Walking A Dachshund

I'd like to preface this with the fact that not all sausage dogs are hard work. Some are well trained, obedient and calm. I suspect that this however, is a bit of a rare occurrence though as going from my experience, they're dicks. 

Walking my Dachshund is a unique experience, one that blends the thrill of an Olympic sprint with the elegance of a slow-motion parade. Our long-bodied, short-legged creature is full of charm, but also full of attitude and surprises. If you’ve ever tried to take a Dachshund for a walk, you’ll know it’s more of a comedy routine than a simple stroll.

Before i even step outside, the first battle starts. Our Dachshund, Wilma, knows what's coming. Being an inherently quite lazy dog, she lasers me with some quite bombastic side eye when she sees me pick up her collar and lead and lies there staring into the middle distance as I try and lasso her. She can also, seemingly, alter her weight. She is big for the breed but I am a relatively strong and healthy guy so shifting 12.5 kilos should be easy but no. She increases in mass until I am trying to budge something the weight of a St Bernard.

Sometimes she likes to spice things up and hide under the dining table, knowing full well that my large frame and knackered knees can't reach her. Bribing with treats will work and I suspect that getting to this stage was her plan all along. It's a strange feeling knowing that you've been entirely manipulated by a small dog.

As soon as we step outside, it’s game on. In the world of Dachshunds, sniffing is an Olympic sport. Every single blade of grass, every pavement crack, and the occasional mysterious pile of leaves becomes a potential treasure trove of information that must be examined in minute detail. One step forward? Maybe. Ten steps backwards? Absolutely. I start to wonder if my dog is conducting a covert investigation, cataloguing every smell in the surrounding area for future reference.

“Is this a crime scene?” I ask myself, as my dog spends an inordinate amount of time sniffing the same spot. No, it’s a chicken bone that has been thrown out of a window by someone with no manners that I now have to wrestle out of her mouth.

If I walk Wilma around the housing estate where we live, you can guarantee that every time she stops for a sniff. It's to eat something she shouldn't. Every. Single. Time. It's like walking a sentient dustbin.

Then there are the animal encounters. If I drive to somewhere nice, which I do more often than not, it is almost certain we will see a squirrel. Wilma takes off like a missile. Her tiny legs are a blur and her ears flap furiously as she scorches across the field after the furry rodent. Invariably the chase ends in disappointment as the wily squirrel will fly up a tree but does this dissuade her? No. Every time she gives chase, she does so with the certainty of an apex predator with the prey already as good as caught.

If we walk around the estate, we have to deal with cats, other dogs, scraggly urban foxes and pigeons. Regardless of the quarry, the chase is the same. She flies off at mach 2 until she reaches the end of her lead and has to stop. Denied her victory spoils by the devious machinations of her bipedal slave holding onto her string.

Being originally bred for hunting badgers, her prey drive is phenomenally high, however she absolutely loves other dogs and the only reason she lunges at them is to play. Unfortunately when she is bouncing up and down at the end of her lead like a kite trying to take flight, making a plethora of strange noises, it doesn't always come across this way and it is up to the slightly bedraggled biped (me) to try and explain that she is indeed, friendly.

On a warm day, usually at the furthest point from the start of our walk, she will flump down in the shade of a tree, refusing to budge, staring balefully at me as if I'm the worst owner in the world for dragging her out in these volcanic conditions and thus begins the cajoling and pleading to get her moving again.

On a cold or damp day, she powers along as if her legs were pistons as soon as she senses we're going back home because she needs her blankie before she freezes to death, the poor soul.

After more tantrums, more sniffing and more chasing we make it home. Wilma runs into the house with ears flapping, secure in the knowledge of a job well done and straight to the fridge. Good dogs get snacks and she deserves a carrot stick. She stamps her little feet and does that special Dachshund whine until said snack is proferred at which point she leaps vertically like a Harrier jump jet, snatches the carrot (maybe with a few fingers attached) and runs off to crunch it noisily before retiring to her bed to flop down theatrically like an athlete who has just completed an ironman.

Of course, I'm left standing there, breathless and slightly embarrassed. But it's all worth it. Because despite the drama, the antics, and the squirrel-chasing madness, a Dachshund walk is the most entertaining way to get your steps in.

In conclusion, walking a Dachshund is a masterclass in patience, humour, and the occasional sprint. They may be small in stature, but when it comes to entertainment value, they’re larger than life.