Slightly More Happens - March Mutts and Meows

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 Nicolai, 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. Peace 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 they're 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. Starting something new isn't just hard. It can feel really intimidating when you don't know what you don't know. Like when I first started this podcast, my head was full of questions. How do I even set this up? What tools do I need? How do people turn an idea into something real and sustainable? But taking that leap ended up being one of the best decisions I've ever made, and having the right tools on your side makes that leap feel a lot less overwhelming. That's where Shopify comes in. Shopify is the commerce platform behind millions of businesses around the world, and 10% of all e-commerce in the US, from household names to brands that are just getting started. If you've ever dreamed about selling something you make, create, or love, Shopify makes it feel possible. You can build a beautiful online store with hundreds of ready-to-use templates that match your brand's style, and Shopify is packed with helpful AI tools that write product descriptions, page headlines, and even enhance your product photography. On when it's time to get the word out, Shopify helps you create email and social media campaigns so you can reach customers wherever they're scrolling or strolling. Plus, everything lives in one place, from inventory to payments to analytics, so you don't need 10 different platforms just to run your business. It's time to turn those what-ifs into cha-chings, the Shopify today. Sign up for your $1 per month trial today at Shopify.com slash nothing much. Go to Shopify.com slash nothing much. That's Shopify.com slash nothing much. Welcome to a special longer episode of Bedtime Stories for Everyone, in which slightly more happens, you feel good, and then you fall asleep. I'm Catherine Nicolai. I write and read all the stories you hear on nothing much happens. Audio engineering is by Bob Wittersheim. We give to a different charity each week, and this week we are giving to the Southwest Detroit Immigrant and Refugee Center. They are the largest provider of free and low-cost legal services to Michigan's vulnerable communities. They're working for a Michigan where justice does not depend on how much money you have, and where immigrants are welcomed into our communities. Learn more about them in our show notes. You have been asking for longer episodes, and we're delivering. Once a month, we'll give you a two to three-story episode here on the free feed, and if you want an even longer one, there's a five to six-story episode on our premium feed. In fact, over on the premium feed, we regularly publish episodes that are over nine hours long, and we're always adding more. So if that sounds like your cup of tea, let me remind you that the cost comes out to just 10 cents a day, and that the first month is on us. Learn more at nothingmuchhappens.com. Just as with our regular episodes, these stories are simply a soft place to rest your mind and allow you to drift asleep. I'll still tell the stories twice and go a little slower the second time through. Our stories tonight involve the most popular residents of the Village of Nothing Much, and also some humans. Their stories about a winding staircase and a grand old house on a lake, a tea party with friends, doorbells and sunbeams, wet noses and catnip mice, a getaway and a reunion, and a family coming together, one found friend at a time. Did you know that nearly three out of four U.S. homes have toxic chemicals in their tap water? Even when water looks clear and tastes fine, it can still contain things we don't want in our bodies, things like chlorine, lead, and so-called forever chemicals. Over time, exposure to contaminants like these has been linked to fatigue, hormone disruption, cognitive issues, and more. What surprised me most is that standard fridge and pitcher filters don't remove any of these contaminants. And bottled water isn't the solution either, because it often contains microplastics. As someone born and raised in Flint, Michigan, this is very important to me. That's why I have an AquaTrue system on my counter and have for a year now. I genuinely love it. There's no plumbing or installation, and it gives my family clean, great tasting water that we can actually trust and enjoy drinking every day. AquaTrue uses a patented four-stage reverse osmosis system, and it's tested and certified to remove up to 84 contaminants, including chlorine, lead, forever chemicals, and microplastics. This goes far beyond what ordinary filters can do. AquaTrue has been featured in Business Insider and Popular Science, and it was named Best Countertop Water Filter by Good Housekeeping. 