Why Am I The Villian?

   Why does everyone portray me as the bad guy in all those stupid fairy tales? Being a wolf doesn’t automatically make me evil. Underneath this rough exterior of mine lives a heart of gold. I love my family just like you humans do, and I have feelings. It hurts knowing many fear me and few or none love me.

    For instance, my reputation really suffered when some ignorant human wrote a fairy tale called The Three Little Pigs. I feel that I have been unjustly accused of a crime where there was none. Is that fair? Sure, there is nothing I love better than a lovely fat piggy, but I know for a fact you humans love your ham and bacon as well as barbecued ribs and pork chops. By the way, pork is another word for pigs, hogs, swine, or whatever you choose to call them. All that delicious stuff you love was once a roly-poly piglet. So, why is it okay for you to eat pigs but not me? Doesn’t that ring of discrimination? It does to me.

    So, okay, I admit that eating Red Riding Hood’s grandmother was not one of my better moments. One, because she was as tough as old leather, and two, she gave me a major case of heartburn. Red, she tasted much better, young and tender.

    Now, I suppose you are back to hating me again. In my defense, I want you to know that I asked the old woman nicely for something to eat, but she freaked out and beat me with her broom. I kind of lost it for a few minutes, and when I came to my senses, it was too late, so I ate the evidence. The old bat could have saved Red and herself a lot of grief by showing a bit of kindness to a starving animal. According to that ridiculous story, a hunter killed me and freed Red and her gramma. Come on, do you really think I would be telling you this story if something of that nature had happened?  But of course, they couldn’t let the story end with the wolf winning.  I don’t know why some sick idiot made that incident a fairy tale anyway. Is that the kind of stuff you humans like to read to your kids at night?

    Then there is the fairy tale The Wolf And The Seven Kids about me allegedly eating seven baby goats. Well, maybe it’s partially true. I did devour six of them, but it needed to be done to teach that smart-alecky old mother goat a lesson about wolves. Old Ma Goat and I had disagreed for years, and she would butt me in the hind end every time she got a chance. So yeah, she had to learn to show me some respect. She thought she was so clever when she told her kids not to let me in because of my voice and black feet. Hah, how stupid did she think I was? It was easy enough to disguise my voice with chalk and use flour to make my feet white. Those kids fell for it like the silly little things baby goats are. I would have totally gotten away with it if I could have found that seventh little stinker and eaten him, too. As it was, Old Ma Goat tracked me down and caught me sleeping, then proceeded to stomp and butt the crap out of me. It was worth it to get the best of the old girl for once. Of course, some humans couldn’t stand the thought of a wolf getting the best of anything, so they added that lie about the mama goat cutting me open, getting her babies out, and putting rocks in my stomach before sewing me back up. Then, I supposedly fell into the water and drowned. Well, I’m still here, so you know that’s a bunch of hooey, too.

    My favorite fairy tale is The Boy Who Cried Wolf. Now, this is one story that lets me come out on top, which they all should. The dumbbell who wrote the story got it all wrong, though, when he portrayed the shepherd boy as a bored kid who just wanted to stir things up for the heck of it. Here’s what actually happened. I kept sneaking up behind the youngster and giving him a poke with my nose. The poor kid would scream wolf, but I was long gone when the villagers arrived. I knew if I kept it up long enough, they would get ticked off and ignore the lad when he hollered. It worked, and it was so much fun. To give the kid credit, he threw stones at me and tried to drive me away. That is until I gave him my most ferocious growl and showed him my teeth. As I mentioned, this is my favorite story, and I want you to observe that I didn’t eat the boy. Why would I, with all those luscious sheep to choose from? The thing with Red and her grandmother was a freak incident brought on by Grandma’s nastiness.

         Anyhow, to sum it up, I feel that you humans have given me a bad image for no reason. Sure, I’m a carnivore and love meat, but aren’t most of you the same? Look at those poor beef cows who complacently think they live in luxury only to wind up as hamburgers. If I want red meat, I have to kill a deer or something. And if I kill a deer, you would think I killed Bambi the way you humans carry on. If I so much as look at one of your precious cows, you will shoot me in the ass. What’s a wolf to do?

    But I’m getting sidetracked here. I only wanted to point out the unfairness of always making me the bad guy. I admit that maybe I get carried away sometimes, like the Red business, but I’m not a bad fellow. I’m only a wolf doing what wolves do to survive.