I finally made it to Loch Lomond after a cracking drive up from Glasgow, though not without a daft little mishap – I took a wrong turn near Tarbet and ended up circling a sheep-dotted single-track road for 20 minutes, swearing at my sat-nav like it was personally out to get me. "Recalculating," it kept chirping, while I imagined the sheep sniggering behind their woolly fringes. Still, by early afternoon, I pulled up to the Luxury 1 Bed Hot Tub Lodge (Pet) in Cairndow, my trusty border terrier, Monty, sticking his nose out the window like he'd arrived at doggy heaven.

First impressions? Blimey, this place is a gem. Tucked right on the bonnie banks of Loch Lomond, with views that stretch across the glassy water to the Luss Hills, it felt like stepping into a postcard. The lodge itself is cosy as anything – all warm wood and plush furnishings, with a private hot tub bubbling away on the deck like an invitation to unwind. Monty immediately claimed the pet-friendly rug by the fire, while I dumped my bags and cracked open the welcome pack: fresh scones, local jam, and a bottle of Irn-Bru that hit the spot after my navigational fiasco.

But let's be honest, the real star of those first few hours was the food – or rather, plotting how to make the most of it. Starving after the drive, I didn't waste time; a quick wander down to the Cairndow Village Store, just a stone's throw away, sorted me out. It's a proper wee local gem, shelves groaning with Loch Fyne kippers, venison sausages from nearby estates, and crusty artisan loaves from the Balloch bakers. I grabbed a slab of smoked salmon – silky, peaty, straight from the loch – some tatties, and a bundle of rocket from their veg patch. Back at the lodge, I fancied myself a master chef in the slick kitchen. Sliced that salmon onto oatcakes with a dollop of crème fraîche, fried up tattie scones till they were golden, and paired it with a cheeky GandT from the mini-bar. Monty got his bit of salmon too, eyes all grateful like I'd invented treats.

As the sun dipped low, painting the loch in that magical pinky-gold, I couldn't resist the hot tub. Slipping in with a plate of those leftover scones slathered in jam, steam rising around me, I felt properly spoiled. But hunger struck again by evening, so I rang ahead to the Cairndow Coach House Inn, a cracking pub not five minutes' drive away. It's the sort of place where locals prop up the bar with pints of Loch Fyne Brewery ale, and the menu's all hearty Scottish fare done right. I went for the seafood chowder – chunks of monkfish, mussels plump as you like, laced with smoked haddock – followed by a venison burger that was juicy enough to make you forget any diet. Monty snoozed under the table, occasionally flashing puppy eyes at passing chips. The barman, a cheery chap called Tam, even slipped him a bit of sausage, no questions asked.

That first night, bubbling back in the hot tub with a nightcap whisky from the lodge's stash – smooth Islay peat monster – I reflected gently on how these simple pleasures ground you. Work back home had been a right grind, emails piling up like unwashed dishes, but here, with the loch lapping softly and my belly full of local grub, I felt properly reset. No grand adventures needed; just good food, a loyal pup, and this perfect wee hideaway.

Next morning dawned misty, and I was straight back to the village store for breakfast supplies: Loch Lomond free-range eggs, Arran cheddar sharp as a tack, and black pudding from the butcher's counter. My cooking attempt? A full Scots fry-up in the lodge's gleaming hob – lorne sausage sizzling, eggs fried sunny-side up, tattie scones on the side. Burnt the first batch of toast, mind you, laughing at myself as Monty hoovered the evidence. Washed it down with strong builder's tea, gazing out at the water. Lunch was a picnic cobbled from leftovers: oatcakes, cheese, and that smoked salmon, eaten on the deck while the hot tub called for a post-prandial soak.

By the second day, I'd sussed the local rhythm – pop to the store for daily spoils, pub for elevenses pint and a ploughman's, back to experiment in the kitchen. Tried my hand at cullen skink with smoked haddock from the shop; creamy, chunky perfection, even if I overseasoned it a tad. Pub dinner that night? Haggis bonbons starter, then pan-fried sea trout with samphire – fresh as the loch itself. Monty approved, tail wagging like a metronome.

Those three days flew, but that arrival buzz – the mishap-forgiven drive, the lodge's warm embrace, and feasts that tasted of the place – lingers. If you're after a pet-friendly Loch Lomond escape where food takes centre stage, this is it. Pure bliss.