Curiosity bristles in every line and whisker of Noch nicht hasenrein, where a quartet of dachshunds gathers beneath a green velvet chair, their eyes fixed on the suspended quarry above. The dogs’ bodies form a lively pyramid of anticipation, each pose capturing a different shade of longing and confusion. The artist, Carl Reichert, delights in the details: the battered chair, the glint of brass tacks, the well-used hunting rifle propped at the ready.

Light pools on the dogs’ glossy coats, guiding the viewer’s gaze upward to the hare, still and unreachable, a prize just out of reach. The palette is warm and domestic, yet the composition thrums with the tension of instinct and discipline—these hounds, bred for the hunt, are denied their moment. Painted in 1897, this work belongs to a world where animal portraiture and hunting scenes found eager audiences among the European bourgeoisie. Such paintings were often destined for the parlors and studies of the well-to-do, celebrating both the animals themselves and the rituals of rural sport.

Carl Reichert was known for his meticulous animal studies, and here he balances humor with observation, capturing the personalities of his canine subjects as vividly as any human sitter. Though history has kept few traces of this particular painting beyond its appearance at Dorotheum, it stands as a lively testament to the era’s affection for its four-legged companions. Look again at those eyes—each dog tells its own story of hope, frustration, and the eternal wait.