W-A-L-K

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Let's take a deep breath together.

In through the nose

and out through the mouth.

It feels good to breathe deeply.

And the air we we breathe, especially at night, matters more than we might think.

While we sleep, our bodies are hard at work, restoring, repairing, and recharging.

But that work can be quietly disrupted by what's floating in the air.

Things like dust, pollen, and other allergens.

I didn't used to think much about indoor air quality.

But once I did, I realized, if we care about what we eat and drink, why not care just as much about what we breathe?

That's why I sleep with a Jasper air scrubber in my room.

It has no annoying lights and doubles as a gentle white noise machine that's become essential to my bedtime rhythm.

But more than anything, it's turned my bedroom into a sleep sanctuary.

A space where the air helps me sleep, deeply and peacefully.

I can't recommend Jasper enough.

You can learn more at jasper.co.

And if you use the code SLEAP, you'll get $300 off.

That's JASPR.co.

Use code SLEEP for $300

off.

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, and nothing much happens.

Audio Engineering is by Bob Witterheim.

We give to a different charity each week.

And this week we are giving to Ells Place for Grieving Children.

Ells Place is a non-profit, community-based organization dedicated to creating awareness of and support for grieving children, teens, and their families.

You can learn more about them in our show notes.

I'd like to personally thank some recent premium subscribers.

So thank you, Dr.

Jill.

Thank you, Amanda.

Thank you to Ben and Matilda.

Your support helps us continue to bring this service to millions of people around the world.

And that matters.

That is people helping people.

If you'd like to join their ranks and get our entire catalog of over 350 original episodes, bonuses, and extra long apps, all ad-free

for about a dime a day.

Click the link in our bio.

The first month is on us.

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 asleep 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 WALK

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.

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.

Draw a deep breath in

and sigh it out.

One more breathe in

and let it out.

Good

WALK

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.

We had a watermelon, ripe and ready to cut, 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.

Crumb, 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 WALK

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 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 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

than lope down the sidewalk with Crum 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 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 Crum 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.

Crumb 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.

Crumb 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.

Crumb began 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 still looked to be growing into.

When the dogs got close enough, they began to sniff

and drop into play boughs 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, um, 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.

Crumb and Crimson had to be coaxed to part,

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 Crum 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, Marmie,

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 Birdie's toenails on the tile.

Crumb 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, everyone,

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.

Crumb, 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

WALK

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 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.

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 Crum 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 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.

Crumb 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 to night

that sweet

summer freshness

of watered lawns

and flower gardens.

As Crumb sniffed through the grass,

I drew deep lungfuls of it in

and sighed it out.

Crumb 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.

Crumb 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 playbows 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,

um,

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.

Crumb 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 Crum

slowing down.

The desperate energy he'd started with

was mellowing into a relaxed base.

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, Marmie, 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 Birdie's toenails on the tile.

Crumb 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, everyone,

I thought.

sweet dreams.