The Big Bad Wolf

It’s always the same. Folks hear “wolf,” and their minds conjure fangs and fury. Big, bad, savage. No one ever asks why I do what I do. No one cares about the facts. 

That’s fine. Facts don’t matter to most people. But they matter to me. 

This is my side. 

***

I found the first pig in a meadow, not far from the edge of the woods. A pathetic excuse for a house sat in the clearing—a pile of straw barely held together by a breeze.

I crouched in the brush, stomach growling loud enough to shame me. It had been days since my last meal, and that pig smelled like salvation. 

“Hey, Piggy,” I called, stepping into view. My voice was smooth, polite. Always polite at first. “Lovely house you’ve got there. But, uh… think it’ll hold up if the wind picks up?” 

The pig froze. He had one of those round, beady-eyed faces, the kind that twitches at the first hint of trouble. 

“Wh-what do you want, Wolf?” he stammered. 

I grinned, keeping my distance. “Relax, friend. I’m just passing through. You wouldn’t happen to have anything to spare for a hungry traveler, would you?” 

He clutched his pitchfork like it was the key to survival. “I know what you’re after! You’ll not get me, you filthy beast!” 

I sighed. Here we go again. 

“Look, Piggy, I’m not here to cause trouble. But if you won’t share…” I tilted my head toward his flimsy little house. “You think that’s gonna stop me?” 

“Stay back!” he shrieked, darting inside. 

Stubborn little thing. I circled the house, shaking my head. “It’s just straw, Piggy. If I really wanted, I could huff and puff and—” 

Well, you know the story. 

The straw collapsed in one big gust, and the pig squealed like a stuck lute string. He bolted out the back, screaming for his brothers. I gave chase, my paws pounding the earth. Hunger sharpened my focus, made me faster, meaner. 

“Run all you like,” I growled. “You can’t outrun the wind!” 

He led me to his brother’s house, a slapdash shack of twigs and branches. Not much better than the first. The second pig—bigger, slower, and just as skittish—was already outside, waving a stick like it might make a difference. 

“What’s going on?” he squealed. 

“It’s the wolf!” the first one wailed. “He wants to eat us!” 

The second pig bared his teeth. “Not if we stick together!”

I stopped a few yards away, catching my breath. “Boys, boys, boys. This is all a misunderstanding. I just need a meal. A leg, maybe a shoulder. I’m not picky.” 

“You’re not getting anything from us!” the second pig shouted. 

I shrugged. “Suit yourself.” 

Now, I don’t enjoy destruction. It’s exhausting, frankly. But desperation makes a wolf resourceful. I circled their twiggy little fortress, examining its weak points. 

“Nice construction,” I called out. “A real improvement over straw. But, uh…” I tapped a branch with my claw. It rattled ominously. “Not exactly wolf-proof, is it?” 

“Go away!” the second pig yelled. 

“Can’t do that,” I said. “Sorry.” 

I drew a deep breath, filling my lungs with the crisp forest air. Then I blew. 

The twig house didn’t stand a chance. Sticks flew in every direction, and both pigs fled, squealing as they vanished into the trees. 

“Cowards!” I barked, giving chase once more. My muscles burned, but the promise of food kept me going.

They ran toward the hills, where I caught sight of a third house—a sturdy structure of bricks. 

“Figures,” I muttered. “The smart one.” 

The third pig stood outside, arms crossed. He was calm, which was unnerving. Behind him, his brick house loomed, solid and unyielding. 

“Let me guess,” I said, padding to a stop. “You’re the brains of the family?” 

The third pig smiled faintly. “And you must be the wolf who doesn’t know when to quit.” 

The first two pigs cowered behind him, peeking out with wide, fearful eyes. 

“Let me guess,” I said, raising a paw. “You built that fortress so you could sit pretty while I go hungry?” 

The third pig shrugged. “It’s called being prepared. You should try it sometime.” 

“Cute,” I said, gnarling my teeth. “You think your bricks will save you?” 

He didn’t flinch. “I know they will.” 

I laughed, long and loud. “Alright, Piggy. Let’s see what your fancy house can do.” 

I threw myself at the walls, claws scraping against cold stone. The bricks held firm. I tried again, harder this time, but all I got was sore paws. 

“Having fun?” the third pig called from a window. 

“You think this is funny?” I snarled. 

“Kind of,” he said. “You look ridiculous.” 

I growled, stepping back. “Fine. Let’s do this the old-fashioned way.” 

I took a deep breath, the deepest yet, and blew with all my might. The wind howled, whipping through the trees, but the house stood as steady as a mountain. 

“Give it up, Wolf,” the third pig said. “You’re wasting your breath.” 

That was when I lost it. 

“You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” I roared, pacing in front of the house. “Hiding behind your walls, letting me starve!” 

“You’re the one who’s been chasing us,” the third pig shot back.

“Because you made it impossible to survive any other way!” I snapped. “You and your villages, your traps, your hunts! You’ve made me the villain in every story just so you can feel safe in your little pig pens!” 

The third pig’s smile faltered, but he didn’t reply. 

“You think I enjoy this?” I continued, my voice raw. “Chasing scraps, destroying homes? It’s not a choice, Piggy. It’s survival.” 

He frowned, but his brothers tugged at his arm, whispering urgently. 

“Don’t listen to him!” the first one said. “He’s just trying to trick you!” 

“He’ll eat us if he gets the chance!” the second one added. 

The third pig hesitated, his eyes darting between them and me.

“Think what you want,” I said, my voice quieter now. “But remember this: when you tell this story, don’t forget the truth. I’m not the monster you made me out to be. I’m just a wolf trying to live in a world that won’t let him.” 

