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Yahoo!AND CHLOE MAKES THREE: In the life of a confirmed dog person, nothing quite compares to the sad sight of one’s pooch, the picture of dejection and gloomy resignation as you leave the house once more. Showing up later for the “d” and “w” words—dinner and walking—brings the old springy step and slobbery grin back. Still, the glum moments linger and add to one’s weight of guilt. What can we do to give these exalted beings their due attention and affection? Get thee on vacation!
In Portland recently, at the Hotel Monaco, I noticed canines mingling freely with humans at the happy hour confab. These, I discovered, were not hotel mascots, but actual dogs of actual dog-loving hotel visitors. Turns out the Monaco’s mothership Kimpton Hotel chain is a proud part of a new dog-friendly phenomenon in the hotel industry.
So we two empty nesting parents loaded up the Volvo station wagon with our suddenly more doted-on yellow lab, Chloe, and headed out for a couple of nights in San Francisco’s Hotel Monaco. From the first mile, Chloe seemed to be in a tongue-wagging state of grace in the car, unfazed by the drive’s roughly two-too-many hours. Along the way, we stopped in Chloe’s hometown of Santa Margarita, and she appeared thrilled to return there for a look, a sniff, and a romp (then again, appearances can be deceiving or easily projected with dogs, who readily convey happy or sad, but skimp on the details of their bliss or blues).
Peggy Grossman
Chloe
Upon impact, arriving at the hiply redecorated Hotel Monaco on Geary Street, we knew that this hotel had an enlightened attitude towards canine friends. Dog biscuits and warm dog greetings flowed freely downstairs—including at happy hour and breakfast, where the other guests got to know Chloe by name. In the room, on the special dog-friendly floor, a dog bed and bowl reminded us of who was boss, although Chloe preferred human furniture, as is her wont.
We walked up Taylor Street, and immediately noticed Chloe’s discovery of a multitude of new aromas on the urban sidewalk—and potential contraband snacking items (lesson 1: watch your dog closely on urban sidewalks). We all appreciated the panoramic splendor from the patch of a park between Grace Cathedral and the Fairmont Hotel up on Nob Hill.
That night, we dined—in our room—on take-out food from a scrumptious nearby Indian place, called Shalimar. Afterward, we walked down to Union Square, and to Maiden Lane to see the hidden architectural jewel that is the Frank Lloyd Wright-designed gallery. Chloe didn’t seem especially impressed, perhaps agreeing with the critic passerby who had scrawled “Frank Lloyd Wrong Building” in chalk on the sidewalk. If the gallery had dog biscuits, it would have been a different story. She was too keen to explore the city, and implied she wanted to check out Chinatown, which we did, dutifully (and doo-tifully).
In the morning, we strolled through the … ahem … aromatic Tenderloin district, past City Hall, and on to the delightful Tartine, on Gough. Dinner-wise the second night, we were directed to Belden Lane, a row of outdoor restaurants tucked off of Bush Street, and Chloe approved of our choice of Plouf. She actually lay down quietly and only occasionally begged for morsels. Perhaps the long walk through Golden Gate Park wiped her out, as it did us.
What one quickly learns about having a dog in the city is that one’s usual freedom of movement and spontaneous tourist options become limited (unless you care to use the hotel’s dog-sitting service). It’s all about the pooch. And that was the idea here, an idea whose rightness was confirmed by Chloe’s almost constant look of pleasure, sometimes in contrast to our minor frustrations in navigating the city with a leash, a plastic bag and an ever-curious wandering snout in tow.
Now, we imagine that Chloe dreams about her S.F. getaway. But yes, dog owners do tend to help themselves to self-delusions.
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(Got e? fringebeat@independent.com.)
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