Dachshund

The dachshund was built for a task no one else would take on: to go down underground, into cramped, dark tunnels where the badger lived — a host bigger than the dog and sincerely displeased by visits. The name itself says so: the German “Dachshund” means literally “badger dog.” Such work called for courage that counted for more than size — and that courage shaped the dachshund to the marrow. The trouble is that nature threw in an undercarriage the size of a solid footstool, about which the dachshund, to its credit, couldn't care less. In its world there's still a very real chance that a badger is lurking behind the couch, and someone finally has to deal with it.

Its whole silhouette is, moreover, no whim of fashion but professional working gear: the short, powerful legs work like shovels, the elongated body fits where no other dog would so much as peer, and a champion-class nose leads it through the dark more reliably than a flashlight. From the underground tunnels the dachshund advanced in time straight into hearts and pop culture — its outline can be drawn effortlessly by any child in the world, and in 1972 a dachshund named Waldi became the first official Olympic mascot in history. Not a bad career for a dog that started with a job no one was fighting over.

From that underground past the dachshund also carried away a character one might gently call independent, and honestly — as stubborn as a boulder. It hears you perfectly; it simply puts each of your commands to an internal vote — and usually votes it down. It also has a voice that, in so short a dog, can sincerely take you aback — the bass bark is usually heard before the sender is seen. The digger's instinct has stayed in its paws forever: your flowerbeds it can, without warning, declare an earthworks site, and every blanket in the house — a burrow for immediate settlement, in which it falls asleep rolled up like a pancake. And when it decides it's raining too hard for a walk or that the day's schedule doesn't suit it, it strikes a pose of wounded dignity beside which any dramatic actor looks pale. And by some miracle it remains, through all of this, absolutely charming.

And now for something that, with a dachshund, must be said plainly, because it's the heart of the whole story: all that courage, stubbornness, and great character ride on one long, delicate spine. That famous elongated back is the breed's hallmark — and at the same time its most tender point. The dachshund's intervertebral discs are prone to serious injury: the risk of disc disease (IVDD) in this breed is estimated to be 10–12 times higher than in other dogs. It sounds serious, because it is. But the good news is that the most important element of protecting that back is within your reach — every day, at the bowl.

Because nothing burdens a dachshund's spine like excess weight. Every extra kilogram is an additional load that this long back must carry with every movement, jump, and climb up the stairs. In a dachshund a lean figure isn't a matter of looks — it's literally a matter of whether it will run without pain for a dozen or more years. And since the dachshund loves to eat and is surprisingly enterprising at obtaining food for someone who can barely reach the counter, this is easy to overlook.

Because the dachshund is a small dog with a hero's biography and a stubbornness that doesn't know the word “give up.” It will give you years of laughter, character, and that wonderful, obstinate faithfulness of its — a dog that will follow you anywhere, even on short legs and at its own, unhurried pace.

Your part of the bargain is simple: help it stay lean and protect that famous back of its. Do that, and for long years you'll have at your side a fearless companion who, to the end of its life, will remain devoutly convinced that the matter of the badger behind the couch remains open — and that he will personally see to it.