Berga at maximum volume

There are traditions that never fail. Christmas, nougat... and our annual stop in Berga. We've been here for over a month, at Tito Joan and Granny's house. A classic on our calendar, like shedding... but with more volume.

And when I say volume, I'm not talking about background music.

Here they speak as if every sentence had to reach Cuenca without passing through the ear. There's Tito Joan, Granny with her multi-function walking stick (it serves to lean on, point a things, and, if necessary, direct air traffic), uncle Pepe... and aunt Mari, who has a superpower: she can hold a phone conversation... without needing a phone.

At first, I thought they were arguing. Then I realised they weren't. It's always like that. A kind of karaoke without music but with opinions. So, you try to take a nap... and it's like trying to sleep inside a documentary about lions, but without lions. Just voices.

But wait, there's a prequel.

A few weeks ago, I stayed for six days at aunt Mati and uncle José Antonio's house, with their grandchildren. Very nice. Very affectionate. Very... how to put it... hyperactive, level "coffee with Red Bull and a drum". Meanwhile, Daddy Edu and Uncle Joan went to Holland by plane. By plane. They still haven't explained to me why you can't get there running, but oh well.

So my stimulus counter went into the red. And here comes the big drama: the blanket. I used to be an absolute fan. Level "cover me, wrap me up, wrap me up like a deluxe burrito".

But now when I'm half asleep, and a hand appears with the blanket... my brain does: "Plot twist!"
And me: growl, teeth, look of "don't even think about turning me into a cannelloni right now". It's not against the blanket. The blanket is still a professional. Soft, warm, dedicated to its work.

The problem is that here you never know if a hand is coming to cover you... or to start a shouting conversation five centimetres from your ear. And of course, I no longer sign contracts without reading the small print.

Then there's the sofa. That wonderful place where you get on... and automatically the chorus of: "Shh! Shht! Churri! Churri!"
First, my name isn't Churri, but okay, I accept it as a stage name. Second, what does "shh" mean? Is it a snake? Am I in danger? Have I summoned something?

So, the sofa has changed from being a spa to a reflex gym.
- You relax... shh!
- You lie down... Churri!
- You breathe... suspicious.
And that's no way to disconnect.

However, there is a place where everything returns to normal: the camper van. Some nights we've gone to sleep there, even while in Berga. And hey... a god's hand. Well, Daddy Edu's hand, who also sleeps better there, it must be said. In the camper van there is no human karaoke, no special effects with a cane, no mysterious "shh". There is peace. And what a coincidence... there I do want a blanket. There I am again: happy croquette, premium burrito, expert in professional-level naps.

There's also my left front paw. I lick it sometimes. Nothing serious. It's like when you sigh looking into the infinite thinking "my goodness these people". Well, the same, but tongue version. Anyway, I haven't become grumpy. I'm in "I need a volume down button for humans" mode. But don't worry, there's a solution to this.

Soon we'll be back on the road, in the camper van, in our good routine. And then I'll be that dog again who asks for a blanket as if it were room service. In the meantime, if you see me baring my teeth when I try to sleep... It's not a threat. It's a polite suggestion in dog language: "Less opera... and more nap."