Goodbye Captain Fred

Fred, our toothless big white bunny, passed away last week. He was diagnosed with liver lobe torsion last Tuesday and rushed to VCA for surgery. Two of Marinell’s big white bunnies came to donate blood, but Fred died as Dr. Harvey was preparing for the difficult surgery.

I never got to know Fred well—he always impressed me as a quiet gentleman—but I was struck by how many friends he had made at the shelter. In the email responses to news of his death, several people commented that they had hoped to adopt Fred. Karen C. talked about her hopes of having another “big bun with no teeth” to sleep under her bed. Karen J. had wanted to enlist him as a companion to her bunnies. Chris recalled receiving moral support from Fred as he took on new responsibilities at the shelter. In his short life, Fred touched a lot of people.

Terry describes meeting him at the Martinez shelter: “He was an adolescent then and he was sleeping spoon-style with a little girl bun. The little girl bun looked so peaceful and serene stretched out with her back against his chest. It was as if Fred were her adopted mom. With his bottom incisors grown up to his nose and fur packed between his teeth (he had fur mites and did his best to groom himself), Fred was scheduled to be euthanized the next day.” Fred was brought into the Richmond shelter, and HRS mounted the Tooth Fairy campaign to raise money to get his misaligned front teeth pulled.

In spite of his perpetually orange nose (from all those grated carrots), Fred was a dignified bunny. His foster dad gave him the name Captain Fred, “to give him position and dignity.” Terry sums it up: “Fred was sweet and gentle and above all dignified. It is good to know that he was thought highly of and well-loved, and didn't die unwanted and neglected at the Martinez shelter.” Rest in peace, Captain Fred.