Dachshund through the snow: How the sausage dog became the festive season's unofficial mascot
From fearless working dog to festive favourite — a brief history of the dachshund and what it’s really like to own one.
Once upon a time, the dachshund was ferocious. Bred in Germany centuries ago — likely from basset hound and pinscher crosses — these low-to-the-ground dogs were designed to hunt badgers and other burrowing animals, disappearing underground with a bravery wildly disproportionate to their size. Bold, tough and utterly unbothered by danger.
Fast forward to today and that same dog is whimpering at a puddle, deeply suspicious of strangers unless they are holding snacks, and burrowing not after prey but into blankets. So how did this once fearsome hunter become not only one of the most popular dogs in our homes, but also a fixture of Christmas décor, luxury fashion and popular homeware?
An early scientific illustration of dachshunds published before 1876 from Tafel 3 in Leopold Fitzinger’s zoological studies, showing historic varieties — straight- and crooked-legged, smooth- and long-haired — before modern breed standardisation.
Part of the appeal is sheer variety. Few breeds offer quite so many versions of the same unmistakable silhouette. Dachshunds come in smooth, long-haired and wire-haired coats; in standard and miniature sizes (with an unofficial middle ground consisting of the ‘tweenie’) and in a kaleidoscope of colours and patterns — red, black and tan, cream, chocolate, dapple, brindle, sable, piebald. One shape, a lot of looks.
The smooths are thought to be the original dogs, with long-haired dachshunds emerging later through selective breeding, and wire-hairs appearing in the 1800s thanks to the addition of rough-coated terrier blood — perhaps explaining both their slightly softer expressions. Size, too, evolved with purpose: the miniature dachshund was developed in the 19th century when Germany’s rabbit population boomed, creating a need for a smaller hunter.
Yet no matter the coat or colour, there is no mistaking a dachshund. They are immediately recognisable — an iconic form.
In the mid-20th century, Country Life published two articles written by a ‘much-travelled dachshund’ named Suzette, chronicling her diplomatic adventures alongside her mistress, Lady Coleman, wife of Sir Adrian Holman, then British ambassador to Cuba. Even then, the dachshund was more than a pet — it was a character. You can read all about her in Country Life’s Book of Dogs by fellow dog enthusiast Agnes Stamp.
Suzette the dachshund, with Jeannie, a cocker spaniel, photographed for Country Life in 1953.
Today, they are everywhere. From Harrod's tree ornaments and Liberty’s salt-and-pepper shakers to door knockers, draught excluders and cushions, the dachshund has pride of place in all manner of shops.
Luxury fashion has embraced them too. Mulberry has keyrings; Loewe has jewellery and SS Daley has jumpers — the list goes on. But the star in my eye is the pebble-grain Baby Hector bag, inspired by Hector Browne-Bolton the dachshund — Thom Browne’s canine muse. Recently celebrated in the brand’s holiday campaign, he was impeccably turned out in a grey cashmere sweater with the signature four-bar stripe.
I began petitioning my parents for a dachshund in 2007. They were convinced it was a phase. Two years, a great deal of nagging, and several visits later, Milo — a smooth miniature red dachshund — entered our lives.
Sixteen years on, we are three dachshunds strong. Milo has since gone to canine heaven, but our hearts were made whole by Stanley (a miniature dapple), Rodney (a medium dapple) and our newest addition, Charlie (an large black-and-tan smooth). We’ve never looked back.
In our house, they are known as ‘the time wasters’. Sit down for a second to tie a shoelace and suddenly there’s a dog on your lap, asleep, gently snoring and immovable. Time it well and you can avoid doing the washing up altogether — although the faintest sound of a dishwasher opening will summon them instantly, often with attempts (and success) at getting inside.
Prone to separation anxiety, they follow like shadows, leading to the occasional collision and yelps from both dog and human. True to their roots, they still love to burrow — ideally between two people, another dachshund or, failing that, a heap of blankets.
Often labelled ‘small dog syndrome’, that feisty personality is no accident. Trapped underground in tight tunnels, relying on their own wits, dachshunds were bred to be independent, bold and ready to stand their ground. The breed standard describes them as ‘courageous to the point of rashness’.
That fearlessness didn’t disappear when they returned to the surface. Kaiser Wilhelm II owned two dachshunds, Wadl and Hexl, described by one contemporary writer as ‘biting, snarling little brutes with jaws measuring half the length of their smooth bodies’ — a description that might feel uncomfortably familiar to many modern owners (me).
Of course, living with dachshunds also comes with responsibility. Their distinctive long backs and short legs mean they require careful management. Owners quickly become fluent in the art of lifting, ramp-building and discouraging sofa-leaping, all in the name of protecting their spines.
With sensible exercise, a watchful eye on weight and regular veterinary care, most dachshunds live long, joyful lives — albeit ones conducted largely from beds, laps and sofas.
Dachshund owners are a community. You spot each other on the street — the silent plea of ‘please don’t approach, they are terrified of everything’. Say you understand, admit you have three of your own, and something flickers in their expression. Recognition. You’re one of us.
That sense of belonging was on full display at last weekend’s Hyde Park Sausage Walk, which returned for its ninth year. Hundreds of long bodies and little legs paraded through London in Christmas jumpers and fancy dress, with prizes for cutest, best dressed and best group costume — the latter won, quite rightly, by a troupe dressed as pigs in blankets. What a way to celebrate the season.
