Why a Plant Was the Best Class Pet I Ever Had

When my kindergarten students first saw the spider plants on our classroom windowsill, they squealed with delight. “Look! They have babies!” one student exclaimed, pointing at the small green offshoots cascading down from the mother plant. Every morning, the children greeted the plants as soon as they arrived — checking their leaves, touching the soil, and making sure the sunlight was just right. Caring for the plants became a favorite classroom job, passed from one student to the next each week, with the outgoing caretaker proudly teaching the new one how to water gently — “not too much, not too little” — and how to speak softly while caring for them, practicing gentleness, patience, and attentiveness.

For many of my students, who lived in a neighborhood surrounded by concrete, these plants were a little bit of nature brought indoors — a reminder that life and growth can thrive anywhere. Caring for them felt like a “grown-up” task, something real and important beyond our usual classroom routines. The children even began referring to the spider plants’ offshoots as little versions of themselves — like “Little Freddy” or “Little Amanda.” When we studied plants in science lessons, they eagerly included their own plants in our discussions, proudly sharing everything they’d learned about helping them grow.

Over my years in education, I’ve seen classrooms with rabbits confined to cages, hamsters running on endless wheels, and fish circling tanks far too small for comfort. The intention behind having “class pets” is often good — teachers want to teach responsibility, empathy, and respect for living beings. But these lessons can easily be lost when the animals themselves have no choice, no freedom, and no real home. 

I’m aware that pet stores market small animals to teachers as “classroom starter pets,” sending them off in dismally small, barren cages with buyers unprepared for the challenge of caring for them. For example, guinea pigs and gerbils are skittish, and many never adjust to being picked up and held. Mice and other small mammals are nocturnal and must sleep during the day. When kept in brightly lit, noisy classrooms and regularly removed from their cages, their natural sleep rhythms are disrupted and their health deteriorates.

Gerbils, guinea pigs, rabbits, and goldfish need companionship from their own species — a fact supported by decades of research showing that isolation causes measurable stress in these social animals — yet they’re often kept alone, becoming lonely and depressed. They show this through behavior shifts, like withdrawal, inactivity, or losing interest in things they normally enjoy. 

Animals in classrooms are commonly left behind during fire or evacuation drills, and few classes have a plan to save them in an actual emergency. This sends a dangerous message to children: that animals’ safety and well-being are secondary. It undermines the very lessons of care and responsibility that educators hope to teach. Animals are also routinely left alone overnight and on weekends or holidays. Some are even abandoned at the end of the school year or sent to homes where people may not know how to care for them.

Most children love animals, but overly enthusiastic handling can unintentionally injure these small, fragile beings. And unfortunately, some kids don’t always have kind intentions. I’ve heard heartbreaking stories of neglect and even cruelty toward animals in schools, including a rabbit whose tail was pulled off and a hamster who was tortured to death. Stressed or frightened “pets” who don’t want to be handled may also bite in self-defense. And animals can endanger students and teachers too: In addition to triggering allergies, they can spread bacteria such as salmonella and zoonotic diseases.

Our plants, by contrast, offered lessons about empathy and responsibility — without putting anyone at risk. The children of P.S. 50 in the Bronx, New York, learned patience, consistency, and gentle care. We took photos of them proudly tending to their plants throughout the school year, documenting how both they and the plants grew. When we studied science, the students understood the connection between sunlight, water, and growth in a way no textbook could teach.

Plants don’t have a nervous system like animals do, and unlike hamsters, rabbits, and other animals, there’s no evidence that they experience sadness, loneliness, or emotional distress. But animals confined to cages, often neglected once the novelty wears off, can become sources of stress rather than joy. After weekends or holidays, teachers sometimes return to find that the class snake or frog hasn’t survived. Under even the best circumstances, no child can truly learn respect for animals by watching them live in confinement.

There are so many enriching, humane lessons that don’t involve keeping animals captive. Along with nurturing classroom plants, students can observe local wildlife outdoors, participate in community gardens, or use virtual programs to study animals in their natural habitats. These activities teach curiosity, empathy, and care for living things — without causing harm.

By the end of the school year, many of my students took home baby spider plants, proudly telling their parents how they would care for “Little Freddy” or “Little Amanda.” Seeing their excitement confirmed what I had witnessed all year: Kindness grows when it’s nurtured. 

Teachers have a special opportunity to shape how children see the world. When we choose compassion — when we show that every living being deserves respect — we plant the seeds of empathy that can last a lifetime. Whether it’s a thriving school garden or a single spider plant on a windowsill, we can teach responsibility, science, and kindness all at once.

Classrooms don’t need cages. The best lessons are always the ones rooted in compassion.