Once upon a time there were three little pigs. They decided they wanted to build a warm, dry home where they could live safely. They were rightly concerned about safety because there was a big, bad wolf who prowled around in the woods where they lived. He would blow down people’s houses. That was what he thought of as a good time. But what he liked best of all was to eat pigs. But before he’d eat them he liked to frighten them just out of spite.  

 

When you make someone feel afraid or sad, does it make you feel sorry? Does it make you wish you could comfort that person? Yes? Well, not this wolf. When he made someone afraid or sad, he liked it; being bad made him feel good. The way he made himself feel safe in the world was to make other people feel scared. And those three little pigs were very scared of him. 

 

“What do we build a good house out of?” said one pig.

“I think we should use straw,” said another.  

“Straw is golden, like gold, but cheaper than gold. Let’s do it,” said the third pig.  

 

So they gathered enough straw and built their house. Meanwhile the Wolf watched them from the dark eaves of the nearby forest. He liked letting people feel hopeful for a little while before he pounced, so he let them build the house while he laughed to himself and said, “Foolish pigs, that’s no house to keep me out.” Then, late in the night, as the pigs were tucked neatly into their little straw beds in their little straw house, believing that they were quite safe, suddenly a ferocious wind tore through the wall! It ripped the roof right off and what did they see glaring down at them but two burning red eyes and a long row of sharp, grinning teeth. The pigs ran for their lives and barely escaped. 

 

The next day they regrouped.  

 

“Straw was a terrible idea it turns out!” said one pig. 

“I think if we used sticks we’ll be safe,” said another. 

“Yes, sticks are like tree trunks but not so heavy. Let’s do it,” said the third pig. 

 

So they began to build their stick house. Meanwhile, the Wolf stretched himself out on the ground not far away and his dark fur coat seemed to melt right into the shadows where he lay so that he was invisible. And he watched. To him it was fun to see the pigs happy and hopeful if it meant that he would have the pleasure of dashing their hopes and shredding their happiness. You see, he liked all the wrong things – bad things felt good to him, and good things were boring and unpleasant. 

 

The pigs had slept soundly that night, not knowing the Wolf waited just outside smiling. Suddenly, something like a huge furry elephant’s trunk came smashing through the house. Sticks cracked and flew in every direction at the swing of the big Wolf’s strong tail. Splintered wood was everywhere and the Wolf howled with laughter to see the frightened pigs scrambling to get away. He didn’t even chase them. He just laughed to see them so terrified. He got pleasure from other people’s pain. 

 

The pigs were tired of the whole business by this point.  

 

“Look fellas, the truth is we don’t know anything about building houses,” said one pig. 

“It’s sad but true, we’re terrible at this,” said another. 

“What if we found someone who did know how and asked for help?” said the third pig. 

 

“That’s a good idea. Like who?” said one pig. 

“I’ve heard there’s a giant nearby,” said another. 

“If he’s big, he’s probably bad, right? But, it’s worth a try,” said the third pig. 

 

So they packed up their things and walked uphill towards the place where they’d heard the Giant lived. Meanwhile, the Wolf stalked behind them a little ways away. He was silent on his padded feet and he stayed out of sight. He was very curious. “Where in the world are they going?” he wondered to himself.  

 

As evening approached, their path led them over a little ridge and they saw a great, big stone castle with many chimneys. Then their little piggy legs trembled, because they heard a huge booming sound. It was huger than any thunder, huger than the Wolf’s biggest baddest laughter, it even seemed huger than the mountains themselves. They knew the Giant was coming.  

 

Those three pigs shook but couldn’t run. There stood a man so big they were sure he would stomp on them right then and there. But he didn’t. He knelt down, and pondered them in silence. The chilly night wind made his fur mantle sway, and they saw that it was made of a wolf’s skin. Finally, the Giant spoke.

 

“There is a big, bad wolf close by, little piggies,” he said.

“You are big too, Giant,” said one pig, his voice shaking, “and big things are always bad in my experience.” 

“What comes first – a good apple or a bad apple?” asked the Giant.  

“A good apple,” said another pig.

“Yes, and bigness comes first, and some big things go bad, like some apples. But I am not an apple, I am the tree, and the Wolf is a big apple gone bad.”  

“You are more like a mountain, I think!” said the third pig. 

“No, I am not a mountain either, little piggie, I am the Rock from which the mountains are made. They are more apples from the tree that I am,” said the Giant, but the little pigs were not sure what he meant. 

