A letter arrived at the Pig Pen one day,
From Great-Auntie McPig to her three little nieces.
It warned of a Wolf that was heading their way,
Who would chew them all up into bacon-sized pieces.
“Och, dears!” said that note. “You had better be quick!
I have sent three gold coins that I managed to borrow.
Now build your defences, and build them from brick,
For that Wolf will arrive the day after tomorrow!”
“Now mark my words well,” wrote Great-Auntie McPig,
“So that when that Wolf comes you will know him by sight:
He walks up on two legs, like a man only BIG,
And the fur of his tail is entirely white.”
“He has wire-wool whiskers and coffee-stained teeth,
And his fur is as thick as a blackberry thicket.
One eye has a scar like a star underneath,
And he boarded the train with a second class ticket.”
The eldest pig, Ada, reached out a plump trotter,
And took down her bicycle clips from the shelf.
“Let’s ride to the market, that Wolf sounds a rotter!
We’ll each take one coin. Every pig for herself!”
Off they rode down the higgledy-piggledy track
Through the wood where dead branches lay scattered around
Past the farm with its hay in a high, yellow stack
To the tumbledown town where the market was found.
At the first stall, the eldest pig, Ada, jumped down,
“I am rich!” she declared, “I can buy what I choose!”
And she spent her gold coin on a leopard-print gown,
A fur coat, a silk hat and a pair of red shoes.
“What about your new house?” Ada’s two sisters squealed,
As she stared in the mirror and grinned more and more.
“Don’t you worry,” she oinked, “I’ll ride back to the field,
Where I’ll tear down that haystack and build it from straw!”
At the next stall, the middle pig, Bessy, drew near,
“I am rich!” she oink-oinked, “I can choose what I buy!”
And she spent her gold coin on a bucket of beer,
Pickled eggs, cheesy chips and a blueberry pie.
“What about your new house? You can’t build it from chips!”
Squealed her sisters, “You’re really the greediest of pigs!”
“Don’t you fret!” Bessy belched, loudly licking her lips.
“I’ll go back to the woods, where I’ll build it from twigs!”
The last to the market, the youngest pig Hilda,
Was tempted by trinkets and trumpets and tricks,
‘Til she came to the stall of an out-of-work builder…
And spent her gold coin on a cartload of bricks.
Hilda hitched up her bike to the front of the cart,
And rode higgledy-piggledy home to her door.
In the wood she passed Bessy, who let out a fart!
In the field, she passed Ada, all covered in straw!
It was half past eleven, the following day,
A tall gentleman stepped from the back of the train,
And he asked the conductor: “Please tell me the way
To find Number 3, Higgledy Piggledy Lane.”
The conductor was struck by the size of the brute,
By the scar like a star on his whiskery snout,
And the tail of pure white that hung down from his suit.
But he gave him directions, to help the gent out.
Near the station, the stranger arrived at a farm,
Where he saw a small hut built completely from straw.
“Let me in!” the gent whispered, “I mean you no harm!”
And with one furry fist, he knocked hard on the door.
When there came no reply, the gent peered through a crack,
And it’s hard to say who suffered most from the shock:
The strange gent in a suit with a tail at the back,
Or the pig in red shoes and a leopard-skin frock!
“What a sight!” drooled the gent, “I believe I smell bacon,
You look like a pig who’d taste good in a stew!”
“You’re the Wolf,” Ada squealed, “If I’m not much mistaken,
Great-Auntie McPig warned me all about you!”
After thinking out loud, “I will first marinade her!”
With huff and with puff, the Wolf blew the house down,
Then with jaggedy teeth he tore into poor Ada,
‘Til nothing remained but her leopard-skin gown.
It was one hour later, the stranger was sighted,
His wire-wool whiskers all covered in blood.
He was holding a chainsaw and looking excited,
Approaching a house made of logs, sticks and mud.
“Let me in!” howled the stranger, “I’ve come from your sister,
She joined me for breakfast, but now I want more!
She was dressed up so fine, I just couldn’t resist her!”
And pulling the handle, he started the saw.
Text © copyright Jason Hook 2019
Illustration © copyright Christa Hook 2019