One a track on a farm somewhere in Ireland, Florence leans against the steering wheel. Soft breezes from the car’s open windows ruffle her ears. It’s summer and the sun is shining. Florence, I learn, ‘loves to drive’.
A self-possessed, well-muscled, prepossessing little six year old, she is the smooth-haired miniature dachshund belonging to Lady Ana Johnson, only daughter of the late last Earl of Dunraven, and once in a while, away from public roads — and to her considerable delight — she sits on her owner’s lap as they crisscross the fields by car.
Don't let the eyes deceive you, the dachshund is courageous, clever and famously stubborn.
In Britain, miniature dachshunds — both long- and, like Florence, smooth-haired — are currently one of the nation’s favourite dog breeds: between 2014 and 2024, puppy registrations for long-haired miniature dachshunds quadrupled. In Ireland, too, their popularity is growing. For Lady Ana, the decision had nothing to do with trends: ‘As a child, growing up in a classic Jack-Russell-sheep-dog family, I always wanted to have a sausage dog.’
Florence, who was born during the pandemic, is Lady Ana’s second, but certainly won’t be her last. ‘I hope I’ll always have miniature dachshunds,’ she reflects. ‘I see myself at 85 surrounded by a little pack of them. They’re incredibly loyal: I’ve never had such loyal dogs as these.’
Dapple patterned in colouring, Florence’s tiger stripes, her fond owner suggests, ‘are not terribly obvious, although perhaps more obvious the more rosé you consume.’ She is named after a character in children’s television programme The Magic Roundabout, as was her predecessor, Zebedee, and is stoutly adored both by Lady Ana and her 11- and nine-year-old daughters.
Florence is not alone in inspiring passionate attachment in her human. Across the country, dachshund owners feel the same overwhelming enthusiasm for the German origin breed popularised two centuries ago by Queen Victoria, who once claimed of the short-legged, big-bark dogs that ‘nothing will turn a man’s home into a castle more quickly and effectively than a dachshund’.
‘They’re good, plucky little dogs, very brave, very sporting, very friendl y —and they’re huge characters,’ observes Jonathan Reeves, who, in his late eighties, recently acquired a black-and-tan, smooth-haired miniature dachshund puppy called Polly. Reeves ought to know. A great-nephew of Maj Claude Jarvis— t he former Governor of Sinai, who wrote a long-running Country Life column, ‘A Countryman’s Notes’, Reeves had his first dachshund as a small boy during the Second World War and, alongside working cocker spaniels and springers, has owned a succession of others over the following eight decades.
He admires their loyalty, their ‘great endurance’ and intelligence; he enjoys their love of country life and their concern for their own comfort: ‘They love Agas.’
The dachshund may well be the most instantly recognisable dog breed in the world, with its distinctive, elongated silhouette — which accounts for its soubriquet of ‘sausage dog’ — and distinguished, fine-featured head with almond-shaped eyes, black nose and long, silky ears. Typically, they have pretty faces, gleaming coats, a long stride and a determined sense of purpose.
In the early 1890s, novelist Henry James commended the ‘beautiful countenance’ of his dachshund Tosca (he was also rumoured to have claimed that she was ‘intelligent enough to be shocked’ by the suggestion that American women possessed less sex appeal than their European counterparts).
The dogs’ long bodies made them suited to their earliest working purpose: dachshund means ‘badger dog’ and these fearless, strongbodied little creatures were once used by German foresters to hunt badgers in their setts.
Unsurprisingly, this fearsome heritage made for a breed characterised by bravery and tenacity. Even today, dachshunds tend to appoint themselves guard dogs in any home they inhabit. Few well-cared-for, properly trained modern examples, however, inspire the reaction of Wadl and Hexl, who belonged to Wilhelm II early in the last century: the Kaiser’s dogs were described as ‘biting, snarling little brutes with jaws measuring half the length of their smooth bodies’.
By contrast, in August 1904, James described Tosca’s successor Max as ‘the best and gentlest and most reasonable… small animal of his kind’ and allowed the dog to sleep in his own favourite armchair at Lamb House, his home in Rye, East Sussex.
