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The Wolf's Tale
by
Frances Mackay
This is all that redneck w-w-woodcutter’s fault. If it hadn’t been for him I
w-w-w-would be happily living my life out in those deep woods. If he had not
made it his life’s w-w-work to chop down all those trees none of it w-w-would
ever have happened.
But, oh no! He knew best - those trees had to go, all of them.
Sure, I knew that houses had to be built, people had to be kept w-w-warm in
w-w-winter and logs were needed for fuel, but w-w-what about the creatures that
lived in those w-w-w-woods? W-w-what about the squirrels, the rabbits and the
voles. Especially the voles! They were my favourite meal and they all vanished.
There w-w-was no-where for them to live you see, so they died from exposure, or
starved.
So w-w-when Little Red started visiting her Grandmother, that w-w-was w-w-when I
got the idea. After all she broadcasted what she was doing with that stupid song
she kept singing. A w-w-wolf has to live too, you know!
Okay, I followed her for a couple of days till I got her routine down pat. She
never knew I was there. W-w-we w-w-wolves can be stealthy, w-w-we don’t go
around howling all the time. And, w-w-while I’m at it w-w-we don’t eat humans,
just ask Farley Mowat, he lived with us for quite a while, so he should know.
That rumour about eating those two is a slanderous lie. I only w-w-wanted the
basket of goodies. Remember, I hadn’t had anything to eat for days.
Anyway I w-w-would have gotten away with it if Woodie-two-shoes hadn’t had the
hots for Little Red. Always hanging around w-w-when she was in the woods, he
was. Looking for a chance to put himself in her good books, to act the hero.
W-w-well he caught me all right, and a right old ponce I looked, dressed in
Grandma’s clothes. All for a plate of cookies - which Little Red and W-w-wonder
boy ate before Grandma got home from the store. While I was tied to the bed with
Grandma’s dressing gown cord. They really rubbed it in as I watched, savouring
every bite they fed to each other. Obscene it was.
It’s not so bad here really, I suppose. At least I am w-w-warm enough and get my
square meal every evening. Though I miss being free and I hate howling for those
stupid visitors every afternoon though...
By Frances Mackay © 2003
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