98% of customers say their drinking water is cleaner, safer, and healthier. Right now, you can go to aquaTrue.com and get 20% off your purifier with the promo code NothingMuch. AquaTrue even comes with a 30-day Best Tasting Water Guarantee or your money back. It's aquaTrue.com, A-Q-U-A-T-R-U.com. Promo code NothingMuch. Take the guesswork out of truly purified, great tasting water. So settle in. Be at ease. The day was what it was, and now we are here. Draw a deep breath in through your nose and sigh from your mouth. Breathe in and out. Good. Marmalade at the inn. I heard their car pulling down the long circle drive in front of the inn. And a smile spread over my face. An innkeeper likes to have guests, and it felt like an age since we closed up in the fall, and I'd had anyone to pamper and feed. And yes, these guests would be different from the usual sort, who came to swim in the lake and nap in our hammocks. But I was determined that their stay would be just as enjoyable. I hurried down the wide front staircase, my hand skimming over the shining banister as I peered out the windows to the drive. My guests were climbing out of the car and getting tangled in their leashes. I opened the door and stepped out in my slippers to help. The barking commenced. Excited jumping and tail wagging followed. Oh, can you grab Marmalade's crate? She's in the back seat. Sure, I said, and leaned in to see her eyeing me from inside her travel case. Come on Marmalade, I've got a freshly wound ball of yarn for you to unravel. I lifted her case out carefully, and we all managed to make our way into the inn. I closed the door behind us, set Marmalade down on the window seat, and opened the little door to her crate. She meowed grouchily and didn't move. Her mom leaned down to look in at her. Marmalade, she said in a placating voice, we talked about this. You've got this whole beautiful old house to poke through. So many window ledges to nap on. You might as well enjoy it. Marmalade meowed again in response. Oh, she'll get over herself in a minute or two, she said, waving her hand at the cat. Crumb was still jumping excitedly as they tried to get his leash off and birdie in a plaid sweater that went all the way down his spindly legs was already lying down in a patch of sunlight at the foot of the stairs. Birdie's dad laughed looking at the tableau. I have a feeling you are getting a preview of the next few days, he said. Stubborn, excited and asleep and pointed to each animal in turn. Fine by me, I said. Do you have time for a cup of coffee before you go? Yes, please. They both said in unison and we trooped down the long hallway to the library where I'd set up a little tray before they arrived. Crumb came barreling down the corridor. So excited to explore this new playhouse and jumped onto the sofa beside the fire. He was small and fuzzy with brown spiky fur that stood up all around his head. His eyes were hazel and for all his goofiness they lent him some gravitas that made me think he was an old soul who had simply never grown up. I could hear Birdie's nails clacking on the wood floors behind us. And he ambled into the library and immediately laid down again. Now in front of the crackling fire. I stooped to stroke his head. His gray fur was so soft. And he let out a small dog sigh and closed his eyes. A rescued gray hound, Bird had the energy of a good-natured but sleepy grandpa. Who wanted nothing so much as a warm bed and a tasty meal. Well, that was easy enough. My friends settled down on the couch as Crumb jumped down to skitter past the windows. All of which were too high for him to see out of. I poured a cup of coffee for each of us from the carafe I'd brought up from the kitchen. I hesitated with the milk jug in my hand and looked over at them. Milk for me please, she said and added sugar for him. He smiled at her as I handed over the cups. Oh gosh, they were cute. We sipped from our cups and they told me about their trip. A few days on a faraway beach where the air was warm and the sun was out all day. It didn't sound bad at all. Here the seasons were still vacillating. We'd had a bit of near spring, then a big snowstorm. And now it was warmer but rainy and gray. The wind was blowing fiercely today and I hoped it would dry up the muddy spots in the yard so that the dogs and I could play outside. Crumb having finished his inspection of the perimeter came around to my chair and jumped up onto my lap. I set down my cup before I could spill it and began to scratch his back and rub his ears. When I paused for a moment he turned and looked at me and thrust his head under my palm. A small wine in the back of his throat. I laughed and petted him again. After we went through their itinerary and they told me about the restaurant where they'd booked a table for a fancy dinner beside the ocean. We went over my guests' culinary preferences, their daily grooming needs and sleeping arrangements. Namely that crumb could have a pup cup if we went out. Birdie didn't seem to care for them. The dogs would sleep as late as I liked but needed to go straight out when we did get up. Marmy and Crumb slept on the bed and usually under the blankets but Bird had his own bed and liked his space. Crumb didn't like thunderstorms and if he got pup set I could give him his CBD treats to calm him down. I resisted the urge to take notes promising them that I would take good care