The Betta Effect: A Small Fish, A Big Difference

I didn’t realize it at the time, but what I was witnessing had been observed in classrooms all over. Studies show that classroom pets can reduce stress, increase student engagement, and even improve classroom management. As PangoVet notes, “having a classroom pet creates a shared sense of responsibility and fosters emotional growth” (Copeland, Copeland, & Gray, 2025). In my case, a betta fish quietly helped my students learn to be more gentle, more curious, and more present.

Even a small, low-maintenance pet like a betta fish can bring big changes to a learning space. “Classroom pets serve as a calming presence and can improve behavior and emotional well-being,” explains Vet Explains Pets (2025). Esterly wasn’t just decor. He was a living, shimmering reminder to slow down and notice. He was also a part of the classroom community.

I wasn’t planning to research the effects Esterly was having on my classroom, but as I reflected week by week, I realized he wasn’t just a classroom fixture. He was influencing behaviors, emotions, and relationships in ways I hadn’t anticipated. So, I started paying attention.

For some of my most fragile students, checking on Esterly before leaving class became part of their routine. I’d dismiss a class, and three to five students would immediately gather around the tank. Bettas are naturally curious, and Esterly would come to the glass to meet them. I think those brief interactions served as a kind of gentle goodbye before transitioning back to their regular classroom.

One student even brought his dad (who works at the school) into my room to check out my setup. He was asking his dad if he could get a fish at home. He explained to his dad how I care for Esterly and that he could do those things too. It was beautiful to see his dad kneel down and check Esterly out, while interacting with his son and making a plan for a fish tank at home.

I’d often see students visually checking in with Esterly during class. While singing, playing instruments, or moving around the room, they’d glance over at the tank, and I could actually see them relax. Esterly sends out a chill vibe that seems to help with self-regulation. I hadn’t expected that, but I’ve come to appreciate it.

Esterly has really helped foster a sense of calm in my room. Like many elementary music rooms, mine is colorful and engaging, but rides the line of overstimulation for some students. That’s always a delicate balance to manage. Having Esterly in the space has helped shift that balance for some of my more neurodivergent students.

Even visiting colleagues have noticed the difference Esterly has made. One of them commented, “I love the vibe in your room. I could stay here all day.”

These weren’t isolated moments. They were patterns. And the more I reflected, the more I realized that the emotional landscape of my classroom had changed. Esterly wasn’t just a pet. He had become a quiet member of the classroom, helping set the tone for how we learned together.

So I let the entire school vote on what color shrimp to get. That’s right, I disrupted the entire school again (my administrator loved this, by the way). I had ballots and pictures hanging outside my room. I had students and staff alike voting on their favorite.

There was some concern from students: “What if Esterly eats them?” I shrugged and replied, “Friend or food, only time will tell!”

The ballots were counted, and the winner was Cherry Shrimp. I posted a picture of the winning color outside my room and promptly ordered five shrimp. Students were eager for their arrival. Names were tossed around: Five Guys? Should we name each one? How do we tell them apart? Teachers were even talking about it with their classes.

“Won’t the fish eat them?”

“Mrs. Cobb says we’ll have to wait and see.”

Older students were more skeptical about their survival; younger students were wildly optimistic. One student exclaimed, “I love to eat shrimp, but I don’t know what they look like! I’m excited to see them!”

The shrimp finally arrived and were slowly acclimated. I put a sign outside my door: Please enter quietly and stay back from the aquarium. The shrimp were very shy at first, probably hiding from Esterly.

Unfortunately, two of the five shrimp didn’t survive the transition, but the good news was that Esterly wasn’t the culprit! The three survivors were quickly dubbed The Dudes, and life in the tank (and music classroom) settled into a new rhythm. The shrimp grew braver, and students began catching glimpses of their tireless tank-cleaning efforts. Shrimp sightings became exciting. I eventually had to set a boundary: no yelling “I SEE A SHRIMP!” in the middle of class. I suggested a big smile instead, and I’d know what it meant.

Then, the shrimp started canoodling (considering my students’ ages, I chose to use canoodling over breeding). Almost overnight, we went from three shrimp to more than a dozen. Students and teachers alike were delighted.

Watching the shrimp gain confidence and thrive, and the students’ joy in spotting them, felt like another layer of trust was building in the room. It wasn’t just a tank anymore. It was a living part of our learning environment.

When the school year ended, I had time to reflect on what began as a small act of self-care: a happy little betta. What I got in return was something far bigger, a powerful community builder. Students said more heartfelt goodbyes to Esterly than to me. (In fact, I promised to take weekly videos of Esterly and The Dudes to post on YouTube so they could check in with him over the summer.) Many asked if he was returning next year. My answer, of course, was a resounding yes. Yes, because what happened with one betta and a handful of shrimp went far beyond tank maintenance or classroom decoration. The positives stretched beyond my lesson plans, beyond the music, even beyond my room.

One fish and a few procreating shrimp helped transform my classroom into a safe, joyful, and deeply vibrant learning community. I thought I got them for me, but it turns out, I got them for all of us.

So, what can you do with this story of a happy little betta who somehow grabbed the hearts of the entire student body? Maybe it’s this: don’t overlook the little things that make your classroom more.

In a world where we’re constantly encouraged to chase the newest curriculum, the next best method, the most innovative classroom management system, etc., maybe we start smaller. Maybe we look for the quiet things. The simple things. The unexpected things.

Because sometimes, it’s not a new strategy that transforms a classroom.

Sometimes, it’s a happy little betta swimming around.