CAMBRIDGE -- The look on the room-service waiter's face was one of sheer terror. Frozen in place, he balanced the tray with one hand as I held back my barking dog by the collar.
''Is he friendly?" the waiter asked, gulping.
''Believe it or not, he is," I replied. Gromit broke free of my grip, bounded forward, started sniffing, fell silent, and wagged his tail. Relieved, the waiter entered the room, put down the breakfast tray, and tried valiantly to smile. Even though the room-service bill came with a delivery charge and a built-in gratuity, I left him a little extra something, and his smile changed from forced to genuine.
It was a tipping technique that repeated itself several times at the Hotel Marlowe, where pets are welcome at no extra charge and where Gromit, my foxhound mix, spent two nights in style. It was his first time in a hotel, and as a territory-sensitive dog, it took a full day for him to get used to the idea that every stranger who walked down our hallway wasn't planning to invade our space. I kept plenty of small bills on me, and made sure to show my appreciation for the hotel's tolerance of his ferocious-sounding bark wherever I could.
We stayed on the seventh floor, where the hotel puts all its guests with pets. We saw only one other little pooch -- and that was in the lobby -- but a few barks and growls as we made our way down the hallway provided evidence that at least two or three other canines were calling the Marlowe home away from home that Easter weekend.
As a Kimpton Boutique Hotel, the 236-room Marlowe combines the kind of service required to win AAA Four Diamond Award status with a funky, intimate decor usually associated with much smaller properties. The friendliness began as soon as I pulled up in a taxi with Gromit and my bags all fighting for space in the back seat.
The doorman asked his name while he helped us into the lobby and the registration desk, where Gromit immediately put his front legs on the counter and the desk clerk responded with a dog biscuit. After checking us in, the clerk produced an adorable little white lunchbox filled with freshly baked treats from the South End's Polka Dog Bakery.
We made our way up to the room, which, like the rest of the hotel, was done up in a funky faux-elegant decor that could be described as Lewis Carroll meets Phillippe Starck: leopard prints, checkerboards, and starbursts, with lots of crimson velvets and gold accents. With a king-size bed, a large writing desk, and a comfortable side chair, it was nice and roomy.
But where was the storage? The small closet had room for hanging clothes, but there was no bureau. In fact, besides the small drawer in the desk, there were only two drawers in the whole room, and they weren't even together. I unpacked about half my clothes into them and the space was already gone.
Some other touches helped make up for the annoyance. We particularly appreciated the lighted vanity mirror in the bathroom, which was perfect for shaving, and the faux-fur throw on the bed. Gromit didn't have his own bed -- that would've cost an extra $75, which would have also gotten him his own fleece blanket -- but he probably wouldn't have slept in it, anyway. Ours was big enough for the three of us.
When we humans were starving, we left Gromit and some treats in the room while we went downstairs to Bambara, the hotel's restaurant, which bills itself as an ''American brasserie." An overly effusive waiter responded to every one of our dish selections with ''That's a phenomenal choice!" even when he had not actually tasted them. In general, though, he didn't steer us wrong: With the exception of the worst mojito we have ever tasted, which he gracefully exchanged for an espresso martini, food and drink were fine, from the juicy burger to a well-cooked halibut fillet, but nothing to rave about.
Gromit, meanwhile, was excited to see us return, so we took him for a late-night walk in the canal park that runs behind the hotel and the next-door CambridgeSide Galleria. With nobody else around, we let him off the leash so he could stretch his legs. Throughout the weekend, we returned again and again to this park, where Gromit met, sniffed, chased, and otherwise played with other dogs, one of them straining at the end of a jogger's leash.
It was a good thing, because without some outdoor space nearby, no hotel would really be dog-friendly, especially not for dogs as active as mine. The best-behaved dog is a tired dog, after all. Thankfully, the Marlowe is also near a Petco, because after I realized I had forgotten Gromit's food, and room service told me there were no dog meals available, I picked up some chow there.
While the staff -- particularly one of the doormen -- was genuinely welcoming to Gromit, not all the other guests were. In at least one case, it was hard to fault them. It was our last night at the Marlowe, and we ran into a young couple also going up to the seventh floor. Gromit was wagging his tail vigorously, got up on his hind legs to look at us and them in the elevator mirror, and generally acted like a big, goofy dog.
The couple, we noticed, was struggling to smile, much as that room-service waiter had done. When we made conversation, we discovered that not only don't they have a dog, but also they hadn't even been told they were being put on the one floor designated for people with pets. Their eyes looked a little bleary.
''There was a two-hour barking competition the other night," the woman said, in a British accent. ''There's a very big dog on this floor."
They couldn't have been talking about Gromit, could they? I had a few extra bills in my pocket, but I resisted the urge to tip them. I don't think they would've taken it well.
Joe Yonan can be reached at yonan@globe.com.
