You’ve probably heard my story.

Or well, you’ve probably heard her version of the story. But let me start at the beginning.

I was raised by a pack of wolves.

Literally.

My parents and siblings were all rather vicious animals, loving the thrill of the kill more than the meal itself. Personally, I never enjoyed the way meat tasted. Mind you, I was smart enough to keep this information to myself (could you imagine a wolf that hated meat?), but the raw flavor of sinew left a bad taste in my mouth. I hated the thought of causing pain to another creature, even though there was nothing else for me to eat.

It wasn’t until I was fully grown that I realized there was another option. I had wandered deep into the woods one evening, howling at the moon in pain as my stomach grumbled. My conscience having gotten the better of me, I hadn’t eaten in days. I was so lost in self-pity that I hadn’t noticed the owl sitting in a nearby tree. I started when he spoke.

“What might be your ailment, great hunter?”

“I’m hungry,” I growled nastily—my starvation having affected my temper.

The owl glanced around the clearing.

“I am at a loss to see the cause of your hunger,” the owl replied. “I hear a squirrel scurrying in a nearby tree. I see a deer down by the river. You are surrounded by your natural prey, yet you claim to have a hollow stomach?”

I sighed as I explained my predicament to the owl.

“Ah, a wolf with morals!” the owl exclaimed. “You don’t see that every day.”

I whimpered as my stomach gave another growl.

“You know, there are other things to eat besides animals,” he suggested.

I blinked.

“Like what?”

“Well there are berries and nuts…”

I groaned. 

“I’m a big wolf. I don’t think there are enough berries in the forest to satisfy me for one meal, let alone three a day.”

“True,” the owl nodded in understanding.

I began to trot away from the unhelpful owl when he spoke again.

“Though, you could always choose the other option.”

I turned around.

“What other option?”

The owl ruffled his wings, clearly discomforted by whatever thought had come to him.

“It’s a dangerous path to be sure,” he finally continued, “but the humans have other food. Other ways of gathering and cooking meat-free items.”

“Yes?” I pressed, eager for more information about this other food.

“They often picnic in the forest, bringing baskets of this food with them. If you were to approach these humans, they would most likely be scared off by you, given your appearance.”

“My appearance?”

“Oh, yes, my good wolf! What big ears, eyes, and teeth you have!”

I rolled my purportedly “big” eyes.

“So, if I show myself, they should run away, leaving their basket of food behind?”

“That is the general idea. Yes.”

I smiled, my pointed teeth unnerving the owl slightly.

“Thank you, Mr. Owl. I shall take your advice.”

I headed for the trees again when the owl stopped me.

“But,” the owl warned me, “be careful. The punishments of humans can be worse than the cruelties of wolves.”

I nodded, despite my skepticism that any human could be crueler than my pack. I dashed off into the night, my stomach filled by hope that I would solve my problem the following morning. I completely dismissed the owl’s warning.

Little did I know just how right that owl was.

 §

It was her red cape that caught my eye. The forest is so full of green foliage that the shock of red vividly stood out against the lush landscape. I almost didn’t follow her when I saw how young she was—I felt guilty about frightening her. That was, until I smelled the sweets.

The sugary aroma filled my head, making me dizzy with desire. I had never smelled anything so mouthwatering in my entire life. All of my former hesitation forgotten, I stepped onto the path.

“Hello little girl, what’s your rush?”

I expected the girl to run screaming, but she barely looked surprised.

“Oh, good day, Mr. Wolf,” she replied.

I smiled, hoping my ferocious teeth might send her sprinting for safety, but she smiled back, still nonplused.

“Where are you going?” I asked creepily, still trying to scare her.

“I am going to see my grandmother. She is rather ill, so my mother has asked me to bring her this basket of sweets.”

My mouth watered at the reminder.

“Does she live far off?” I asked, trying to be surreptitious about it and hoping, maybe, that Granny might leave the sweets on the windowsill.

“Oh, I say, it is beyond that mill you see there. At the first house in the village.”

I craned my neck to see which house the girl meant. I grinned. She couldn’t have picked a more convenient house. From our current location there were two roads that led to her grandmother’s house. One that was a direct route and one that took a roundabout way; the difference between the two was almost thirty minutes.

“Well, how about this,” I proposed, “I will go and see your grandmother, too, to offer my aid. I’ll take this road, and you can take that one, and we can see who will get there first.”

The red hooded girl clapped her hands gleefully.

“Oh, we’ll make a game out of it! I love games! Race you there!”

She sprinted off before I could say anything else. I raced off in the opposite direction, the smell of sweets still tingling my senses.

§ 

I straightened myself up as I approached the small cottage with laundry hanging on the line. I nervously glanced around, looking for an open windowsill where I might be able to reach in and steal the sweets. But, preoccupied as I was with my hungry belly, I failed to notice the ducks milling about the front of the house. In my haste I tripped over one of the quaking birds, knocking right into the front door.

“Who is it?” I heard a loud, shaky voice call from the other side of the door.

I froze, not knowing what to do. Maybe if I just didn’t answer?

“I asked who’s there!” the old woman yelled. “Now I’ll go fetch the constable if it’s you darn kids stealing my ducks again!”

Not wanting her to involve anyone else, I did the only thing I could think to do. I grabbed a red tablecloth off the clothesline and placed it over my head.

“It is your grandchild, Little Red Riding Hood, who has brought you sweets,” I replied in my best falsetto.

