I found Plum Bob dead in his cage.
Was it the vacuum/saw noise from our crazed pipe repairs? Flood trauma? A hairball? Sheer cussedness? We don't know.
But Bob is gone.
He would have been 3 next month. He didn't like other rabbits, but was patient with people and put up with brushing and plucking. He had a beautiful coat, thick and soft and all shades of cream-to-peach-to-grey. I named him Plum because he was golden and purple-grey, like a Stanley prune plum. And I thought he was a girl (my rabbit-sexing skills have since improved). The Bob part was tacked on when we figured that out.
|From left: Bob, Marty and Crystal, their mom, eating C.'s homemade leaf hay.|
|Looking blasé. This is just before he became aggressive and had to be separated from the colony.|
|He was a beautiful baby. From left, that's Rue, Bob, Fondu and Marty.|