I turned, my tail dragging behind me. The pigs watched in silence as I disappeared into the woods, leaving their brick house untouched. 

***

They’ll tell it differently, of course. They always do.

***

I trudged through the woods, the moon overhead painting the path in ghostly light. My stomach clenched with hunger, the ache sharper now that I’d wasted my energy on those pigs and their fortress. 

Bricks. I should’ve known better. It was always the smart ones that did me in, the clever ones with their schemes and walls. The others called me the Big Bad Wolf, but what was so big or bad about a starving, desperate animal? 

I needed food. Real food. 

That’s when I thought of her. 

***

Granny. 

She lived alone in the little cottage on the hill, just beyond the meadow. I’d passed it a hundred times before but never stopped.

She wasn’t like the others—didn’t set traps, didn’t chase me off with a broom or a gun. She kept to herself, tending her garden, humming her old songs. 

Maybe she’d help. Maybe she’d have something to spare. 

Or maybe I’d take what I needed. 

***

Her chimney was puffing faint smoke by the time I arrived, and the scent of something warm and savory floated on the breeze.

I crept closer, my claws silent against the soft grass. Her cottage looked so inviting—lit windows glowing, the faint hum of her voice drifting through the night. 

I hesitated at the door. 

“Be polite,” I muttered to myself, tapping my claws nervously against the frame. “She’s just an old lady. No need for trouble.” 

I raised a paw and knocked, gentle at first. 

“Who is it?” came her frail voice. 

“It’s me,” I called back, keeping my tone soft. “Just a traveler passing through. I wondered if you might have something to spare—a little bread, maybe some soup?” 

The door opened a crack, and Granny peeked out. Her eyes squinted in the dim light, but she didn’t slam the door. That was something. 

“You’re a wolf,” she said, her voice steady but wary. 

“Can’t argue with that,” I said, offering a toothy grin. “But I’m a polite wolf. I don’t want trouble, ma’am. Just food.” 

She studied me for a long moment, then sighed. “You look half-dead. Come in, but no funny business, you hear?” 

“I promise,” I said, stepping inside. 

The warmth of her little home wrapped around me like a blanket. It smelled of thyme and rosemary, a stew bubbling on the hearth. My mouth watered. 

“Sit,” she said, pointing to a chair by the fire. “I’ll get you something.” 

I sat, my tail twitching anxiously. Granny moved slowly but with purpose, ladling a bowl of stew and slicing a hunk of bread. She set them in front of me without a word, then sat across from me, her sharp eyes watching every move I made. 

“Thank you,” I said, trying not to devour the food too quickly. “You’re kinder than most.” 

“Don’t thank me yet,” she said, her voice dry. “Why are you really here?” 

I paused, the spoon halfway to my mouth. 

“I told you,” I said. “I’m just hungry.” 

She snorted. “Wolves don’t knock on doors for dinner. You’re running from something, aren’t you?” 

I hesitated, then nodded. “From everything. The villagers, the hunters, the stories. People see me and think ‘monster.’ They don’t care about the truth.” 

Granny’s gaze softened, but she didn’t reply. 

“Do you know what it’s like?” I asked, my voice low. “To be hated for what you are? To be hunted for needing to survive?” 

She sighed, shaking her head. “I’ve seen enough of the world to know it’s not kind to those it doesn’t understand.” 

For a moment, we sat in silence, the crackling fire the only sound. I finished the stew, savoring every last drop, and pushed the bowl aside. 

“You’ve been kind,” I said, standing. “I won’t trouble you anymore.” 

Granny raised a hand. “Wait.” 

I paused, watching as she rose and shuffled to a cupboard. She pulled out a small bundle wrapped in cloth and handed it to me.

“Take this,” she said. “It’s not much, but it’ll get you through the night.” 

I blinked, surprised. “Why are you helping me?” 

Her lips curved into a faint smile. “Because everyone deserves kindness, even a wolf.” 

I was about to thank her when the door creaked open behind me.

“Grandma?” a voice called out. 

I turned, and there she was—the girl in the red hood. Her basket swung in her hand, her wide eyes locking on me instantly. 

“You,” she hissed.

I backed up, my hackles rising. “Easy, kid. I’m just passing through.”

“Passing through?” she snapped. “You’re in my grandmother’s house!” 

“Red, it’s alright,” Granny said, her voice calm but firm. “He’s done nothing wrong.” 

“Nothing wrong?” Red barked, stepping closer. “He’s a wolf! He eats people, Grandma!” 

“Now, that’s a stretch,” I said, trying to keep my tone light. “I eat pigs sometimes, sure, but people? Not my thing.” 

Red ignored me, her glare fixed on her grandmother. “You can’t trust him. He’s probably here to rob you—or worse!” 

Granny sighed. “Enough, child. He’s hungry, not dangerous.” 

But Red wasn’t convinced. She set her basket down and reached inside, pulling out a gleaming knife. 

“Alright, Wolf,” she said, her voice cold. “You’ve had your meal. Now leave.” 

I raised my paws, stepping back toward the door. “No need for that, kid. I was just going.” 

“Good,” she said, her grip tightening on the knife. “And don’t come back.” 

I glanced at Granny one last time, her kind eyes clouded with worry. 

“Thank you,” I said quietly, then turned and slipped into the night.

As I disappeared into the trees, I heard Red’s voice behind me, sharp and accusing. 

“You’re too soft, Grandma. Wolves don’t change.”

Granny’s reply was faint but firm. 

“Maybe. But sometimes, child, it’s us who need to change.”