of their babies. See they'll be fine, she said reaching for his hand. He lifted it to his lips and kissed it and smiled at her again. Just as we were setting the cups back on their tray, we heard a small meow from the doorway. We turned as one to look at Marmalade sitting on the threshold. Her eyes wide, a little indignant that we'd left her all alone. Her mom went to her and scooped her up in her arms. She carried the fluffy orange kitty to the window and whispered to her as they looked out together. I could hear a few words about the birds and the trees, the ducks starting to return to the lake. Marmalade began to purr and her mom tilted her head down to plant a kiss on her forehead. I thought of how far Marmalade had come from being alone and cold as a kitten out in the snow to finding a home with a mom who loved her and part of a growing family to now having her own holiday in this beautiful grand house. Innkeepers need someone to keep, to take care of, and for the next few days she would be the fluffy orange lady of the house. Part two. I've been an innkeeper now for many years, but I wasn't used to waking up with my guests sprawled across the foot of my bed. Still, I was enjoying every morning of this. The sun was rising earlier and earlier, and today when I rubbed the sleep from my eyes I saw Marmalade dozing in a beam of light. I reached for her soft ginger fur that was warm under my fingertips. She yawned and stretched luxuriously. I was lovely to see her so comfortable and at ease. The first night after her mom had left, she'd been standoffish. Frankly, she looked affronted, offended to have been left behind. Never mind that she knew me from lots of visits and that her favorite kitty bed had been warmed by the fire. Her preferred pâté and kibble served up on a fancy china plate. But since then she'd grown more relaxed and traded in her outrage for curiosity and play. Besides her was a round lump under the duvet. That would be Crumb, the little brown dog who snored like a bear. Crumb had been comfortable right from the beginning. His mom had brought a backpack stuffed with balls and squeaky toys, which were now dispersed over all four floors of the inn. Whenever I stumbled across one, I picked it up and squeaked it until I could hear a little pause, scrabbling along the floorboards or stomping on the stairs. Then I'd throw it as far as I could. Crumb would race and snatch it up and usually go sliding into the molding. I padded the lump in the bed and felt his little tail thumping against the mattress. I pulled back the duvet and he blinked at the sunlight, immediately flipping over for a belly rub. On his back, his wrinkly cheeks sunk back and it looked like he was smiling, a goofy grin with his lips stuck on his teeth. These animals made me laugh all day long. How had I lived so long without any in my life? I swung my feet out of bed and stood, careful not to step on birdie, the last of my guests. Who was, in many ways, the opposite of crumb. Birdie was a rescued greyhound, so giant compared to little crumb. He was sleek instead of fluffy. And rather than chase toys and explore the inn, all he really wanted to do was find a nice warm place to snooze. In fact, he and Marmy often bunked together on a bed in the library where the morning sun was strongest. I called his name and he opened one eye and looked at me. Let's go outside, I said, and then you can have a treat. That last word sent crumb flying off the bed and zooming in circles around bird. Who slowly and reminiscent of a giraffe lumbered to his feet. Recoming Marm, I looked back at her, stretched out in the sun. She blinked her gold eyes at me as if to say, why would I move? I chuckled as I opened my bedroom door and ushered the dogs down the stairs. In the winter, when I was here alone, I'd gotten quite used to the quiet. And honestly, I enjoyed it. May till November, the inn was very busy. Kids and grownups coming and going. Breakfast to serve, beds to make, towels to carry down to the lakeshore. And I love that too. It was a great balance for me, I realized. Time to care for and be with others. And then time to care for and be with myself. But this little interruption to my regularly scheduled programming was bringing me fresh energy and adding fun to each day. The inn was set far back off the road and with lots of land and gardens all around. So the dogs could race through the yards without fear of bumping into anyone. And by now, we'd walked the property together enough for them to know where the boundaries were. The first day or two, I'd let them out the front door. The one at the bottom of the great staircase that led to the circle drive. Our guests pulled up when the inn was open. But today, we walked through the hallway to the back of the house. And through the screened in porch where breakfast was served all summer. I sprung the lock on the old screen door. And they rushed down the steps and out onto the grass. The sunshine was warm and bright and the skies were completely clear. Down the sloping lawn was the lake. Now melted after the long winter. The ducks were back and paddling through