Let me tell you about the sweetest, friendliest guppy I've ever met.
When my daughter, Dana, was in college, she bought pet guppies. She named one Pee Wee and the other Herman.
When she came home for Christmas, she brought a fish with her. She got in late, and I went downstairs the next morning to find the fish swimming happily about in its bowl on the kitchen counter (great place for a fish - no pun intended). She had mentioned that Herman had died, and so, I assumed this was Pee Wee. I greeted it as though, of course, we already knew each other.
Except that, when Dana woke up and came downstairs, she informed me that Pee Wee had also died and that this was a new fish whom she had not yet named. She also informed me that she was tired of guppies, since they only live for about six months, and asked to leave it at home. Those of you who have had children of that age know that asking is closer to telling in this sort of situation.
So, the new fish stayed in Manassas with us and became known as Pee Wee. The holidays ended, and Dana went back to school.
My husband and I decided that Pee Wee needed company, so we went and bought another guppy. This one was red, so we named it Elmo, like Tickle Me Elmo, which was popular at about that time.
It did not work to have Pee Wee and Elmo in the same bowl. Fierce territorial attacks broke out, so we put Elmo in his own bowl. Actually, his was a small tank, but it came with a pump, so Elmo had fresh air in his tank. Well, of course, we had to go and buy a pump for Pee Wee.
It really made a difference in their health, having extra oxygen in their bowls. Elmo lived with us for a year. Pee Wee lived with us for two years - incredible for a fish that normally only lives for six months.
Pee Wee and I became very close. I would sit and talk to him, and he would come over to my side of the bowl as though he understood completely. This from a fish, who when he first arrived, hid in the rock that was a part of his bowl's decor.
Near the end, I knew he was dying. Poor thing held on as long as he could. He even waited for me to get home from work that night. I could see he was suffering, so I told him to feel free to go when he was ready, that I understood. I went upstairs to my computer, and when I went back down an hour or so later, he was gone. He is buried in a small balsa box in the front yard, under the Bradford pear tree.
If this sounds highly unlikely to you, I have learned that it is not all that unusual. Fish often will come to the side of the bowl or tank to visit with their owners. Actually, they can make quite personable pets.
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