A century on, charm remains a byword for the dachshund. A smooth-haired miniature called Mouse, belonging to Clare Durdin Robertson, chatelaine of Huntington Castle in Co Carlow, Ireland, numbered the actor Rupert Everett among her conquests.
Queen Victoria’s first dachshund arrived at Windsor Castle in about 1841, but it was Deckel, brought over from Coburg by Prince Albert four years later, who really converted the redoubtable monarch; her attachment was only eclipsed half a century later, by another German breed, the Pomeranian.
Television producer Olivia McPartland-Brooke describes her wire-haired miniature dachshund Dot, a four year old with melting dark eyes and a characteristic grey-and-tansplashed rough coat, simply as ‘miraculous’: ‘I love the energy, I love the attitude.’ Like Florence and the many dachshunds owned by Reeves, Dot is at the centre of her mistress’s life. Lady Ana describes Florence as ‘by my side the entire time’. Dot went a step further and was one of McPartland- Brooke’s bridesmaids, accompanying her down the aisle on a pristine white lead terminating in a ribbon rosette.
Andy Warhol (1928-87) and his dachshund Archie attend a Muscular Dystrophy Association benefit dinner in New York, in 1976.
'When she’s really, really happy, she howls'
In Britain and North America, dachshunds are recognised in two sizes — standard and miniature — and three coat types: smooth-, long- and wire-haired. Distinct in aspects of their appearance, all share the same extended, muscular body, short, powerful legs, long tail and large front paws, as well as their long, engaging, invariably animated faces.
Dachshunds share character traits, too: their curiosity, cheerful busyness and, in many instances, a streak of stubbornness. McPartland-Brooke is unsure if ‘curious’ adequately summarises Dot who, on Clapham Common, ‘needs to say hello to everyone as if she’s in her own garden’ and is impossible to take for a quick walk because ‘she’s too chatty, she wants to talk to everyone she meets’ — ‘nosy’ is perhaps more apt.
In towns and cities, in villages and on farms, the behaviour of the dachshund continues to suggest its working origins, even where there are no badgers to be seen. ‘They’re definitely little hounds rather than terriers,’ Reeves believes. ‘They use their noses a lot to track scents for a very long way.’ The Kennel Club labels the dachshund a ‘persevering hunter and tracker’ and paintings of the breed by canine artists such as Maud Earl, Frances Mabel Hollams and Friedrick Wilhelm Keyl frequently emphasise the dogs’ musculature, their broad shoulders and alert gaze.
Unlike other short-legged dogs, a dachshund’s body is clear of the ground, suggesting its practical backstory. Often, only water stops them in their tracks, although many owners have been surprised by an unexpected willingness to ford shallow pools or streams.
Loyal themselves, this is a breed that inspires loyalty. Dot followed an earlier dachshund called Daisy, owned by McPartland- Brooke’s parents, whom she loved as a child; Reeves has remained dedicated to the breed his parents first acquired in the 1930s, despite his need, in adult life, for a larger working dog; and Lady Ana can imagine both her daughters owning dachshunds as adults. Why? ‘Dot is perfection!’ exclaims McPartland-Brooke. ‘She’s a lot of fun, she has no anxiety whatsoever, she’s very positive, she loves a cuddle and, really, she’s a bit of a joy.’ As for Florence, adds Lada Ana: ‘When she’s really, really happy, she howls.’
As with any pet, potential owners should exercise vigilance. Their long backs make dachshunds vulnerable to problems, including intervertebral disc disease (IVDD), which can be costly (and very difficult) to treat. Responsible breeders do their best to minimise the likelihood of IVDD by screening and active dogs that remain fit and well muscled often suffer fewer problems than their sedentary cousins or those that jump unnecessarily.
Is this a reason to look elsewhere, at other breeds? None of the owners to whom I spoke believe so. In 80 years, Reeves has had a single dachshund with IVDD and Lady Ana suggests that exercise keeps the back muscles taut and helps to prevent problems. ‘They’re really jolly, good little dogs,’ Reeves assures me. Can we doubt him?
This feature originally appeared in the August 26, 2026, issue of Country Life. Click here for more information on how to subscribe.