DAVE WAGAR - WRITER - "THE THREE LITTLE-PYGGS AND INSPECTOR WOLFE" -

INTRODUCTION:

After an updating of the Grimm’s tale, CINDERELLA, Dave returns to the NESTER with another updated story from the past, THE THREE LITTLE. PIGS. The story, familiar to all of us. continues today to be an often told tale. Originally an English fairy tale, the story first appeared in print in the 1840’s. The story, however, dates much further back than the 19th century.

Lorelie and I have enjoyed Dave’s retelling of these stories! We hope he continues to entertain us with updated stories read to us during childhood!

Lorelie & Tim

The Three Little - Pyggs and Inspector Wolfe

Once upon a time three brothers named Little-Pygg sold their family farm and moved to the city to seek their fortunes. On the farm they had lived together in a ramshackle, dirty old place the neighbors referred to as “The Pygg Sty.” They wanted to improve their living conditions. Money from selling the farm was enough to buy a half-acre residential lot in the outskirts of town, muddy, but buildable. They were determined to build their own house before winter.

The Little-Pygg brothers read books and watched programs about the effects of various kinds of buildings on the environment. They talked about such things a sustainability and renewability. They also wanted their elderly parents and disabled cousin to be able to go in and out and move about in the house comfortably when they visited.

Pork, the oldest brother, wanted to do the building. He enjoyed books set in the British Isles, especially ones with pictures of thatched-roofed houses. He even found pictures of houses covered entirely with thatch. They looked cozy, homey, yet a little exotic. While his brothers, Bakon and Ribsy, got city jobs, Pork found a marsh filled with sedge grass on a nearby farm and got the farmer to agree to let him gather enough sedge for a house in exchange for 120 hours of work in the farmer’s fields.

With the help of a book called Thatching for Dum-dums, which was beyond his reed-ing ability at first, he soon got the hang of it. He began making thatch and erecting framework every day after work. The brothers helped on weekends. One afternoon, when the house had begun to take shape, a stranger with a clipboard stopped by. “What-cha making there, buddy?” he asked.

“A house.”

“Out of grass?”

“It’s called ‘thatch,’” said Pork. “See, it shows in this book what it will look like.”

The stranger waved aside the book. “I don’t suppose you got a permit to build a grass hut in this part of town.”

“Permit? No, what’s that?”

“You need to stop building right now and go to City Hall and get forms and then prepare architectural drawings in order to get permission to build. I’ll be checking to see that you do it right. Here’s my card.”

“B.B. WOLFE, BUILDING INSPECTOR,” it said.

“I don’t suppose you have a card. Let me get your name.”

“It’s Little-Pygg – hyphenated and the last part’s spelled P-y-g-g. I always have to spell it. I’m Pork E. Little-Pygg My brothers, Bakon, Ribsy, and I own this lot free and clear. Now you’re saying we can’t build what we want on our own land?”

“You can do it if it’s up to code and you have the proper permits. But you won’t want to live in a grass house in this climate. It’s not earthquake reinforced, and we have wildfires and floods here every year. And if the quakes, fires, and floods didn’t get your little grass shack, you’d just get swept away in the first big windstorm.”

“But this book says…”

“Mr. Little-Pygg, listen to me. This book doesn’t mean a thing to me or the people down at City Hall. We have our own books to follow, and you’re required to do it our way. Since I’m here, I’ll just look around.”

He looked high and low, inside and outside, between and beneath. He came back shaking his head.

“Now listen — if this… this… grass hut isn’t torn down and cleared out by next Monday noon, I’ll send a demolition crew, Hough and Puffe, with dynamite to blow your house down.”

Pork couldn’t face his brothers with this news, so for the rest of the week he just kept pretending everything was OK and hoping Mr. Wolfe wasn’t serious about the dynamite.

Monday came all too soon. Pork stayed home from his work on the farm and just sat in his unfinished thatched house staring into space.

Pretty soon there was a knocking at the door. Pork ignored it. More knocking. And again. Someone shouted “Mr. Little-Pygg, Mr. Little-Pygg let us come in! It’s Hough and Puffe here to blow your house down We work for the city, and Mr. Wolfe sent us.”

Pork didn’t answer. Hough, who burst into the house through an unfinished wall, grabbed him by the beard and pulled him into the yard with Pork shouting, “Oww! Not by the hair on my chin! Oww! My chin!” Meanwhile Puffe was placing the dynamite and laying out the fuse wires.

Boom!

When Bakon and Ribsy got home, the house was a pile of smoldering straw in a thick cloud of smoke. Pork was crouched in the mud by the fire feeding pages of Thatching for Dum-dums into the embers. “I’m sorry, guys!” he wailed. “I should have checked it all out before I started.”