 

Meanwhile, the Wolf’s patience was finally wearing thin. He clenched his jaw and a mean growl began to rumble in his long, hungry throat as he watched them from behind a woodpile. The Wolf’s rage got the better of his wits and he leapt out of his hiding place at the little pigs. Their backs were to him and it was dark. They didn’t see him. But the Giant saw the burning red eyes and the bared teeth and he held up his arm like a great shield behind the pigs. The Wolf’s mouth closed around the Giant’s hand and his fangs sunk deep into the flesh. The Wolf growled in ecstasy, for to tear flesh and taste blood is the greatest pleasure for an animal with a taste for badness.  

 

The Giant let out a cry so loud the little pigs covered their ears and fell to the earth in terror. The Stone Gate to the castle was blown off its hinges and fell like two enormous tablets to the ground. The big, bad Wolf was flung back toward the night and steadied himself, licking the Giant’s blood from his lips, when suddenly his tongue went stiff. The Wolf’s eyes bulged and rolled frantically. He opened his mouth to snarl but his jaw locked. He swung his head about madly until his neck froze. Before long the Wolf stood hulking but motionless before them, turned to stone.  

 

“What happened?” asked the first pig. 

“How did you turn the Wolf to stone?” asked another. 

“We’re saved! We never have to be afraid of the big, bad wolf again!” said the third pig. 

 

“No, little piggie. There are more wolves who thirst for blood,” said the Giant. “But this Wolf’s thirst has drowned him. If a creature feeds on badness long enough, a taste of goodness will turn him to stone.” 

“Then the other wolves, they will turn to stone, too?” asked another pig. 

“No,” said the Giant, “You see this wolfskin mantle I wear? I did not take it from a dead wolf. It was given to me by a wolf who left it behind.” 

“Really? What happened to him?” asked the third pig. 

“Oh, I changed him into a big, fluffy Sheepdog. He lives there with me.” The Giant pointed to the Castle. As he lifted his arm, the pigs saw that the wound had healed, though the scars were still there alongside many other similar ones.  

 

Just then, the pigs shuddered. A sound had come from the Stone Wolf. It was a strange sound like a whimpering intermingled with a menacing growl. 

 

“The Stone Wolf! He can’t be coming back to life, can he?” yelped one of the pigs, his eyes big with fear. 

“I don’t think you have anything to be afraid of,” began the Giant, “But, yet, he might, if the whimper wins over the growl. It is hard for stone to become flesh again, but I wouldn’t call it impossible,” The Giant smiled and asked, “Can an apple become good once it’s rotten?”  

“No, it’s spoiled,” said another pig. 

“Normally, that would be the case,” said the Giant, “but I am the Tree, and I can turn Wolves into Sheepdogs and bad apples into good apples.” 

 

The Giant had said these last words without looking at them. He was looking at the Stone Wolf, and they caught a sad look in his eyes, and they were amazed to feel for the first time ever, a little sad for the Wolf themselves. The Giant turned to them and, seeing they shared his sadness at least a little, said, “Come live in my house, for it is a home for those who are willing to be sad. You were afraid of the Wolf, but you did not gloat at his demise. Would it amaze you to know this wolf was once a pig like you?”  At this they stared in disbelief.  

 

“How can that be?” asked one pig.  

“Well, you may not remember,” replied the Giant, smiling sadly, “but you weren’t always pigs.”  

“Of course we were! What else could we have been?” said another pig. 

“You were little lambs once, but in your piggish greed you ate up your sheep skins.” They were silent for a moment. “Yes,” said the Giant, “and inside the belly of that Stone Wolf there is a little pig, and inside the belly of that little pig is a little lamb – long forgotten, long consumed.”  

“Even if that was true, we could never become Wolves, Giant!” said the third pig. 

“Don’t be so sure,” said the Giant, and there was a frightening rumble like tumbling boulders in his voice that made them take a step back. “Fear of wolves has led to hatred of wolves, which, too often, leads to desiring the power of a wolf. A taste of that power, which comes from badness, can make even little piggies thirsty for blood.” 

 

After a moment one pig said, “That’s why we wanted to build houses – to keep that Wolf out.” 

“There is only one house that can do that. Leave your piggishness and wolfishness at its threshold and, come, live in it.” said the Giant.

  

And they did. They followed the Giant through the open gate, and when they entered, something strange happened to them. They thought at first that the Giant had suddenly shrunk, but then they realized that they had grown quite big. But not only big, their bare pig skin was covered in strange wooly fluff. They looked at each other astonished and laughed, but instead of squealing in laughter like little pigs, ridiculous sheep sounds came out of their mouths. This made them laugh even more at themselves, which to tell you the truth, felt very good.