and taking deep breath of morning air. We stepped outside together,
Speaker 1: and while she nosed through the grass and attended to
Speaker 1: her morning toilette, I stood and just looked into the
Speaker 1: branches of the oak trees. Squirrels were tracing roots through
Speaker 1: the limbs, carrying breakfast in their bulging cheeks. Robins and
Speaker 1: one tall blue jay were flitting about in the leaves
Speaker 1: morning business. I stooped near the edge of the vegetable
Speaker 1: patch to absent mindedly pull a few stray weeds from
Speaker 1: around my tomato plants. The grass was dewy, it felt
Speaker 1: cool on my feet, and the plants sparkled with it.
Speaker 1: I lifted a broad, prickly leaf in the garden and
Speaker 1: found under it a perfect cucumber, which I twisted off
Speaker 1: the vine. I stood and took a lungfull of that
Speaker 1: humid summer morning air that smells so richly of green
Speaker 1: growing things and lush black earth. Have you ever been
Speaker 1: carried away back in time by ascent. I remembered in
Speaker 1: an instant a camping trip when I was a child,
Speaker 1: maybe I was five or six. We'd stayed in a
Speaker 1: tiny cabin and cooked outside as the sun set. My
Speaker 1: father had entertained us with a story he'd started on
Speaker 1: the first night and added on to each evening with
Speaker 1: twists and turns, bandits and princesses and buried treasure. I
Speaker 1: thought of the good dogs we'd had as I was
Speaker 1: growing up. They'd taught me as a child how to
Speaker 1: be gentle, how to play, and the goodness that comes
Speaker 1: from caring for someone else. I smiled, remembering, and patted
Speaker 1: my hand against my thigh to call my dog to me.
Speaker 1: She patted over nose damp from poking through the dewy plants,
Speaker 1: and 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 fast 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 that 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 a 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 her mouthful and looked at me. I'm not
Speaker 1: 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 towards 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 and neckerchief,
Speaker 1: which proclaimed if her goofy smile wasn't enough to do
Speaker 1: so that she was happy to be petted. I jingled
Speaker 1: the keys and we raced to the car. I rolled
Speaker 1: down her window so that she could feel the wind
Speaker 1: in her ears and smell all the good sense of
Speaker 1: the neighborhood. Soon we were turning into the gravel lot
Speaker 1: beside the park, and I watched her dipping her head
Speaker 1: eagerly side to side, looking between the trees, trying to
Speaker 1: see through the fence. Who was here today, old buddies,
Speaker 1: new friends. Inside. Off her leash, she dashed about, sniffing
Speaker 1: at the other dogs, barking and bowing to get a
Speaker 1: game going. There were a few old timers with sweet
Speaker 1: 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'd come
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 and 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: have 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 huff, and we would sleep the dog
Speaker 1: days of summer. We'd woken nose to nose as usual.
Speaker 1: We'd laid still for a while, blinking at each other,
Speaker 1: shifting out of the last dream of the morning, and
Speaker 1: listening to the birds singing in the branches. Then she
Speaker 1: started to wag her tail, happy energetic thumps that shook
Speaker 1: the bed, and I couldn't help but laugh. My dog
Speaker 1: wakes up happy every day. Every day she starts off
Speaker 1: giddy and excited, and today she had every right to me.
Speaker 1: I was all hers, and we had plans to do
Speaker 1: some 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 nose 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 lungfull of that humid summer morning air
Speaker 1: that smells so richly of green growing things and lush
Speaker 1: black earth. Have you ever been carried away back in
Speaker 1: time by assent? I remembered in an instant a camping
Speaker 1: trip when I was a child, maybe I was five
Speaker 1: or six. We'd stayed in a tiny cabin and cooked
Speaker 1: outside as the sun set. My father had entertained us
Speaker 1: with a story he'd started on the first night and
Speaker 1: added on to each evening, with twists and turns, bandits
Speaker 1: and princesses and buried treasure. I thought of the good
Speaker 1: dogs we'd had as I was growing up. They'd taught
Speaker 1: me as a child how to be gentle, how to play,
Speaker 1: and the goodness that comes from caring for someone else.
Speaker 1: I smiled, remembering, and patted my hand against my thigh
Speaker 1: to call my dog to me. She patted over nose
Speaker 1: damp from poking through the dewy plants, and sniffed at
Speaker 1: the vegetables I picked breakfast. Then I asked. She ran
Speaker 1: for the door. This is part of our routine each
Speaker 1: morning when we come back in from the garden. She
Speaker 1: races as fast as she can to the kitchen and
Speaker 1: sits tail drumming against the cabinet for her treat. When
Speaker 1: I first brought her home and we were still getting
Speaker 1: to know each other, I used to just hand it
Speaker 1: to her and she would politely take it and carried
Speaker 1: under the kitchen table to eat. But after a few weeks,
Speaker 1: when she'd gotten more comfortable and was letting me see
Speaker 1: more of who she was, she would take the treat
Speaker 1: and try to toss it to herself in the air.
Speaker 1: I imagine she was trying to teach me, to show me,
Speaker 1: but even a snack could be fun. Everything could be play,
Speaker 1: and she'd 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 to 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 today. I made my coffee, filled her bowl
Speaker 1: with kibble, and dropped a couple of 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 ajar on the window sill. My
Speaker 1: girl was crunching away, and I dropped into the chair
Speaker 1: closest to her so we could breakfast together. In between bites,
Speaker 1: I said casually, So I was thinking dog park. She
Speaker 1: stopped with her mouth full and looked at me, not
Speaker 1: 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 towards 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: neckkerchief 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 through the fence. Who was here today, old buddies,
Speaker 1: new friends. Inside. Off her leash, she dashed about, sniffing
Speaker 1: at the other dogs, barking and bowing to get a
Speaker 1: game going. There were a few old timers with sweet
Speaker 1: 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'd 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 now,
Speaker 1: I'd shown her, and she trusted me. The games were
Speaker 1: winding down, the doggies were getting pleasantly worn out, and
Speaker 1: leashes were clicked up onto 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 turned around three times, plopped down and let out
Speaker 1: that little doggie. When we would sleep, sweet dreams