THE REAL STORY OF THE THREE LITTLE PIGS — By Cynthia De Boer

CHILDREN’S

Now, nearly everyone knows the story about the three little pigs and the mean old wolf, at least everyone believes they do.  Alex Owl recently tracked down the villain of the story and obtained this exclusive interview with Mr. William Wolf.

Alex:               Now tell me William, is it true that you destroyed two homes, then killed and ate the occupants?

William:         Well that’s not exactly true.  You see I have terrible allergies.  Around the end of May when things begin to bud out I have severe sneezing attacks.  My eyes swell up and my nose turns into a faucet.  It gets so sore I can barely stand it.  Tissues feel like sand paper so this year my mother made me several large handkerchiefs from soft terry cloth.  She was on her way to bring them to me when she passed a newly constructed straw house.  It was the most useless looking home she had ever seen.  She stopped to get a closer look.  That’s when this little fat pig came running out after her with a gun.  He was shouting that he was going to kill her.  Why my mom was so terrified she dropped her basket and came running to my house.

Needless to say, I was quite upset.  My mother is going on eighty in wolf years.  This trauma was almost too much for her.  I tried to look at it from the pig’s side and decided to go have a word with this new comer.  I would explain that mother and I have all the food we need and do not wish him any harm.  Besides, we don’t like the taste of pork meat.

Well, let me tell you, I was pretty upset when I arrived and saw all my handkerchiefs spread out on his picnic table.  He was using them for polishing rags and two were already dirtied.  When he saw me, he froze.  I tried to explain the situation.  It was as if he never heard a word I said.  That little pig picked up a large vase of flowers and threw them at me as he raced into his house.  I started sneezing and before I knew it the house had collapsed with the pig under it.  He must have had pots hanging from the ceiling because one of them hit him in the head killing him instantly.

Now, I will admit my sneezing attack caused the house to collapse but that’s all I did.

Alex:               That’s explains the house and how the pig died.  Can you explain why everyone believes you ate the pig?

William:         Of course, like I said, mother and I have no use for pork but the nearby wolf orphanage does.  They were out of firewood so I offered to cook the pig for them.  Just ask Father Jack Morris, he’ll back me.

Alex:               What happened to the second pig?

William:         I didn’t know that the two were brothers and when I went by his new house of sticks I knew it would never stand the fall winds.  I decided to stop and offer some advice and help to shore the place up.  That little pig didn’t let me get one word out before he was in my face shaking his finger at me.  Apparently, he had been cooking and had pepper on his finger.

With my sensitive nose, there I went again.  I sneezed and sneezed and sneezed.  The pig ran into the house and it collapsed.  He looked like a pincushion with all those sticks in him.  There was nothing I could do.  He had been stabbed to death.

Mother always believed in never wasting any thing.  Even if we can’t use it, we pass it on to some one who can.  Since the fire was already hot, I just grilled him up right there on the spot and once again delivered the meat to the orphanage

Alex:               And what about the allegations the third little pig made against you?

William:         Even though my first attempts at speaking with the new pigs in town hadn’t gone well, I decided to give it one last chance.  I saw this beautiful house of bricks and I was extremely impressed.  This house would stand any wind.  So I knocked on the door to praise the little pig and to welcome him to the neighborhood but I began sneezing again.  The pig yelled out from inside, shouting that I killed his brothers and if I didn’t leave he was going to shoot me.  Naturally, I backed away from the door to leave.

Just then I heard a faint cry from the roof.  A baby robin had fallen out of his nest landing on the roof.  The mother was trying to get the tiny bird back up into the nest but wasn’t strong enough to lift him.  I climbed onto the roof to help.  The branch of the tree was only a few feet above the roofline.  I knew if I stood on my back legs I could reach it.  I picked up the little fellow and put him back in the nest.

His mother was so grateful she offered me a large berry as a thank you.  When I stood again to reach for it, a strong gust of wind knocked another tree branch into me and I lost my footing.  I fell into the smoking chimney and right into a pot of scalding hot water.  The pig went crazy.  He was yelling and hitting me with a broom.  All I wanted to do was get out of that house and down to the creek to cool off.

It was a nightmare.  I sprained my ankle, nearly lost all my fur, was burnt and was in agony with pain.  Meanwhile the pig kept hitting me.  Just as I escaped the pot, he slipped in some of the water sloshing all over and fell, striking his head on the heavy pot.  That’s what killed him — not me!

Alex:               Why have you not come forward to let everyone know your side of the story?

William:         After three separate run-ins with the local pigs I decided to leave town and move in with mother.  I really didn’t care if the town folk believed me to be a killer, or a coward for that matter.  That was until the orphans began hearing all these terrible stories about me.  Those cubs looked up to me and I want them to know what really happened.

All of this huff and puff stuff is totally untrue and I never meant to harm anyone.  I realize this was just a series of terrible events and I certainly don’t wish any harm to the remaining little pig or any of his relatives.  I just want to be left in peace to lick my wounds.

In conclusion:  I must say the Wolf’s were hospitable and there was a deep sincerity in William’s voice.  He still walks with a bit of a limp and you can see patches of skin where his fur hasn’t grown back yet.  The mantel was covered with letters of concern and get well cards.  Even though his story sounds pretty incredible, stranger things have happened.

The question still remains—Is William Wolf a Cowardly Killer or a Good Samaritan with extremely bad luck?  You decide.

By Reporter Alex Owl

 

Author’s Note:  It was great fun to write this twist on an old favorite.  This original drawing by Mark Danner is absolutely perfect!  Original Story Date:  April 2010. 

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