Hello, Placitas. We’re Gracie and Porter, although around Ranchos de Placitas, we’re better known as “The Bigs.” You may recognize us from our long morning walks, where several neighbors, including those who don’t even own dogs, carry treats specifically for us. We assume this is simply how neighborhoods work.

I’m Gracie, a mixed-breed rescue with German Shepherd, Siberian Husky, Chow Chow and Rat Terrier in the family tree. I’ll be 13 in September, which means I’ve earned the right to have opinions. I’m observant, chill and wicked smart. When someone I know appears after an unacceptable absence, I greet them loudly with what the humans call “scolding.”

WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?!

I also have an extraordinary nose. If you’ve been nearby, I know. If you’ve visited recently, I know. If you have snacks, obviously, I know.

I’m Porter. I’m seven, wildly affectionate, extremely sweet and, according to reliable sources, goofy. My ancestry includes German Shepherd, Siberian Husky, Malamute, Australian Cattle Dog, Golden Retriever and assorted mystery ingredients. I enjoy kisses, treats and sitting upright while someone rubs my paws indefinitely. I’m also an athlete. I can launch myself six feet into the air for a ball and would happily start a full-scale stampede at the dog park just to have everyone chase me in circles.

Gracie fears thunder, fireworks and skateboards. I fear running out of treats and missing kisses. We all have our burdens.

Gracie fears thunder, fireworks and skateboards. I fear running out of treats and missing kisses. We all have our burdens.

Our family stories are pretty good, too. Gracie was fostered by my dad Daniel’s sister, Jaime, in Chicago, who wisely insisted she remain in the family. She was adopted at 12 weeks old.

I took a more direct approach. At about 10 months old, I met my dad’s, Daniel and Bryan, at a San Francisco dog park, sat directly on one of their feet and looked up with my best, “Will you be my daddy?” eyes. I was being fostered through the SFSPCA.

Worked beautifully.

There was, admittedly, one San Francisco incident involving me, an unidentified bag of poop and my decision to whip it around like fresh prey. Bryan and I both required hosing down. We no longer discuss it.

These days, we walk Placitas with our best buds Violet, Banjo, Sammy, Scout and Foggy, and visit our cousins Konrad and Winston in Diamond Tail.

Mostly, we’re grateful for a home full of love, belly rubs, visitors, deep conversations and parents who would do anything for us.

And, of course, each other.

Life is pretty good when you’re one of The Bigs.