Each year my family would go on vacation at Mission Bay in San Diego. Four buoys were visible from the beach. I named them, gave them personalities and wrote stories about them.
Swim Area wore his name. He was the youngest, the cutest, and the shortest lived- he was replaced by a clunker called "No Boats".
Orangey floated further away. He was the friendliest. In my stories he was friends with the gulls, dolphins and seals, who often delivered him news.
Sailortilt lived near a bridge and floated to the side. He was the oldest and wisest.
Blockade floated furthest from shore. You could barely see him. He was the mysterious type, but he had an important job: he kept an eye out for the bad guys. Buoy security.
Back to the real world...
My brother liked them too. When I was seven we coaxed my dad to row us out so we could see the buoys up close. When the boat bumped into Orangey my brother and I shouted "Buoy!" and patted "him" as if "he" were a dog. My dad was horrified. "There's bird shit on that thing!" he said.