the water. Splashing and dunking down to let it run over their backs. Crumb watched them from afar and gave one half-hearted bark. I think he knew he was the literal underdog in that match-up. And wisely chose to instead become very interested in sniffing around the base of a pear tree. Birdie ambled over to me and leaned his body against my thigh. Tipping his head up as I rubbed his ears. I'd heard a wise person once. Teaching about meditation and enlightenment. After some instruction, he clarified that though he devoted his life to these ideas, a person could live without them. But he said, You cannot live without affection. That had sat with me for a long time. We were all still animals. And as much as we might intellectualize, we couldn't get past nor should we want to. Needing each other. Birdie needed this affection. As much as he needed water and his breakfast. I leaned down and planted a kiss on his warm forehead. Crumb raced over, jealous that kisses were being handed out and he wasn't the recipient. Come in and you'll get snuggles too, I said. And opened the door at the top of the porch stairs. And opened the door at the top of the porch stairs. They raced through the door. And into the comfortable library, where I had a canister of treats for them. Like many grand old houses of their day, our kitchens were below stairs. And the last thing I needed was crumb running wild through chef's pantry. I imagined him colliding with the shelves of pickles and shuttered. So they'd breakfast up here. We had a few days still. Before my guests' parents returned to take them home. And what with the lovely weather, it seemed like a day for adventure. Part three. We were up on the third floor when the doorbell rang. I'd been making my bed up with fresh sheets. And was just tucking the duvet in around the side rail when we heard it toll. In a house as big as the inn, a sweet little chime just wouldn't do. And it wasn't just the size that made that a bad fit. This was a grand old house that had been in its life, a stately family mansion, then a prestigious school. And eventually a beloved inn where folks come to spend long summer days beside the lake. And it had been an inn twice now. Open for decades and then closed for decades more. When I was a child, I'd gotten to come a few times before the place was shuttered. And even then it seemed magical to me. Seemed to whisper to me when I climbed the great staircase or looked out of her triple hung windows. To whisper about all that she had seen and what more might come in the future. Years later, when I was at a crossroads unsure of what direction to take, I'd found myself back here at the inn, tromping through her overgrown gardens, pressing my nose on the ground. Tromping through her overgrown gardens, pressing my nose up against the windows to stare in at the furniture draped in sheets and feeling down deep in my bones that this lovely old place needed me. And boy did it. Bringing the house back to life took more than a little elbow grease. It needed serious renovation and I did a lot of it with my own two hands. I learned to patch plaster, to sand floors and lay tile. One day when we were opening up a stretch of wall that had been added in awkwardly by a previous owner, we found still hanging between the boards, a collection of long chimes. I hadn't known what I was looking at at first. In fact, I worried that I'd stumbled upon a particularly nasty plumbing problem. What were these pipes meant to be connected to? Then a friend who'd been helping me took a wrench from his pocket and gently tapped it to one of the pipes. A lovely clear tone resounded through the room and I'd smiled. We've found the doorbell, he said. I'd been so excited to unearth it. Undoubtedly, it was original to the house. And I wondered how long it had been since anyone had heard its tone. Rewiring it had been a big job. And one I'd needed help from an electrician on. While he was doing the difficult work, I'd snuck into town and wandered through the antique store looking for just the right button. To go beside the front door. I've always cotton in trouble around buttons. If I see one, I want to push it. Even if I know I shouldn't, I mustn't. Still, the pull is too strong to resist. My mother still told the story of me setting off the burglar alarm at the dentist's office when I was five. Why they'd had the button anywhere near the toy chest was still a puzzle to me. And even though I hadn't enjoyed the chaos I'd caused that day. It hadn't stopped me pushing buttons my whole life. So I wanted the doorbell to be one that would invite my guests to press it. To enjoy that feeling of the mechanical buzz behind the switch. And then to hear the melodic song of the chimes. I'd seen a few that were age appropriate for the house and were very pretty but just weren't right. Then I'd spotted it on a shelf. A tarnished brass button that said in large letters, press. That's the one I'd said to myself and bought it on the spot. And it did look perfect on the front door frame. I'd polished it up till it shone. And many of my guests, especially those of the younger