The Story Behind
The Story
by Grace Gannon
Rudolph
Wolf and his
foxy vixen lady friend Vicky decided to have a
late night, candle lit picnic on the patio. He
slipped a Frank Sinatra CD into the stereo and
barbequed some ribs while Vicky tossed the Caesar
salad – no anchovies, heavy on the garlic.
Suddenly loud hip hop music erupted from the
house next door.
Mr. Wolf
bounded across the yard to his neighbor’s
door huffing and puffing. To his surprise the
straw house blew apart, startling the pigs inside
who had been lurching to the music, burping,
belching, and crushing beer cans against their
foreheads. They smiled as Mr. Wolf howled,
“Pipe down.”
The following
day the pigs and several friends nailed together
a shack from abandoned wood, twigs and bark. That
evening they celebrated, tripping the light
fantastic on cloven hooves. Mr. Wolf, ground his
teeth, stormed over to their house, pounded on
the door, and when he huffed and puffed the walls
tumbled away. The pigs, stopped in mid-Rumba,
flashed him tipsy smiles and went back dancing.
“Don’t you guys ever sleep?” he
bellowed.
The next day
he watched as the pigs and their friends slapped
together a new home with bricks, boulders, and a
few cobble stones they tore up from the side of
the road. “Yeah!” Mr. Wolf thought.
“Right! Like that’s gonna help!”
That night he
and Vicky arrived home after an evening at the
Opera. There was a full moon. The scent of
magnolias filled the air. As she reclined on the
divan he prepared a beverage: shaken, not stirred,
a twist of lemon for her, an olive for him.
Suddenly music from the house next door pulsed
through the house, rattling his wine rack and
tumbling jazz CDs from the cabinet to the floor.
He stormed to
his neighbor’s home, frothing at the mouth,
and began to beat on the door. While he huffed
and puffed, the pigs dialed 911.
Because he was
seeing red he didn’t notice the flashing
blue lights or hear the wail of a siren as a
cruiser pulled to the curb behind him. Two
Razorbacks got out of the car, adjusted their
belts, and came up behind him. They cuffed him,
took him to the station and booked him.
Eventually he
went to court and was put on trial for malicious
damage to property, assault and battery with a
dangerous weapon - his breath, and inciting a
riot. The Razorbacks had confused the raucous
noise inside the pig’s house with the sounds
of a full-blown frightened riot.
By the time he
was paroled the pigs had received their
settlement and hired an architect who hired a
contractor who built a chateau large enough to
cast shadows on Wolf’s home by day and inky
darkness by night. The mansion was surrounded by
manicured lawns, topiary out front, an in ground
pool out back, and an open hotline to the pizza
delivery guy.
The moral:
Wolves are lady’s men but pigs are meant to
party.
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