Shortly after moving to Atlanta from Seattle, we were feeling that there was a hole in the family that needed to be filled. We went straight to the pound and picked out a 4-year-old, mismatched ear, smiling dog named Annie. She's nearly 13 years old now and dropping weight every week. There are lumps on her body, and she is getting less and less energetic — evident reminders of the age that she is. We are understanding now that she may not be with us within the next few years, but her time with us is characterized by hours spent trying to get her to chase a ball and the time that we put her on the trampoline, by cappuccinos from Starbucks and her severe hatred of car rides.

Every Christmas, puppies are bought by the thousands and kennels are emptied. It's enough to make the hardest heart soft, but how many of those dogs will be returned? How many will be left outside in the cold?

Dogs are a huge responsibility. Those puppies that were bought from a breeder, they aren't potty-trained yet, and they've most likely started teething, which means that that new couch will soon be a play toy. The new rug that was just purchased will have stains on it by the end of the week. They bark and cry and pee and chew up new furniture and drool on your shoulder in the car because, sometimes, you bring a dog into your family that hates car rides.

They also cuddle with you and sleep outside your door every single night to make sure you're okay. They lay down by your feet and lick your toes when you're sad. They have funny characteristics that give them their exact personality and use their big puppy eyes until half of the food on your plate is in their stomachs.

Dogs are a big responsibility, but they're a part of the family. They aren't a birthday present or a Christmas present or even a way to propose to your girlfriend. They're family, and while they may only be around for a small portion of your life, to them, you're their whole world. You're there from start to finish. You're their best friend.

So the next time you decide to buy a dog, to bring home a sweet, little blue-eyed puppy that's going to chew up your socks and eat your dinner when you're not looking, you're not committing to a chain outside in the backyard. You're not committing to. "Well if this doesn't work out, we can send it back to the pound." You're committing to being there for a new member, to stained furniture and sunrise jumps on your stomach. You're committing to lots and lots of laughs. You're committing to family.