persuasion, followed the instructions on its plate. But this was the off season. We were still more than a month away from welcoming the first guests of the year. So when it rang today I knew it had to be a package. And while we weren't hosting official guests, I wasn't alone in the inn. Marmalade the cat and Crumb and Birdie, both dogs, had been keeping me company for the past few days while their parents were enjoying a short and tropical vacation. Marmy loved the view from the third floor and spent her afternoons monitoring the situation in the branches. A family of warblers were moving in, twig by twig just outside the window. Crumb, the most energetic of the trio, had been jumping on and off the bed as I made it. He had a wonderful way of making everything into play. And it had been a good influence on me. So I didn't mind tugging the blankets back and forth with him. When the doorbell rang out, he stopped short, the corner of a pillow in his mouth, and stared in the direction of the chime. Then, like he'd been shot from a cannon, he raced out of the room and down the stairs. I followed him and found Birdie on the second floor landing, stretched out in a shaft of sunlight. Apparently, coming all the way up to the third floor had proved too exhausting for the greyhound, and he'd stopped to nap. Crumb leapt over him and Birdie didn't even raise his head. Excuse us, I said, as I stepped around him. He opened one eye and then closed it again. Down another flight of stairs, I paused to look out through the landing window and spotted the mail truck parked in our circle drive. Excited as a kid getting a present, I rushed down the last flight and to the door. I scooped Crumb up before I opened it, as I still didn't trust him to behave. I found our mail carrier on the stoop with a package in her hand and one finger about to press the doorbell again. We laughed as we caught each other's eye. Go ahead, I said, it likes to be pushed. She pressed her finger to the button and we all listened to the melody ringing through the entryway. She handed me the package, which rattled when I shook it. Not that it's any of my business, she teased. But that looks like it came from the chalet where Chef is. Maybe they made you cookies. I hoisted Crumb a bit higher on my hip and said, dog cookies, I expect. I thanked her for bringing the package and she waved as she climbed into her truck. Inside, with the door closed behind us, I sat Crumb down and shook the box again. I heard the tinkle of a tiny bell and looked up to see Marmalade on the first floor landing with Birdie at her side. Come on down then and we'll see what Chef sent you. I called and watched them amble down the stairs. This old house felt happy to have these guests and so was I. Marmalade at the inn. I heard their car pulling down the long circle drive in front of the door. Pulling down the long circle drive in front of the inn. And a smile spread over my face. An innkeeper likes to have guests. And it felt like an age since we closed up in the fall. And I'd had anyone to pamper and feed. And yes, these guests would be different from the usual sort who came to swim in the lake and nap in our hammocks. But I was determined that their stay would be just as enjoyable. I hurried down the wide front staircase, my hand skimming over the shining banister. As I peered out the windows to the drive. My guests were climbing out of the car and getting tangled in their leashes. I opened the door and stepped out in my slippers to help. The barking commenced. Excited jumping and tail wagging followed. Can you grab Marmalade's crate? She's in the back seat. Sure, I said. And leaned in to see her eyeing me from inside her travel case. Come on Marmy. I've got a freshly wound ball of yarn for you to unravel. I lifted her case out carefully and we all managed to make our way into the inn. I closed the door behind us, set Marmalade down on the window seat and opened the little door in her crate. She meowed grouchily and didn't move. Her mom leaned down to look in at her. Marmalade, she said in a placating voice. We talked about this. You've got this whole beautiful old house to poke through. So many window ledges to nap on. You might as well enjoy it. Marmalade meowed again in response. Oh, she'll get over herself in a minute or two, she said waving her hand at the cat. Crumb was still jumping excitedly as they tried to get his leash off. And Birdie in a plaid sweater that went all the way down his spindly legs was already lying down in a patch of sunlight at the foot of the stairs. Birdie's dad laughed looking at the tableau. I have a feeling you're getting a preview of the next few days, he said. Stubborn, excited and asleep and pointed to each animal in turn. Fine by me, I said. Do you have time for a cup of coffee before you go? Yes, please. They both said in unison. And we trooped down the long hallway to the library where I'd set up a little tray before they'd arrived. Crumb came barreling down the corridor. So excited to explore this new playhouse and jumped onto the sofa beside the fire. He was small and fuzzy with brown spiky fur that