Dog Friendly Hardrock

Ah, the Hard Rock Hollywood—a glittering palace of fame and fortune. But this time, the star wasn’t some guitar-slinging legend or a velvet-voiced crooner. No, this was Tank’s time to shine. And let me tell you, folks, this was no ordinary hotel stay. This was a Rock Star Residency.

From the moment those iconic doors swooshed open, the stage was set. Tank strutted in like a furry Mick Jagger, commanding every ear scratch, every smile, every “aww” from the staff. This wasn’t a hotel lobby—it was his backstage pass. Check-in? Please. For Tank, it was a full-blown meet-and-greet, complete with tail wags, belly rubs, and adoring fans. And yes, he was a total chick magnet. You’re welcome, Dad.

The room—or should I say, the suite fit for a legend—was a masterpiece. And Tank? Oh, he inspected it like a true rock star. The fridge, his personal treasure chest, stocked with treats carefully curated by Mom. Every time that door opened, Tank perked up like it was the sound of applause. And The Bed. Oh, The Bed. Massive, plush, and utterly irresistible. Tank claimed the center like a seasoned diva, leaving his parents clinging to the edges like extras in his feature film. Sorry, Dad—Tank’s world, Tank’s rules.

When it came to dinner at the Council Oak restaurant, the star power went up another notch. While Mom and Dad indulged in perfectly seared steak, Tank worked the room from under the table, charming every server and diner who crossed his path. And the filet mignon scraps? Let’s just say this pup’s palate hit superstar status. Tank’s culinary journey has officially gone platinum.

And then, the casino. Oh, the casino! Tank couldn’t hit the blackjack table—something about paws on the table and the inability to hold cards due to the fact that he has no thumbs—but he didn’t need to. With his wagging tail and irresistible charm, he was the unofficial good-luck charm of the night. Dealers, players, even passersby couldn’t resist giving him a quick pet. Tank soaked it all in, basking in the glow of his fan club like the king of the casino floor.

Now, let’s talk about the pool. Picture this: a VIP cabana, chilled water bowls on tap, and Tank reclining in the shade with sunglasses perched on his snout. Spoiled? Absolutely. Regrets? Not a single one. Tank owned that poolside scene like the doggy Sinatra of Hollywood.

The Hard Rock doesn’t just welcome dogs—they roll out the red carpet, complete with spotlights and fanfare. When it was time to leave, Tank walked out with a Jagger-swagger, a new fan club, and dreams of his next residency. Elvis may have left the building, but Tank? Tank owns it.