Here is my boy's urn. I am pleased with it, and was so happy to get him out of the horrible little cardboard box from the vet's. And his very favorite stuffed talking boar. He'd grab it and skulk furtively down the hall, trying to get out the door with it before I caught him. I didn't want it to get waterlogged and ruined, outside in bad weather. He didn't appreciate the caution, he just wanted it with him. We were always tussling over it at the door.
Here is the urn in his special corner, in a small alcove in my purple bedroom, with all his favorite toys around him, his leash, his collar, candles, the special treats with which I encouraged him to do my bidding when he needed extra motivation, (which was all the time :))
The only thing wrong with dogs is they don't live as long as we do, and usually leave before us. But oh, what they bring to our lives while they are here. I loved my boy so much. Still do. Always will.