In Carmel, Room for the Well Heeled

Check-in at the Cypress Inn was uneventful. Our two “little ones” quickly discovered the jar of biscuits on the reception counter and were more than happy to let Brennan the bellman carry their food and toys to Room 110, an end unit with a king bed and a gas fireplace. Sherry, a fruit basket and bottles of water were waiting.

Rusty, knowing that tennis balls often wind up under beds--at least in our house--immediately checked what precious gifts might be under this one. Much to our amusement, he fetched a note from the hotel staff saying that they strive for absolute cleanliness, even under the bed. It bore that day’s date and the maid’s initials.

I was impressed, even if Rusty wasn’t.

My husband and I like traveling with our two golden retrievers, and we like staying in nice places. It’s the rare occasion when we get to do both at once, as Vic and I did at the Cypress Inn in Carmel earlier this month.

Co-owned by animal-rights advocate Doris Day, the 34-room Spanish-style inn welcomes four-legged guests (even rambunctious ones like ours) with open paws. Pet blankets, laundered daily, are provided in the rooms to protect the expensive brocade bedspreads. Leashed dogs are allowed in all areas of the graciously appointed hotel, so bellying up to its bar landed Rusty and Chloe nothing but pats and cookies. Although guests are not permitted to leave animals unattended in rooms, the hotel provides a list of pet-sitters who charge $10 an hour.

Our Topanga thugs, as another guest dubbed the dogs after an unfortunate misunderstanding involving a biscuit, were able to join us for afternoon tea in the garden, happy hour in the library bar and mingling with other guests in front of the living room fireplace. The weekend wasn’t growl-free, and the froufrou factor ran high. But overall, I’m happy to report that four-star travel with Fido is possible.

Vic and I made the 325-mile trip along U.S. 101 from Los Angeles one Saturday, taking about six hours. After checking in and arming ourselves with pooper-scooper bags provided by the staff, we set out to explore the inn. (Rates are $125 to $395 a night, plus tax. We paid $235, plus a nightly $35 fee for two dogs; breakfast was included, as were the fruit basket and other extras.)

In the lobby we “ran into” Charlie, a one-eyed chocolate Lab whose people told us about the beach. It sounded too perfect to miss, so we set out on foot and paws toward the ocean.

A few blocks down a steep hill and lo and behold: legal leashlessness! Our dogs bounded toward the surf to chase seabirds. Charlie’s people had said the beach was filled with more than 200 dogs earlier in the day, but by the time we got there the crowd had thinned.

We walked along the shore for about an hour; then, concerned about finding a place for dinner that would take us with the dogs, we went back to the hotel wet, sandy and redolent of the delightful scent that can only come from rolling on your back in kelp and stinky seaweed.

The unflappable inn staff took us in stride and directed us to outdoor hoses. We gave the dogs makeshift baths, and, while they settled down to dry in the sun, we indulged in happy-hour drinks and complimentary hors d’oeuvres (fried chicken nuggets and assorted olives). Everyone in the lush garden had a dog or two, except for one couple from Washington who had flown down for the weekend and spent most of it phoning home to check on the springer spaniel they had left behind.

All was peaceful until Chloe decided to practice her chokehold on an unsuspecting Australian sheepdog. We were assured by guests that the skirmish sounded much worse than it was. Later, my husband said I was just imagining that people were avoiding us.

Brennan the bellman provided a list of restaurants that allow pets on their patios and helped us with a reservation on a busy Saturday.

We dined at the moderately priced PortaBella, where leashed dogs are walked through the indoor dining room to a covered, heated space outside. I managed to eat all of my pasta with seafood. Vic’s roasted free-range chicken with crispy red potatoes was equally tasty--which meant no doggie bags at our table.

We had dessert next door at the Cottage of Sweets, known for its English candies and homemade chocolate and fudge. I spent 10 minutes perusing more than 45 flavors of licorice before finding happiness with saltwater taffy.

After a brisk walk to work off dinner and for other obvious dog-related reasons, we returned to the inn to look at scrapbooks filled with photos of canine visitors through the years. The living room was quite the happening place. I counted nine dogs, all lying quietly--until we came in--and 12 people, all talking about dogs. We joined in long enough for Vic’s eyes to glaze over and for Rusty to become fascinated with two whippets. We beat a hasty retreat to our room before the stare-down turned into a brawl.

It had been a long day, and we all fell asleep within minutes. The reality of being in a hotel hit at 5:30 a.m. when there was no “just open the door and let the dogs out, honey” option to nature’s wake-up call. Vic had to dress, find leashes in the semidarkness and take them out for a walk.

Breakfast was an impressive assortment of freshly brewed coffees and tea, bagels and fresh fruit.

Vic and I are dalliers and could have spent hours looking at the Doris Day movie posters that line the walls of the breakfast room. But somewhere between “The Winning Team” (with Ronald Reagan) and “Please Don’t Eat the Daisies” (David Niven co-starred), the constant tugging on the other end of the leashes diverted our attention.

There was only one place the dogs wanted to be: back at the beautiful city beach. This time they led the way, pulling us down the hill. With a snap of the leashes, they sped off to meet, greet and teach those gentle waves a lesson. Vic and I walked, sat and read between tennis-ball throws. Two hours later, fearing we would have to carry two tired dogs home, we dragged them back to the car and headed for lunch.

I was hoping to eat at the Chateau Julien winery in the Carmel Valley, less than 20 minutes away. Although the winery offers tastings, it lacks a restaurant or picnic area. The staff directed us to Baja Cantina two miles away, where the dogs were allowed on the patio while we ate salads--one Cobb, one with grilled chicken.

After a leisurely meal, we returned to Carmel to shop the town, which proved a bit frustrating. While I can recreationally shop with the best, I found myself relegated to “just looking” because of the boutique prices. The only store that held any interest for the dogs was Fideaux, which bills itself as “outfitters for dogs and cats.” Though Rusty and Chloe would rather have their noses caught in an electric car window than wear doggie bandannas, they showed genuine interest in rawhide chews.

Walking around the residential areas of Carmel can be almost as heavenly as the beach. This is where those famed fairy-tale cottages line the streets, reflecting the originality and creativity of their owners. Gardens spring from the smallest lots, and where there is no room for gardens in the ground, flowers bloom in clay pots.

We wound down the afternoon with a brief doggie dip in the ocean, then put our exhausted pups in the car to dry off and nap while we got ready for dinner.

The hotel had cleared out and was decidedly more subdued on Sunday night. Feeling somewhat subdued ourselves, we fed the dogs in the car and realized that we really wouldn’t mind one meal without them underfoot. Vic and I walked around the corner to Tutto Mondo, where the garlic scent was so strong that it permeated the street. As exhausted and content as Chloe and Rusty were in the car, I don’t think they even noticed we were gone.

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Budget for Two

Cypress Inn, two nights, including pet fees...$594.00

Dinner, PortaBella...58.35

Lunch, Baja Cantina...20.62

Dinner, Tutto Mondo...44.50

Drinks, snacks...21.22

Gas...68.26

FINAL TAB...$806.95

Cypress Inn, Lincoln Lane and 7th Avenue (mailing address: P.O. Box Y), Carmel, CA 93921; (800) 443-7443 or (831) 624-3871, fax (831) 624-8216, www.cypress-inn.com.

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Ann Brenoff is an assistant Commentary Page editor at The Times.