stood up all around his head. His eyes were hazel and for all his goofiness, they lent him some gravitas. His was an old soul who had simply never grown up. I could hear Birdie's nails clacking on the wood floors behind us. And he ambled into the library and immediately laid back down. Now in front of the crackling fire, I stooped to stroke his head. His gray fur was so soft and he let out a dog's eye and closed his eyes. A rescued greyhound, Bird had the energy of a good-natured but sleepy grandpa who wanted nothing so much as a warm bed and a tasty meal. Well, that was easy enough. My friends settled down on the couch as Crumb jumped down to skitter past the windows, all of which were too high for him to see out of. I poured a cup of coffee for each of us from the graph I'd brought up from the kitchen. I hesitated with the milk jug in my hand and looked over at them. A milk for me please, she said, and added sugar for him. He smiled at her as I handed over the cups. Oh gosh, they were cute. We sipped from our cups and they told me about their trip. A few days on a faraway beach where the air was warm and the sun was out all day. I didn't sound bad at all. Here the seasons were still vacillating. We'd had a bit of near spring then a big snowstorm. And now it was warmer but rainy and gray. The wind was blowing fiercely today and I hoped it would dry up the muddy spots in the yard so that the dogs and I could play outside. Crumb having finished his inspection of the perimeter came around to my chair and jumped up onto my lap. I set down my cup before I could spill it and began to scratch his back and rub his ears. When I paused for a moment he turned to look at me and thrust his head under my palm. A small wine in the back of his throat when I laughed and petted him again. After we went through their itinerary and they told me about the restaurant where they'd booked a table for a fancy dinner beside the ocean. We went over my guests' culinary preferences, their daily grooming needs and sleeping arrangements. Namely that crumb could have a pup cup if we went out. A birdie didn't seem to care for them. The dogs would sleep as late as I liked but needed to go straight out when we did get up. Marmy and Crumb slept on the bed and usually under the blankets but Bird had his own bed and liked to space. Crumb didn't like thunderstorms and if he got upset I could give him his CBD treats to calm him down. I resisted the urge to take notes, promising them that I would take good care of their babies. See, they'll be fine, she said, reaching for his hand. He lifted hers to his lips and kissed it and smiled at her again. Just as we were setting the cups back on their tray, we heard a small meow from the doorway. We turned as one to look at Marmalade sitting on the threshold. Her eyes wide, a little indignant that we'd left her all alone. Her mom went to her and scooped her up in her arms. She carried the fluffy orange kitty to the window and whispered to her as they looked out together. I could hear a few words about the birds in the trees, the ducks starting to return to the lake. I thought of how far Marmalade had come from being alone and cold as a kitten out in the snow, to finding a home with a mom who loved her and part of a growing family, to now having her own holiday in this beautiful grand house. Innkeepers need someone to keep, to take care of. And for the next few days, she would be the fluffy orange lady of the house. Part two. I'd been an innkeeper for many years now, but I wasn't used to waking up with my guests sprawled across the foot of my bed. Still, I was enjoying every morning of this. The sun was rising earlier and earlier, and today, when I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, I saw Marmalade dozing in a beam of light. I reached for her soft ginger fur. It was warm under my fingertips. She yawned and stretched luxuriously. It was lovely to see her so comfortable and at ease. First night after her mom had left, she'd been standoffish. Frankly, she'd looked affronted, offended to have been left behind. Never mind that she knew me from lots of visits, and that her favorite kitty bed had been warmed by the fire. Her preferred pâté and kibble served up on a fancy china plate. But since then, she'd grown more relaxed and traded in her outrage for curiosity and play. Besides her was a round lump under the duvet. That would be Crumb, the little brown dog who snored like a bear. Crumb had been comfortable right from the beginning. His mom had brought a backpack stuffed with balls and squeaky toys, which were now dispersed over all four floors of the inn. Whenever I stumbled across one, I picked it up and squeaked it. Until I could hear little paws scrabbling along the floorboards or stomping on the stairs. Then I'd throw it as far as I could, and Crumb would race and snatch it up and usually go sliding into the molding. I padded the lump in the bed and felt his little tail thumping against the mattress. I pulled back the duvet and he blinked at the sunlight, immediately flipping over for a belly rub. On his back, his wrinkly cheeks sunk back and