The Three Little Pigs

Once upon a time there were three little pigs: an oldest one, a middle one and a littlest one. When they had grown up a bit, they said to their mother:

"Mom, we’re big now! We’re going to build houses of our own."

"Off you go," Mother smiled. "Just make sure you build them strong."

The littlest pig set off first. Before long, he saw a man carting a load of straw.

"Please may I have some straw?"

The man gave him some. Rustle-rustle went the little pig, and the house was done. Quick and easy! Then he lay down for a nap.

The middle pig met a man carrying a bundle of sticks.

"Please may I have some sticks?"

The man gave him some. Tap-tap went the little pig, and he had a house made of sticks. Then he ran off to play.

But the oldest pig found bricks. And oh, were those bricks heavy! He carried them one by one, laid them nice and straight, and stuck them together with clay. He worked all day long. But what a house he got: wow! It had a little window, an oak door and even a fireplace.

That evening the wolf came to the straw house. Knock-knock!

"Little pig, little pig, let me come in!"

"No, no, no! Not by the tip of my pink little snout!"

"Then I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blo-o-ow your house down!"

The wolf filled his cheeks with air and went whoo-oo-oosh! Straw flew everywhere. And the little pig jumped up and raced across the field to his brother’s house.

The wolf ran after him. Knock-knock!

"Little pigs, little pigs, let me come in!"

"No, no, no! Not by the tips of our pink little snouts!"

"Then I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blo-o-ow your house down!"

Whoo-oo-oosh! Whoo-oo-oosh! The sticks cracked and the house fell apart. Off the little pigs ran, pitter-patter, to their big brother’s house. Slam! In they went, and the door was bolted.

Now the wolf went to the brick house. Knock-knock!

"Little pigs, little pigs, let me come in!"

"No, no, no! Not by the tips of our pink little snouts!"

"Then I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blo-o-ow your house down!"

The wolf blew until his face turned red. He blew until his ears wobbled. But the house just stood there. The little window didn’t even rattle.

"Then I’ll come down the chimney!" the wolf growled, and he climbed up onto the roof.

Scritch-scratch went something over the little pigs' heads.

"Oh no, what do we do?" squeaked the littlest pig.

The oldest pig didn’t say a word. He hung a big pot of water over the fire and threw on some more wood, and soon the water began to bubble: blub-blub-blub!

And down the chimney the wolf came, whoosh… and SPLASH! Right into the pot!

"Ow-ow-ow! Hot! My tail!" howled the wolf.

Out of the pot he leaped and back up the chimney he went, with soot tumbling down behind him. He rolled off the roof and took off over the hill. All the way he ran, blowing on his tail: whoo-oo-oo! Whoo-oo-oo! And he was never seen around there again.

In the morning the little pigs went outside. Where the straw house had stood, the wind was chasing bits of straw around. Where the house of sticks had stood, there was a little heap of broken twigs.

"Where are we going to live now?" sniffled the littlest pig.

"Wherever you build yourselves a house," said the oldest pig. "There are still plenty of bricks down by the river."

The two younger brothers sighed and trudged off to fetch bricks.

Oh, those bricks were heavy! It took both of them to carry one, and even then their legs went wobbly. They laid them crooked and had to lay them again. They spread on the clay and got covered in it, right up to their ears. By the time the sun was going down, the new house was barely as tall as the window.

This time nobody said "Quick and easy!" They built slowly, and it was hard work. But they built it strong.