Creative writing submission from the Rest Less community – submit your entry here.
Yesterday morning, as the thin, early sunshine woke me by streaming in through the shutters, I absorbed the warmth of the duvet and two velvet sausages, one tucked up in my arms, the other, back-to-back, their warmth permeating my skin.
Listening to the birdsong, I could identify a cheeky robin and a blackbird but also the soft, weighty thump of a small Bear, paws tucked up as he gently snored, his dewlaps softly flapping with warm breath against my arm. I daren’t move, as the moment I betray my waking state, Willow, a lighter sleeper with a sixth sense, will instantly pounce upon the bed to sit on my head and smother my face in kisses. Bear, woken then by her movement, will barge up onto my chest like a tiny rhino to join her, nibbling my earlobes and making me laugh.
Lying quite still, I took a moment to myself to feel the excitement building in my belly, as today was the day I would be taking my two beasties to a ‘sausage meet’ on Weymouth Beach. Ever since I heard about it, I’ve been determined to go. I’ve talked to my two about it, building their expectations, hoping they will love it and wondering who – if any! – would turn up.
Thankfully, although rescues, they’re very good with other dogs and do, without doubt, both recognise and love their own kind. They behave differently, approach differently and play and chase differently, exhibiting obvious joy that they’re with their own kind.
Two days before, I had packed them their own dachshund-embroidered bag with swimming harnesses and leads (just in case), fresh water and bowl, poo bags, treats, and extra towels with the dual purpose of sitting and drying damp paws. I call these their striped dachshund ‘dry robes’. (“What!?” I hear you say. “Their own dry robes?”And, blushing, I must answer, “But of course! If we wear them, why shouldn’t dachshunds, too?”).
Now, lying peacefully in my bed, the day was finally upon us. Picking my moment, I whispered: “Who wants to go to the beach and meet a load of sausages?”
It was like a bomb had gone off. Instantly awake and full of the joys of spring, they bounced, yipped, licked, and wagged, burying me in a mound of sausage tummies until I could escape and take them downstairs for breakfast.
At 12pm, we were picked up and went with Zelda (a Shiba Inu pretending to be a dachshund) to Weymouth Beach.
Even as we drove down to the pavilion car park, my excitement grew as I counted sausages making their way along the seafront with their human guardians, down towards the doggy end of the beach. We had my friend’s five-year-old daughter with us. She is obsessed with dachshunds and loves Willow and Bear almost as much as I do. Brought up well, she always asks owners if she can “say hello” before approaching, and she’s very responsible with mine, always checking their water bowls (filling if necessary), removing harnesses and hanging up leads. I don’t know who was more excited, her or me!
Walking from the car to the meeting point, we were already saying hello, meeting and greeting sausages of all ages, shapes, and sizes, until we reached the allotted point. It was heaven! Though most were on leads, some like Willow and Bear were off-lead, but all were a mass of propeller tails, sniffing noses and high-pitched yipping.
Not only were my friend Seren and I in our element, nose tickling at every given opportunity as we wandered through the crowd, but I was so proud of my two. Whilst they were thoroughly enjoying themselves, behaving like social butterflies, they stayed close and didn’t stray.
My friends set up camp on a blanket on the edge of the group, enjoying all the little ones who came to say hello to them, but as my friend is heavily pregnant, Bear got a bit protective over her, guarding her tummy from unauthorised paws, whilst Willow rushed around, shouting and saying hello, but checking in with them every few moments.
There must have been nearly a hundred dachshunds. They were almost entirely miniatures of various sizes, weights, and colours. I didn’t see any that I would call ‘real’ standards, though there were a couple who, whilst talking to their humans, I discovered were the result of standard/mini mixes. I’m proud to say the black and tan was very well represented, but there were reds, brindles, chocolates, creams, blues, fawns, dapples, piebalds, and a couple of whites; mostly silky short hairs but some long coats, too.
There were more than a couple whom I would have happily stolen and one five-month-old pup who, whilst I was sat with my friends on the beach, crept up my skirt, making her way up my chest to pop out of my sleeve – excellent dachshund behaviour!
Thankfully, there were very few on the more rotund side, Bear probably being the roundest (sorry Bear). I had an interesting conversation with a veterinary nurse who agreed with me that, having lost as much weight as he has (12lbs), he’s unlikely to slim any further, and she felt that if I could maintain his current weight, he’ll be okay.
I’ve cut his food/treats down to the minimum, but the moment I cut it further, he starts to scavenge: eats poo, socks, anything, making the situation dangerous! Again, unlike Bear, I only saw one other with breeding deformities (also a rescue) and was overjoyed at how happy, healthy, confident, and beautiful they all were, such characterful little dogs, all clearly loved and cherished! I couldn’t have spent a happier two hours than in the midst of all those beautiful sausages.
Eventually, they all took off for a walk along the beach whilst we packed up and walked along the front for a Rossi’s ice cream, the perfect end to the perfect day! When we got home, my two crawled into their sack and slept for hours, the tired little sausages.
One thing that did strike me, though, was just how many were sadly rescues. Too many people see them online and take on pups without understanding the breed. The dachshund has fallen foul of celebrity culture, like the pug and Frenchie before them, meaning people buy them, then give up on them because they can be noisy, needy, and destructive, if not properly socialised when little. More than half of those I spoke to were in their second homes.
Perhaps sausage owners could organise local sausage meet-ups all over the country on June 21st, National Dachshund Day. It could be a sausage fest of fun!
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