it looked like he was smiling, a goofy grin with his lips stuck on his teeth. These animals made me laugh all day long. How had I lived so long without any in my life? I swung my feet out of bed and stood. Careful not to step on Birdie, the last of my guests, who was in many ways the opposite of Crumb. Birdie was a rescued greyhound, so giant compared to little Crumb. He was sleek instead of fluffy. And rather than chase toys and explore the inn, all he really wanted to do was find a nice warm place to snooze. In fact, he and Marmy often bunked together on a bed in the library where the morning sun was strongest. I called his name and he opened one eye and looked at me. Let's go outside, I said, and then you can have a treat. That last word sent Crumb flying off the bed and zooming in circles around Birdie, who slowly and reminiscent of a giraffe lumbered to his feet. Are you coming Marm? I looked back at her, stretched out in the sun. She blinked her gold eyes at me as if to say, why would I move? I chuckled as I opened my bedroom door and ushered the dogs down the stairs. In the winter, when I was here alone, I'd gotten quite used to the quiet and honestly, I enjoyed it. From May till November, the inn was very busy. Kids and grown-ups coming and going, breakfast to serve, beds to make, towels to carry down to the lakeshore, and I loved that too. It was a great balance for me, I realized. Time to care for and be with others, and then time to care for and be with myself. But this little interruption to my regularly scheduled programming was bringing me fresh energy and adding fun to each day. The inn was set far back off the road. And with lots of land and gardens all around. So the dogs could race through the yards without fear of bumping into anyone. And by now, we'd walked the property together, enough for them to know where the boundaries were. The first day or two, I'd let them out the front door, the one at the bottom of the great staircase that led to the circle drive, where guests pulled up when the inn was open. But today, we walked through the hall to the back of the house, and through the screened-in porch where breakfast was served all summer. I sprung the lock on the old screen door, and they rushed down the steps, and out onto the grass. The sunshine was warm and bright, and the skies were completely clear. Down the sloping lawn was the lake, now melted after the long winter. The ducks were back and paddling through the water, splashing and dunking down to let it run over their backs. Crumb watched them from afar and gave one half-hearted bark. I think he knew he was the literal underdog in that match-up, and wisely chose to instead become very interested in sniffing around the base. Of a pear tree, Bertie ambled over to me and leaned his body against my thigh, tipping his head up as I rubbed his ears. I'd heard a wise person once teaching about meditation and enlightenment. After some instruction, he clarified that, though he'd devoted his life to these ideas, a person could live without them, but he said, you cannot live without affection. That had sat with me for a long time. We were all still animals, and as much as we might intellectualized, we couldn't get past, nor should we want to, kneading each other. Bertie needed this affection as much as he needed water and his breakfast. I leaned down and planted a kiss on his warm forehead. Crumb raced over, jealous that kisses were being handed out when he wasn't the recipient. Come in and you'll get snuggles too, I said, and opened the door at the top of the porch stairs. They raced through and into the comfortable library, where I kept a canister of treats for them. Like many grand old houses of their day, our kitchens were below stairs, and the last thing I needed was crumb running wild through Chef's Pantry. I imagined him colliding with the shelves of pickles and shuttered. So they'd breakfast up here. We had a few days still before my guests' parents returned to take them home. And what with the lovely weather, it seemed like a day for adventure. Part 3 We were all up on the third floor when the doorbell rang. I'd been making my bed up with fresh sheets, and was just tucking the duvet in around the side rail when we heard it toll. In a house as big as the inn, a sweet little chime just wouldn't do. And it wasn't just the size that made that a bad fit. This was a grand old house that had, in its life, been a stately family mansion, and then a prestigious school, and eventually a beloved inn where folks come to spend long summer days beside the lake. And it had been an inn twice now, open for decades. And then closed for decades more. When I was a child, I'd gotten to come a few times before the place was shuttered. And even then it seemed magical to me. Seemed to whisper to me when I'd climbed the great staircase. Or looked out of her triple hung windows. To whisper about all that she had seen. And what more might come in the future. Years later, when I was at a crossroads, unsure of what direction to turn, I'd found myself back here at the inn, tromping through her overgrown gardens. Pressing