I posted this quite a while ago, but I think it should be refreshed. It was written by a friend of mine on the passing of his dog.
You keep your lofty abstract god, Myself, I choose a child of Pan, An ordinary yellow dog Who does for love what mortals can, Who stretches out her mortal frame Determinedly, although she's lame For one more walk beside her man. Whose ashes grace the forest way We roamed together yesterday. And, to the wilder god I pray: Give her soul some woods to run, A stick to fetch, a patch of sun. And near her, Pan, preserve a place For me, come frome a lesser race.