Dachshunds are ideal dogs for small children, as they are

Robert Benchley, the humorist whose wit revealed truths hidden beneath laughter, once said: “Dachshunds are ideal dogs for small children, as they are already stretched and pulled to such a length that the child cannot do much harm one way or the other.” At first, these words seem but a playful jest, a joke at the expense of the dachshund, that long-bodied, short-legged hound. Yet within the laughter lies wisdom both tender and enduring, for Benchley is not only speaking of a breed of dog, but of resilience, adaptability, and the gentle relationship between innocence and patience.

The dachshund, shaped by nature into a form both comical and noble, was bred to slip into burrows and chase the fox and badger. Yet here, Benchley sees its body not as a tool of the hunt, but as a metaphor for endurance. It is already “stretched and pulled,” already shaped in such a way that the rough play of children cannot diminish it further. The image is humorous, but the teaching is clear: what has already endured shaping and stretching in life is less easily harmed by new trials.

The ancients understood this paradox of strength through adaptability. The willow, bending in the storm, survives where the rigid oak may fall. The clay vessel, hardened by fire, no longer fears the flame. So too, the dachshund, with its peculiar form, becomes in Benchley’s vision a symbol of endurance in the face of inevitable roughness. If even children, with their grasping hands and clumsy affection, cannot harm it, then the dachshund becomes a creature of patience, teaching by its very form the art of resilience.

History gives us examples of such endurance. Consider Diogenes the Cynic, who made himself immune to insult and hardship by embracing them freely. Living in poverty, mocked by kings, he declared himself freer than those bound by wealth and pride. Like the dachshund, stretched and shaped by life itself, he could no longer be diminished by the petty hands of circumstance. His resilience lay not in defiance but in acceptance, a lesson hidden within Benchley’s humor.

There is also tenderness in these words, for they speak of the relationship between children and animals. Children, often unknowing of their own strength, can be careless in their love. The dachshund, already peculiar in form, becomes the perfect companion, able to withstand this innocent roughness without breaking. It is an image of patience meeting innocence, endurance meeting joy. Here, the dog teaches us that love sometimes means bearing the clumsy touch of others without complaint, for within that clumsiness lies genuine affection.

The lesson, then, is twofold. First, learn to become like the dachshund, stretched by life yet unbroken, resilient enough that the small harms of the world cannot undo you. Second, learn to be patient with the clumsy love of others. Children, friends, even strangers may touch your life in awkward or careless ways, but if you endure with grace, you will discover that within their roughness is a deeper love, one that was never meant to wound.

Therefore, let Benchley’s jest be remembered not only for its laughter, but for its wisdom. Resilience is strength shaped by trial. Patience is love stretched into endurance. Become like the dachshund: long in tolerance, humble in stature, and enduring in spirit. For in such a form, neither the storm of life nor the clumsy affection of others can truly harm you, and you will walk through the world not only with strength, but with humor, which is the crown of wisdom.