It was hot. It was so hot that if I accidentally spilled water outside, it would disappear when I counted to five. It was so hot that the weatherman made the entire population of Houston whimper when he explained that there was a pressure system over us that prevented any rain.

Therefore, it wasn’t surprising that under every roof, the air conditioners were going strong. It was uncertain exactly what was going on in everyone else’s house, but it didn’t matter. Our family was together, for once, and we were enjoying it.

It is rare for a moment like this to happen in our family, ever since Peanut, our mix-breed and food-loving dog, came into our family, turning it into a group of four. Together, we had had some real fun together.

We were all squeezed into one bed. My dad was at one side, telling stories. I was next to my dad, listening intently while stealing a corner of his pillow. Next came my mom, and then Peanut. However, Peanut was in no orthodox position.

Peanut was no human, but he tried his best to behave like one. He was sprawled on all fours, belly towards the ceiling, and his head laid on my mom’s outstretched arm and part of her pillow, tongue extended.

It was rare that he was allowed onto the bed because of all the stinks and smells he brought with him, so he tried to enjoy it as much as possible, licking my mom’s arm frequently and snuggling even closer.

And so, the scene was splendid and complete: in one bed, one father, one mother, one son, and one dog. Jokes were shared, stories were told, and we had a great time.

Of course, of all of us, the person who had the best time? Well, it wasn’t exactly a person.

It was a dog.