“What?” she asked, unable to hear my words through the door.

“I SAID IT IS ME, LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD. I HAVE BROUGHT YOU SWEETS, GRANNY.”

“Oh, Rufina! Is that you sweetheart?”

Rufina? Well, I guess the child did need a name, and it was doubtful that her parents had actually christened her “Little Red Riding Hood.”

The door swung open to reveal a withered old prune of a woman.

“Oh, sweeeeeeetie! How have you been?” she squealed as she moved to hug me. I shrank down, trying to take up a little space as possible. She didn’t seem to notice.

“Darling, I am so glad you visited me. As you know, my sight isn’t what it used to be—and my hearing?”

She continued to babble on as she led me into the main room.

“—and I was just about to put the pie in the oven when I heard you knocking and—”

“Pie?” I asked, distracted by my stomach.

“What did you say?” she asked loudly.

“PIE?” I repeated.

“Buy? No, no I don’t need to buy anything—”

“PIE!” I shouted to her, hoping she was too deaf to hear my snarls. “I ASKED ABOUT THE PIE!”

“Oh, the pie! Well, yes. I was hoping you would help me with it.” 

She ushered me into the kitchen where the seductive smell of brown sugar assaulted my nose. I immediately moved for the pie, but Granny stepped in front of me.

“Can you pass me a bowl, deeeeeeearie?” she asked. I tried not to cringe at the annoying way she elongated the Es in her pet names.

“Of course,” I replied in the same high voice, though completely at a loss as to where the bowls were kept.

Granny seemed to sense my hesitation.

“Why it’s this cupboard, sweeeeeeetums,” she pointed out as she opened the door, smacking me in the head.

I howled in pain, clutching the tender spot.

“Did you say something, deeeeeeeear?”

“NOTHING,” I quickly squeaked.

She smiled as I handed her the bowl. Granny bustled about asking me for various objects, hitting me most of the time. My frustration grew with each new hit; it was everything I could do not to strangle her.

“Be a deeeeeear and put the pie in the oven now,” she instructed after almost slicing me open with a knife. “Granny’s back isn’t what it used to be.”

I thought about running with the pie now, but I figured it would taste better once properly cooked.

“My, what big eyes you have,” she commented as I leaned down to her height to put the pie in the oven.

“Well, I can see a lot more that way,” I shrugged, dismissing the trivial comment.

“What did you say?” she leaned in, trying to hear.

“THE BETTER TO SEE YOU WITH,” I shouted, my irritation reaching its peak.

“Oh, yes, yes,” she nodded. “I wish I could see half as well as you can. Oh, and if I had your young ears. My! And what big ears you have.”

“THE BETTER TO HEAR YOU WITH,” I replied simply.

Granny smiled at me. I returned the smile.

“Oh, and what big teeth you have!”

Now, here I feel the need to stop the story so I can explain myself. In case you haven’t noticed, this woman was the most annoying creature I have ever met. Sure, we all run into a stupid squirrel here or there, but unintentional beatings aside, this woman had less common sense than a field mouse. So, it was with my growing hunger and increasing vexation that I replied:

“ALL THE BETTER TO EAT YOU WITH!”

She was so small I swallowed her whole. I shuddered as her dusty, wrinkled skin slithered down my throat. I regretted what I had done almost immediately. I mean, why would anyone want to eat a dusty old prune? But then I thought of the girl.

What was I going to do now? I had so thoroughly ruined my original plan that I stood, befuddled, in the kitchen for several minutes, until a knock at the door woke me from my stupor.

“Oh Granny, it’s me!” Little Red Riding Hood called through the door.

Almost instinctively, I discarded the red tablecloth and stole into Granny’s bedroom. I riffled through her drawers until I found a nightdress and bonnet that would fit me, praying the girl was half as dense as her grandmother.

“It’s unlocked,” I croaked in the annoying voice I had been forced to listen to for the past hour.

The little girl burst through the door and came skipping to the bed that I lay in. I pulled the covers up to my eyes, terrified that she would recognize me. But as soon as I smelled the basket of sweets, all fear of discovery vanished from my thoughts. I stared at the basket ravenously, barely registering the words she was saying.

“Grandma, what big eyes you have!” the girl noted, surprised.

“The better to see you with,” I muttered, my gaze still locked on the basket.

“Grandmother, what big ears you have!”

“The better to hear you with.” I inched closer to the basket, my mouth watering.

“And Granny, what big teeth you have,” she moved closer to make sure she wasn’t mistaken.

My gaze fixed on the sweets that drew me in. I spoke directly to the basket instead of the girl.

“The better to eat you with!” 

I lunged for the basket. Yet, in her fright, the girl crossed directly in front of the path of my open jaws. Again, I realized too late what I had done. I stood horrified, trying to see if I could gag the girl back up. The Granny might have been annoying enough to deserve her fate, but the girl had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. After several attempts, it became clear that the child was gone. So, I did the only thing I could think to do. I drowned my sorrows in the basket of sweets. When I had devoured them all, I passed out on the bed, still distraught over the all the harm I had accidentally caused. It was in this troubled sleep that the woodsman found me. He gutted me and rescued the two females (though he later regretted rescuing my first victim). My fur made a beautiful replacement cloak for the red one that had been so damaged in my digestive system.

And there you have it: my version of the story. You can see how I am totally innocent, right? Well, maybe not totally…but I think that I, at least, deserve better than that girl’s fabricated version of the events.

Right?