The story of the misunderstood wolf
Once there lived a wolf who was, most unfortunately, extremely misunderstood. He had, since his birth, been viewed with a certain unfair suspicion, but, circumstances being as they were, he was later seen as the wolfly embodiment of evil. This of course made poor Wolfie extremely sad.
How, you may ask, can somebody be so badly misunderstood? Actually, it's extremely easy. In this case, nature's distribution of health conditions played a large part. You see, poor old Wolfie had a couple of problems; firstly, he had hayfever, and on top of that he had a bit of a speech impediment, giving him a voice which often seemed to be quite unpleasant.
So, I am going to tell you the real story of 'the big bad wolf'. Before I do though, I must make one thing clear - Wolfie was not at all big. In fact his size was quiet diminutive; he had been the runt in his family, and had soon left his home under protest to the way in which his brothers and sisters treated him; I believe the term is 'as a punch bag'.
So Wolfie left home (covered, you understand, with scars and bruises from his siblings' teeth and claws, therefore giving him an air of being 'hard' and tough, although as you have already seen, nothing could be further from the truth) as soon as he was legally allowed, and worked very hard for a few years at pulling logs around in a forest. However, after hearing a story about one of his brothers in the forest, who had apparently attacked an old woman, a middle aged man and a little girl in red, Wolfie decided that his best course of action would be to take his money and run. He moved to a large house halfway up a mountain, and made himself very comfortable.
But despite his family's treatment of him, he longed for friendship, and the lonely life he led made him sad. So one day he decided to venture down the mountain to the small hamlet at its foot, where there lived three little pigs.
These little pigs were of very different temperaments and tastes. The youngest liked the comfort of hay in his home; the middle pig was rather fond of the smell of twigs, and so had constructed his house of twigs; the third pig was rather paranoid, and liked the security of bricks. They were all similar in one aspect however; their parents had instilled in them a deep fear and dislike of wolves.
And so, when Wolfie approached the house of straw, the youngest pig became very frightened and huddled in the corner of his house.
"Little pig! Little pig! Let me come in!" Now, Wolfie meant this as a friendly request, but because of his less than harmonic voice, it sounded more like a growl. The little pig (whose name was Alf) squeaked in fear.
"No! No! I won't let you in!"
"Oh. but. I'll." Wolfie began, before he realised that the straw was affecting his nose. "Oh dear. I think I'm going to huff. and puff."
'Oh no!' thought the little pig, 'He's going to blow the house down!'
"Aaaa-choo!" sneezed Wolfie, and as he did so, the straw of Alf's house flew around and collapsed.
"Aaaggh!" screamed the pig, and he ran up the hill to his brother Jim's stick house, and ran in, telling Jim what had happened.
"Oh dear, oh dear," Jim panicked, slamming the bolt on his door.
And poor old Wolfie was left standing in front of a pile of straw, calling after Alf,
"Wait for me!"
He walked up to the stick house, a little puzzled. He knocked on the door and said,
"Little pigs! Little pigs! Let me come in!"
"No! No, we won't let you in!" squeaked the two pigs in terror.
"Let me. oh no..." Wolfie's eyes widened in horror, as he realised that right in front of his face was a flower box, dangling next to the door. "I'm going to huff.ah!... and puff."
The two little pigs inside the house clung together in fear, both thinking the same thing: 'He's going to blow the house down!'
"Aaaaaaa-chooooo!" came the sneeze, so powerful that it swept away the twigs from the structure of the house. The two pigs, huddled in the rubble, mistook his friendly, apologetic smile for a leer, and ran up the hill towards their big brother's house.
Fred, the most sensible of the three, had heard the noises and the door was already wide open. It slammed shut as soon as Alf and Jim entered, leaving Wolfie to walk up the hill on his own to the brick house. He was not only puzzled, but a little upset now, but he thought that maybe this time he'd be lucky.
He rang the bell.
"Little pigs, little pigs, do let me in!"
"No, no, no, we will not let you in!" came the resounding squeaks of three very frightened little pigs.
"Why not? Please let me in," he begged. But then - he couldn't believe his luck - a bee came buzzing into his face. It had obviously been doing its rounds, because Wolfie could see the pollen. "Oh no. I'm going to have to huff. and puff. AAAAAAAA-CHOOOOOO!!!"
But this time all that happened was that the bee was blown away. The house was much too strong to be blown down by a sneeze. Wolfie heaved a sigh of relief. So did Alf and Jim. However, Fred was busy. He had boiled some water, and had carried it upstairs to lean out of the window which overlooked the front door.
"Oy! Wolfie!" Wolfie looked up to see the pig, smiling at the sound of his name. Of course, to Fred, it looked like a grimace.
"How did you - AAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGH! OH OH OH! That's hot! Ow! Ouch! Help!" Fred had just thrown the water over him. Wolfie, in agony, ran up and down the hill in a desperate attempt to find some cold water. Finally he found a stream, and threw himself straight into it.
Meanwhile, the little pigs were cheering in their little house, and making plans to get rid of the wolf if he ever came back. However, this was unnecessary; poor Wolfie was to spend the rest of his days in lonely misery in his own home, too scared to go out.
And that, I am afraid, is the true story. It is in fact very sad, I believe. Must I repeat once more the age-old saying - do not judge by appearances.
