BB & the Pigs
By John Haas
The wolf walked along the forest path toward the little village. A sparse settlement of assorted people and creatures living in small, hand built but sturdy houses. BB enjoyed the early spring day though there was definitely rain in the air, and not too far off by the smell of it. He wanted to be home before it hit.
Big Bad, or BB to his friends, was okay with his nickname. To be honest, he deserved it, and understood why others still called him it. It had been years since he had seen the girl in the red hood. It had been a bad time and she had gone about tempting him in a way she knew he wouldn’t be able to resist. Really! Showing off what she was carrying in that picnic basket. Meats. Pies. Cookies. All sorts of things that a young wolf, thinking with his stomach, would be interested in. And, if he was being honest, he had been naive and stupid back then.
In the end he had done his community service and made his apologies. The grandmother and the woodsman healed just fine and ended up relocating to another valley together. Go figure. She seemed old enough to be his grandmother.
BB was much better now. No more urges, court appointed therapy had made sure of that. He still had a temper when dealing with stupid people so he avoided them as much as possible. He was a new wolf now.
Today he was on his way to Mrs. Hamms to get a cup of sugar. His mother was baking pies for her reading group and had run out. Always willing to help out his mom he had volunteered to get it. He reached out with his big hairy paw and knocked on the door of the small cottage. A breeze pushed the flowers beside the door back and forth as if waving.
“Hi Mrs. Hamm. Mom called about borrowing some sugar.”
“Oh hi, BB. Yes, I just called her back to say I didn’t have any after all. One of the boys must have taken it.”
BB groaned inside. Speaking of dealing with stupid people. He didn’t like her kids. Two slackers and a know-it-all. He had gone to school with them. They were the type to egg him on then, when he retaliated, tell the teacher.
“They’re building their own houses. Such clever boys.” She said. “They took all sorts of stuff to get started.”
BB nodded, forcing a smile. As if there was an actual possibility of two of the three building anything. She pointed him in the right direction.
In a little clearing not far from the cottage he came to the first of the pig’s houses. He stopped in shock and let out a howl of laughter. The first brother had built a house all right, in shape at least. It was made from straw by the looks of it. One strong gust of wind and it would come down around his ears. He didn’t think it would be long, either – the wind had picked up and the rain had started.
“Ugh. I wanted to be home before…” He sighed.
BB rushed forward, the rain matting his fur. Not a warm pleasant summer rain to walk in but an early spring rain, closer to winter. Lightning flashed across the sky. He reached out and knocked gingerly on the fragile door.
“Little pig, little pig, let me come in.”
He looked up at the sky. Lightning flashed again, this time straight at the straw cabin. BB saw a metal antenna on the roof, acting as a lightning rod. As he watched, sparks struck up a fire on the thatch.
“Little pig!” He cried louder.
“Not by the hair of my chinny chin chin.” The pig squealed from inside.
“Idiot! Let him burn.”
BB made to turn away, then hesitated. No. He couldn’t do that. Blasted therapy.
He could kick the door down but that wouldn’t save the house. He had an idea…
“I’ll huff and I’ll puff…”
He took a deep breath. A sprinter by nature and a swimmer for fun, BB had a strong set of lungs. The house was flimsy, a hastily built pile of hay. With the smallest help from the growing wind, he blew the whole thing down.
“Ah! Big Bad Wolf!” The pig screamed and ran away into the forest.
He rummaged through the remains of the crap shack. No sugar. With a sigh he followed the pig’s trail into the forest.
The second house was a clapboard nightmare. It looked to be made from the remains of orange crates and wood from shipping pallets. It was cheap, built with great speed and no skill. Barely more than a lean to.
BB knocked hard on the door. The whole frame shook. It rattled with each gust of wind.
“Little pig, little pig, let me come in.”
“Not by the hair on my chinny chin chin,” two voices answered in unison.
Slacker one and slacker two.
To hell with this. He would just go to the store and buy some sugar…
“Arghhh!” He’d left his wallet on his dresser, and howled in frustration.
Groaning loudly he turned to go home. Then he heard the singing. A song that had plagued him through the last years of high school.
Who’s afraid of the big bad wolf,
the big bad wolf, the big bad wolf.
Who’s afraid if the big bad wolf.
Then came laughing and BB saw red. One hard shove…
The wind beat him to it. With a howl, one particularly heavy gust blew the house down, burying the occupants. BB leapt forward. Ignoring the splinters, he grabbed the jagged planks and threw them aside.
This was insane. A minute ago he had been ready to knock the house down himself, yet all he wanted was a cup of sugar. He felt like he was back in school with these two knuckleheads.
Finally, he uncovered the pair. They lay side by side, looking up at him in terror. Identical even down to the way they dressed, he still couldn’t tell them apart even after all these years. One of them pointed, and yelled. ‘He blew your house down!’ Then he scrambled to his feet, and ran for the forest, closely followed by his twin. BB felt a thrill of satisfaction at their fear but quickly crushed it, knowing it would take him somewhere he wasn’t willing to go.
Maybe he could catch them up and explain what happened. Their mother could attest to why he had gone to their houses. He toed through the debris in hopes of finding the sugar.
The third house was constructed of bricks. Well made, professional. Good work but nothing less than he expected from over-achiever pig. His least favorite of the three. The brains, the one who had made up every mean little plan they’d ever launched against him.
He went through his regime of mental relaxations as he crossed the clearing toward it. He knocked as politely as possible upon the door. This time he didn’t even get to speak.
“No way wolf.”
Then they sang that song again. Loudly.
“All I want is some sugar.” He called. “Your mother sent me.”
Enough was enough. All this for some sugar? He was leaving.
From the window they made faces and laughed.
“Sugar.” He yelled at them.
One pig mooned him and everything went dark in his mind.
He was dimly aware of trying the front door. When he found it locked he started trying to blow the house down. Insanity.
Then he was on the roof. What was he doing up here? He should get down before he fell. Below the pigs squealed out something and laughed some more. Little mean piggy laughing.
Then more singing.
The chimney. He could get into the house that way. For a long moment he just stared at it. He could get inside and teach those three a lesson, not just for today but for everything they had ever done in school.
“I should just leave.”
Almost without volition, he watched his paws take a hold of the lip. He swung a leg over into the opening. Part of his mind told him it was a bad idea; the rest said to get inside and slap the bacon boys around a bit and take the sugar that had caused him so much trouble. Without further thought, BB jumped down the chimney, ready to confront the pigs. Ready to do more than that, in fact.
Unexpectedly, he didn’t land with a thud, but a splash. He was in liquid. Hot liquid.
Boiling, in fact.
With a yell, BB jumped out of the pot. He fell on the carpet and the three little pigs rolled it up, with him inside. He thrashed helplessly, yelling about sugar and wind and lightning, while the pigs sang and danced round him in a circle.
Then the police arrived.
“So you see officers, that’s the whole story about how I came to be here. I was only trying to get a cup of sugar.”
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