my nose up against the windows to stare in at the furniture draped in sheets. And feeling down deep in my bones that this lovely old place needed me. And boy, did it. Bringing the house back to life took more than a little elbow grease. It needed serious renovation. And I did a lot of it with my own two hands. I learned to patch plaster, to sand floors, and lay tile. One day, when we were opening up a stretch of wall that had been added in awkwardly by a previous owner. We found still hanging between the boards, a collection of long chimes. I hadn't known what I was looking at at first. In fact, I worried that I'd stumbled upon a particularly nasty plumbing problem. What were these pipes meant to be connected to? Then, a friend who'd been helping me took a wrench from his pocket and gently tapped it to one of the pipes. A lovely clear tone resounded through the room. And I smiled. We've found the doorbell, he said. I'd been so excited to unearth it. Undoubtedly, it was original to the house. And I wondered how long it had been since anyone had heard its tone. Rewiring it had been a big job and one I'd needed help from an electrician on. While he was doing the difficult work, I'd snuck into town and wandered through the antique store, looking for just the right button to go beside the front door. I've always gotten in trouble around buttons. If I see one, I want to push it. Even if I know I shouldn't, I mustn't. Still, the pull is too strong to resist. My mother still told the story of me setting off the burglar alarm at the dentist's office when I was five. Why they'd had the button anywhere near the toy chest was still a puzzle to me. And even though I hadn't enjoyed the chaos I'd caused that day, it hadn't stopped me pushing buttons my whole life. So, I wanted the doorbell to be one that would invite my guests to press it. To enjoy the feeling of the mechanical buzz behind the switch. And then to hear the melodic song of the chimes. I'd seen a few that were age-appropriate for the house. And were very pretty, but just weren't right. Then I'd spotted it on a shelf. A tarnished brass button that said in large letters, press. That's the one I'd said to myself and bought it on the spot. And it did look perfect on the front door frame. I'd polished it up till it shone. And many of my guests, especially those of the younger persuasion, followed the instruction on its plate. But this was off-season. We were still more than a month away from welcoming the first guests of the year. So, when it rang today, I knew it had to be a package. And while we weren't hosting official guests, I wasn't alone in the inn. Marmalade the cat and Crumb and Birdie, both dogs, had been keeping me company for the past few days. While their parents were enjoying a short and tropical vacation. Marmy loved the view from the third floor. And spent her afternoons monitoring the situation in the branches. A family of warblers were moving in, twig by twig, just outside the window. Crumb, the most energetic of the trio, had been jumping on and off the bed as I made it. He had a wonderful way of making everything into play. And it had been a good influence on me. So, I didn't mind tugging the blankets back and forth with him. When the doorbell rang out, he'd stopped short, the corner of a pillow in his mouth, and stared in the direction of the chime. Then, like he'd been shot from a cannon, he raced out of the room and down the stairs. I followed him and found Birdie on the second floor landing, stretched out in a shaft of sunlight. Apparently, coming all the way up to the third floor had proved too exhausting for the Greyhound. And he'd stopped to nap. Crumb leapt over him, and Birdie didn't even raise his head. Excuse us, I said, as I stepped around him. He opened one eye and then closed it again. Down another flight of stairs, and I paused to look out through the landing window and spotted the mail truck parked in our circle drive. Excited as a kid, getting a present, I rushed down the last flight into the door. I scooped Crumb up before I opened it, as I still didn't trust him to behave. I found our mail carrier on the stoop with a package in her hand, and one finger about to press the doorbell again. We laughed as we caught each other's eye. Go ahead, I said. It likes to be pushed. She pressed her finger to the button, and we all listened to the melody ringing through the entryway. She handed me the package, which rattled when I shook it. Not that it's any of my business, she teased. But that looks like it came from the chalet where Chef is. Maybe they made you cookies. I hoisted Crumb a bit higher on my hip and said, Dog cookies, I expect. I thanked her for bringing the package, and she waved as she climbed into her truck. Inside, with the door closed behind us, I set Crumb down and shook the box again. I heard the tinkle of a tiny bell, and looked up to see Marmalade on the first floor landing, with Birdie at her side. Come on down then, and we'll see what Chef sent you, I called, and watched them amble down the stairs. The old house felt happy to have these guests, and so was I. Sweet dreams.