Once there lived a wolf who was, most unfortunately, extremely misunderstood. He had, since his birth, been viewed with a certain unfair suspicion, but, circumstances being as they were, he was later seen as the wolfly embodiment of evil. This of course made poor Wolfie extremely sad.
How, you may ask, can somebody be so badly misunderstood? Actually, it's extremely easy. In this case, nature's distribution of health conditions played a large part. You see, poor old Wolfie had a couple of problems; firstly, he had hayfever, and on top of that he had a bit of a speech impediment, giving him a voice which often seemed to be quite unpleasant.
So, I am going to tell you the real story of 'the big bad wolf'. Before I do though, I must make one thing clear - Wolfie was not at all big. In fact his size was quiet diminutive; he had been the runt in his family, and had soon left his home under protest to the way in which his brothers and sisters treated him; I believe the term is 'as a punch bag'.
So Wolfie left home (covered, you understand, with scars and bruises from his siblings' teeth and claws, therefore giving him an air of being 'hard' and tough, although as you have already seen, nothing could be further from the truth) as soon as he was legally allowed, and worked very hard for a few years at pulling logs around in a forest. However, after hearing a story about one of his brothers in the forest, who had apparently attacked an old woman, a middle aged man and a little girl in red, Wolfie decided that his best course of action would be to take his money and run. He moved to a large house halfway up a mountain, and made himself very comfortable.
But despite his family's treatment of him, he longed for friendship, and the lonely life he led made him sad. So one day he decided to venture down the mountain to the small hamlet at its foot, where there lived three little pigs.
These little pigs were of very different temperaments and tastes. The youngest liked the comfort of hay in his home; the middle pig was rather fond of the smell of twigs, and so had constructed his house of twigs; the third pig was rather paranoid, and liked the security of bricks. They were all similar in one aspect however; their parents had instilled in them a deep fear and dislike of wolves.
And so, when Wolfie approached the house of straw, the youngest pig became very frightened and huddled in the corner of his house.
"Little pig! Little pig! Let me come in!" Now, Wolfie meant this as a friendly request, but because of his less than harmonic voice, it sounded more like a growl. The little pig (whose name was Alf) squeaked in fear.
"No! No! I won't let you in!"
"Oh. but. I'll." Wolfie began, before he realised that the straw was affecting his nose. "Oh dear. I think I'm going to huff. and puff."
'Oh no!' thought the little pig, 'He's going to blow the house down!'
"Aaaa-choo!" sneezed Wolfie, and as he did so, the straw of Alf's house flew around and collapsed.
"Aaaggh!" screamed the pig, and he ran up the hill to his brother Jim's stick house, and ran in, telling Jim what had happened.
"Oh dear, oh dear," Jim panicked, slamming the bolt on his door.
And poor old Wolfie was left standing in front of a pile of straw, calling after Alf,
"Wait for me!"
He walked up to the stick house, a little puzzled. He knocked on the door and said,
"Little pigs! Little pigs! Let me come in!"
"No! No, we won't let you in!" squeaked the two pigs in terror.
"Let me. oh no..." Wolfie's eyes widened in horror, as he realised that right in front of his face was a flower box, dangling next to the door. "I'm going to huff.ah!... and puff."
The two little pigs inside the house clung together in fear, both thinking the same thing: 'He's going to blow the house down!'
"Aaaaaaa-chooooo!" came the sneeze, so powerful that it swept away the twigs from the structure of the house. The two pigs, huddled in the rubble, mistook his friendly, apologetic smile for a leer, and ran up the hill towards their big brother's house.
Fred, the most sensible of the three, had heard the noises and the door was already wide open. It slammed shut as soon as Alf and Jim entered, leaving Wolfie to walk up the hill on his own to the brick house. He was not only puzzled, but a little upset now, but he thought that maybe this time he'd be lucky.
He rang the bell.
"Little pigs, little pigs, do let me in!"
"No, no, no, we will not let you in!" came the resounding squeaks of three very frightened little pigs.
"Why not? Please let me in," he begged. But then - he couldn't believe his luck - a bee came buzzing into his face. It had obviously been doing its rounds, because Wolfie could see the pollen. "Oh no. I'm going to have to huff. and puff. AAAAAAAA-CHOOOOOO!!!"
But this time all that happened was that the bee was blown away. The house was much too strong to be blown down by a sneeze. Wolfie heaved a sigh of relief. So did Alf and Jim. However, Fred was busy. He had boiled some water, and had carried it upstairs to lean out of the window which overlooked the front door.
"Oy! Wolfie!" Wolfie looked up to see the pig, smiling at the sound of his name. Of course, to Fred, it looked like a grimace.
"How did you - AAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGH! OH OH OH! That's hot! Ow! Ouch! Help!" Fred had just thrown the water over him. Wolfie, in agony, ran up and down the hill in a desperate attempt to find some cold water. Finally he found a stream, and threw himself straight into it.
Meanwhile, the little pigs were cheering in their little house, and making plans to get rid of the wolf if he ever came back. However, this was unnecessary; poor Wolfie was to spend the rest of his days in lonely misery in his own home, too scared to go out.
And that, I am afraid, is the true story. It is in fact very sad, I believe. Must I repeat once more the age-old saying - do not judge by appearances.