It all started when I caught the scent of something sweet in the air. Warm, buttery, and fresh—pie. My stomach rumbled, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten all day. The scent led me to a small house made entirely of straw. I blinked. Who in their right mind builds a house out of straw?
But I wasn’t there to judge. I just wanted a little sugar for my pie.
I knocked on the door, trying to sound as friendly as possible.
"Little pig, little pig, are you home?"
Silence.
Maybe he didn’t hear me? I leaned in closer, my nose twitching from the overwhelming scent of hay. I took a deep breath to call out again, but that was a mistake. My allergies kicked in—straw always does this to me—and before I knew it—
Achoo!
It wasn’t just a small sneeze. It was the kind of sneeze that makes birds fly out of trees and shakes leaves from their branches. A powerful, uncontrollable blast of air exploded from my lungs.
And then—whoosh!—the whole house collapsed in a heap of golden straw.
I stood there in shock. One second, there was a house. The next, it was just a pile of hay.
Before I could even process what had happened, I heard a loud squeal. Out from the wreckage burst a little pink pig, eyes wide with terror. He took one look at me, screamed at the top of his lungs, and took off running.
"Wait! I didn’t mean to—"
Too late. The pig was already a blur, his tiny legs carrying him as fast as possible toward the trees.
I sighed, rubbing my snout. Great. Now I looked like some monster. All I had wanted was a little sugar.
Maybe the next pig would be more reasonable.
I stood there for a moment, staring at the mess of straw at my feet. The wind picked up, scattering pieces of the broken house like fallen autumn leaves.
Well, this is just great.
I hadn’t meant to knock it down. I barely touched it! One sneeze and—boom!—the whole thing crumbled like dry grass in the wind. That wasn’t my fault, was it?
I glanced at the direction where the pig had disappeared. Should I chase after him? No, that would only make things worse. The poor little guy was probably already telling his brothers that I was some rampaging beast.
Still, I had to try. Maybe I could explain? Maybe he would understand that I wasn’t a bad guy.
I started walking, following the path of broken straw that the pig had left behind. As I made my way through the woods, I muttered to myself.
"Why would anyone build a house out of straw anyway?"
Seriously, I’ve seen birds make sturdier nests. One gust of wind, one bad rainstorm, and that thing would have collapsed all on its own. Maybe I had actually done the pig a favor! Maybe this was the wake-up call he needed to build a proper house—something made of wood, at the very least.
I sniffed the air again. The scent of pie had faded, but there was still a hint of something warm and inviting ahead. Maybe—just maybe—his brother would be a little more welcoming.
I took a deep breath and kept walking.
This time, I told myself, I would be extra careful.
