There were three small pigs named Porky, Petunia, and Percy that lived in a brilliant green countryside with buttercups and wild daisies.
They were twins, as close as clover leaves, and they spent their days rolling over tall grass, splashing in streams with sunlight on them, and making castles out of clouds. Their laughter floated on the breeze, a wonderful song of youth and freedom.
But as the seasons changed and the winds got a little cooler, their mother, who was kind and wise, beckoned them over one lovely afternoon.
Her eyes were warm like bread just out of the oven, and they were serious in a way they had never seen before.
“It’s time,” she whispered quietly, brushing the straw from their noses. “It’s time for you all to make your own homes.” A place to be safe, comfortable, and powerful, because life isn’t always fun. The world can be crazy, and storms do happen.
The small piglets looked at her with their eyes. Porky turned his head. “Do we have to leave?”
She smiled and nodded. “Yes, my dear. But I have faith in you. Build smart. And don’t forget: there is no shortcut to safety.
She held each one tightly, and her nose touched their ears. The three young pigs then set forth with their favourite delicacies wrapped in linen and their dreams tied with twine.
Three Pigs, Three Ways
The pigs stopped when the trail split under a tall willow.
Porky said, “I’m going this way,” and pointed to a sunny meadow with dandelions in it. “The grass looks soft, and the wind smells like clover.”
Porky was the most fun of the three. He was quick to make a joke, loved to take naps in the middle of the day, and regularly raced butterflies to see if he could win.
He walked into the field and saw a farmer’s mound of golden straw. His eyes brightened up.
“This will work,” he stated as he threw a few pieces in the air. He knotted the straw together and stacked it in a messy way, making a small hut with a slanted roof.
He cheered, “Fastest house ever built!” and then sat down on a hay cushion. “Now I can relax.”
The middle pig, Petunia, was kind and caring. She liked to paint wildflowers, hum lullabies, and stack stones in spirals for amusement.
She walked down a neighbouring path that went through a woody grove where birds sang and twigs were all over the ground.
“I’ll make a home that’s a little stronger,” she stated as she carefully picked up sticks. She put them together to make a pretty cottage, with vines going through the windows and daisies in front.
She grinned and stepped back. “It’s not too hard, not too easy.” “Just right.”
The oldest, Percy, was silent and watched. He loved to think things through, and he asked “What if?” more often than most.
He went the longest till he got to a red clay hill where there were tidy stacks of bricks next to a babbling creek. He understood it would take time. It would take work.
But he didn’t give up and got to work.
He built meticulously, putting mortar between each brick, verifying the solidity of each wall, and adding wooden beams and shingles to the roof. Birds sat on his windowsill to watch.
By the end of the week, his house was towering, strong, and warm, with a chimney that sent little clouds of smoke into the sky.
“Safe,” Percy said quietly as he gazed at his house.
The Trouble in the Trees
Everything was OK until one dark evening when the edge of the woodland got dark with something sneaky.
A wolf. A large one. With eyes that looked like frigid pennies and teeth that looked like broken icicles.
He had heard rumours about pigs that were young, juicy, and unattended.
He licked his lips.
He smiled and said, “It’s time for dinner.”
He first went to Porky’s straw hut.
He knocked respectfully, but his claws clawed the door.
He sang, “Little pig, little pig, let me come in.”
Porky let out a big yawn. “Not by the hair on my chinny-chin-chin!”
The wolf laughed. “Then I’ll blow… and I’ll blow…”
He blew so hard that the straw fluttered away like feathers. In a matter of seconds, the hut fell apart.
Porky screamed and ran through the field, his little legs moving so quickly.
Porky dashed in, panting, when Petunia was drinking peppermint tea.
“Help! The wolf! He wrecked my house!
Her eyes got bigger. “Come in, hurry!”
They locked the door and looked outside.
Knock, knock, knock.
“Little pigs, little pigs, let me in!”
Petunia cried, shaking, “Not by the hair on our chinny-chin-chins!”
The wolf licked its lips.
“Then I’ll huff… and I’ll puff…”
The home of sticks made a lot of noise. The vines moved. Then, bang! The walls fell down.
“Run!” Petunia yelled and grabbed Porky’s hoof.
They ran through the woods, their hearts racing, towards the only spot they knew would be safe.
A House That Lasts
He was reading by the fire when he heard the frantic knock.
“Hey, Percy! Please let us in!
He opened the door right away, pulled them inside, and locked the latch.
“Tell me everything,” he stated calmly as he gave them blankets.
They gasped, “The wolf!” “He blew our houses down!”
Percy’s eyes narrowed. “He won’t get through mine.”
At that moment—
Knock, knock, knock.
“Little pigs, little pigs, let me in!”
The three pigs stood next to each other and yelled, “Not by the hair on our chinny-chin-chins!”
The wolf growled.
“Then I’ll blow… and I’ll huff…” And I’ll knock down your house!
He did.
And nothing occurred.
The house stayed strong. One brick at a time. One ray at a time.
The wolf’s colour changed to red. He blew again. Nothing. He climbed up the chimney and burned his tail attempting to get in.
The wolf howled in defeat and limped away into the dark, never to be seen again.
Brick by Brick, Heart by Heart
The three small pigs fell down in relief.
Porky gazed at the strong walls around him. “I believed it was prudent to end quickly. But I didn’t think about what I would have to deal with.
Petunia nodded. “I wanted balance, but it wasn’t enough.” “We didn’t plan for trouble.”
Percy gave each of them a steaming cup of tea. “It’s okay,” he said with a smile. “We’re safe, and that’s what matters. Now we can make better things. “Together.”
The three small pigs moved into Percy’s house.
Petunia put marigolds and lavender along the windows, making the outdoors look like a living picture.
Porky painted the door a brilliant blue colour and hung wind chimes that sung when the wind blew.
And Percy, who was always building things, made the kitchen bigger and added cosy reading nooks, shelves full of books and a round table where they could sit and talk and laugh.
They made stew when it was stormy, told stories when it was clear, and danced in the living room on tranquil mornings.
The trees stopped shaking when the wind blew through them.
They grinned.
Because they knew how to construct with love, thought, and each other.
🌙 A Soft Goodnight
And now, my dreamer, as the moon hovers above your window like a lantern and the story of the three little pigs settles into your heart…
Think about this:
If it were your turn to go into the world, what kind of house would you build?
What matters more: completing something quickly or doing it right?
And how can you be like Percy, smart enough to get ready, nice enough to share, and brave enough to confront everything that comes your way?
Now, close your eyes.
May you dream of warm hearths, safe places and building something great, brick by brick.
The End.