“Don’t worry, brother,” said Bakon. “The demolition business I work for has given me an idea. I’ll build us a house.

Now Bakon had been reading about recycling building materials. He liked the idea of reusing materials from demolished buildings without taking wood freshly cut from a living forest. Besides, he had a knack for building things from wood.

The company Bakon worked for tore down old wooden buildings to make room for new construction. He knew that the best pieces from these jobs were salvaged for recycling, but he also knew that the giant dumpsters at the tear-down sites filled up with material that wouldn’t be reused. He got his boss to agree that he could go through the scraps in the dumpster at the end of each workday and take home whatever he wanted. He even got to borrow a company truck to haul it.

Soon the Little-Pyggs’ muddy, half-acre lot had growing piles of wood scraps and hardware from the demolitions. Baken went to the library and found online plans for simple houses. He found a book: Building Your Own Home from Scraps for Dum-dums The book was old and many times recycled, but it told him what he needed to know.

He went to City Hall and filled out forms and submitted his house plans. He paid his fees and waited. The permits finally all arrived.

Bakon followed the instructions in the book carefully, he began to piece together a house out of the heaps of used materials in the yard.

One day when he was almost finished, Mr. B.B. Wolfe, Building Inspector, stopped by, carrying a clipboard. “You must be Mr. Little-Pygg. Are you related to the guy who tried to build a grass hut on this lot?”

“He’s my brother. I’m making this house out of scrap wood from torn-down old buldings.”

“Looks pretty rough, but I’ll take a look.”

Wolfe looked high and low, inside and outside, between and beneath.

A half hour later, he called out, “Come here, Mr. Little-Pygg, I have some things to show you. He took Bakon around the house, showing him wet-rot, dry-rot, carpenter ant nests, and rusty nails. At each revelation, Bakon would say, “Yeah, I see. I’ll fix that.” When they finished, Wolfe said, “Mr. Little-Pygg, your house is a disaster already happening. Your plans are OK, but your materials are terrible. There are too many structural problems to fix. You’ll have to tear this place down and start out with new, good quality materials. I’ll give you until next Monday to tear this down or I’ll have to send Hough and Puffe by to blow your house down.”

Bakon figured it was easier to let Hough and Puffe demolish his house than to do it himself. But he stayed home the next Monday on the chance that they could be talked out of it.

Early Monday morning there was a knocking at the door. Bakon ignored it. After two more knockings, someone shouted “Mr. Little-Pygg, Mr. Little-Pygg let us come in! It’s Hough and Puffe here to blow your house down. We work for the city, and Mr. Wolfe sent us.”

Bakon didn’t answer. Hough burst into the house through an unfinished doorway, grabbed him by the beard, and pulled him into the yard. Baken yelped, “Oww! Not by the hair on my chin! Oww! My chin!” Meanwhile Puffe was placing the dynamite and laying out the fuse wires.

Boom!

When Pork and Ribsy got home from work, Bakon was sitting in the mud by a dying wood fire, feeding pages of Building Your Own Home from Scraps for Dum-dums into the last of the flames. “Sorry guys,” he said. “I thought I had it all figured.”

“I have an idea, brothers,” said Ribsy. “It’s my turn to try. I sent to Santa Fe for some stuff and when it comes, I’ll build us a house that even B.B. Wolfe can’t find fault with. By the way, Bakon, don’t burn that wood you didn’t use yet. It will come in handy; I think. Oh, and Pork, save whatever straw is left, too. I think I’ll need it.”

Two days later, Ribsy got a big package in the mail. In it were drawings for a house and a book called Adobe Houses for Dum-dums Some of the instructions seemed a bit muddy, but he dug out what he needed to know. After he submitted the permit applications, he began to make forms out of Bakon’s old lumber to make adobe bricks. Fortunately, the mud on their lot was just right and with a little leftover straw he was soon in full production.

All the brothers worked on the house this time. When they were done, they invited Mr. B.B. Wolfe, Building Inspector, to come by with his clipboard.

He looked high and low, inside and outside, between and beneath.

He called the brothers together.

“Your house meets all standards for adobe buildings. It’s a new idea to me, but I see no reason not to approve it.”

To celebrate, the three Little-Pyggs invited Inspector Wolfe to dinner the next Sunday. They even invited Hough and Puffe.

[No Boom]

Discussion Questions:

1. How would you solve the drainage problem on their muddy lot? Will they be able to make a last-ditch effort to solve the problem, or do they just like mud?

2. Why were three brothers building a house together with no apparent thought of future partnerships? Why not three houses?

3. Would it be acceptable for Hough and Puffe to bring fireworks to the dinner party?

To read CITRONELLA AND THE FOOT PRINCE AT THE GLASS SIPPER – click here