The 3 Little Wolves and the Big Bad Pig
Once upon a time, three little wolves lived with their mother in a small cottage tucked in the corner of a dense forest. One day, in the middle of a hot, sweltering summer, their mother broke the news.
“I have to admit. I’ve been feeding you cubs for 13 wretched months, and I believe it is time for you to move out,” she declared.
The youngest’s jaw dropped. The second youngest froze. Only the eldest was calm.
The next day, their mother packed their bags and kicked the three little wolves out of the house. Once the youngest realized reality, he burst into tears.
“I WANT MY MOMMY!” he screamed.
The eldest cringed.
“If you want to stay alive, then you have to build a shelter. I’ve come out here once, and I know a place we can settle.” He started pacing.
The middle wolf sighed.
“Show us the way.”
Once they reached the clearing, they began to prepare their new homes.
The youngest one took the least amount of time. He built a small house made from straw. Since the youngest had never been exposed to the outside world, he thought straw was the strongest material.
The middle wolf was slightly more educated. He collected sticks and built a sturdy house of twigs. At least, that was what he thought.
The eldest wolf took the most time and effort on his house. He built his house with bricks and cement, complete with a fireplace and chimney.
The next day, a large pig came bounding into the clearing. He heard the wolves celebrating in their houses.
He walked up to the first house he saw: the one made from straw.
He knocked, almost tipping the poor house over, and hollered, “Little wolf! Little wolf! Let me in! Let me in!”
The youngest wolf saw him and whimpered, “No! No! No! Not by the fur on my fuzzy furry tail!”
“Then I’ll jump, and I’ll punch, and I’ll knock your house down!”
The Big Bad Pig jumped on the house, with the youngest barely escaping to his older brother’s home.
The pig scowled and moved on to the next house.
“Little wolves! Little wolves! Let me in! Let me in!” he repeated when he reached the flimsy stick house.
“No! No! No! Not by the fur on our fuzzy, furry tails!” the middle wolf said loudly, his younger brother hiding in the corner.
“Then I’ll jump, and I’ll punch, and I’ll knock your house down!”
The Big Bad Pig leaped on the house, knocking it down and noticing the two little wolves running to the last standing house.
“Little wolves! Little wolves! Let me in! Let me in!” he growled.
“No… No… No… Not by the fur on our fuzzy, furry tails,” the eldest said lazily, flipping through a magazine.
“Then I’ll jump, and I’ll punch, and I’ll knock your house down!” the pig said, rolling his eyes.
When he landed on the house, he realized he could not break the roof.
“YOWCH!” he yelled.
This made the Big Bad Pig agitated, and he leaped through the chimney, hoping to land in the house.
Instead, what was waiting for him was a pot of boiling water.
“Wait! I just wanted to party!” he yelled, as the wolves forced the lid on the pot.
The eldest and the youngest shared a look and shrugged.
That night, they had a delightful pork dinner.
