Churchill: The Heart of Our Pack 🐾
Remembering Churchill (1 March 2014 - 6 March 2026)
Churchill came into our lives in 2014, when we were living at Bec’s parents property, K1, and from the very beginning, he lived right at the centre of our family.
Curious, enthusiastic and endlessly affectionate, he grew up alongside us and later, with Matilda - becoming a part of our daily rhythm.
As a puppy he once charged into a pond covered in duckweed, completely disappearing beneath the surface before popping back up, stunned. From then on, he loved dams, but the ocean never quite agreed with him. He also revealed an early enthusiasm for eating absolutely anything, including a toxic mushroom that resulted in a long stay at the vet and an early lesson in the value of pet insurance.
When Matilda was born a year later, Churchill seemed to understand instinctively that she was the smallest member of the pack. If she was unwell, he would lie quietly beside her bed. When she wandered too far once as a toddler, he walked at her side until she was found safe. And in his later years, Matilda repaid that devotion, just weeks before he passed, when he wandered further than he ever had before, she stayed with him until we could reach them with the car. The little girl he once watched over was now watching over him.
Churchill spent every day with us at Tipsy Hill and at the Bec Hardy cellar door. Visitors came to know him well - greeting guests, opening doors, disappearing on important patrols through the gardens or vineyards standing on the deck in full pointer stance at the scent of a rabbit. He was a gentle soul, but also an opportunist with food. Staff lunches and visitor treats were considered fair game.
He loved warmth: sun patches, the fire, or simply being pressed right beside us. In winter he slept under his own duvet, and in old age he would gently wake us during the night when he needed help warming up. His hearing faded, his jowls turned silver, but his devotion never changed. His heart was full of love for his pack.
Just a week before he passed, on his birthday - we walked with him through the gardens at Tipsy Hill. He trotted quietly beside us, the same gentle presence who had followed us for twelve years.
After he passed, messages came from across Australia and around the world from people who had met him at cellar door or at Tipsy Hill. It reminded us how far his quiet presence had reached.
He was not simply our dog. He was part of our family, part of our pack, and part of Matilda’s childhood. He belonged to us, and we belonged to him.