Hello again, little one. Tonight, two exhausted pigs come skidding up to a little red door, and we finally meet the house that changes everything.
The youngest pig had spent many, many days building his house. While his brothers had rushed off to play, he had dug a deep foundation, mixed thick grey mortar, and stacked row after row of solid red bricks, checking each one twice to make sure it was set in tight and straight.
"Slow and steady," he always said to himself, wiping the sweat from his brow, "makes the strongest home."
So when his two brothers came crashing through his garden gate, gasping, covered in splinters and dust, he simply opened his sturdy front door and said, "Quick — inside, both of you. You'll be safe here."
They tumbled in, and the youngest pig calmly bolted the door — a thick oak door with iron hinges — and drew the curtains.
"Are you sure this will hold?" asked the middle pig, still shaking.
"I built with patience," said the youngest pig gently. "That means I took my time, brick by brick, instead of rushing. And I built with bricks, not straw or sticks — bricks don't blow away in the wind, and they don't burn, and no wolf's breath in the world can knock one loose."
Sure enough, a few minutes later, heavy paws thudded up the garden path, and a low, rumbly voice called out through the door.
"Little pigs, little pigs, let me come in!"
"Not by the hair of our chinny chin chins!" all three brothers shouted together, standing shoulder to shoulder.
"Then I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll blow your house in!"
The wolf took the biggest breath of his entire life. His cheeks bulged. His eyes squeezed shut. And he blew with every last bit of puff he had —
Whoosh!
The curtains fluttered. A teacup rattled on the shelf.
And that was all.
The brick walls didn't so much as tremble.
The wolf tried again. And again. He huffed until he was dizzy. He puffed until he had no breath left at all. He even ran at the door and gave it one enormous THUMP with his shoulder — and only succeeded in hurting his shoulder rather badly.
Inside, the three brothers peeked through a tiny gap in the curtains, and for the first time all day, the eldest pig started to giggle. Then the middle pig started to giggle. Soon all three of them were laughing so hard they had to hold their round pink bellies.
Outside, the wolf sat down in the dirt, utterly out of breath, utterly furious, and — if wolves can look embarrassed — utterly embarrassed too.
"Fine," he growled to himself, narrowing his sharp yellow eyes as he stared up at the little brick chimney puffing a friendly curl of smoke into the evening sky. "If the door won't budge... there's always another way in."
And with a sly, hungry smile, the Big Bad Wolf began, very quietly, to climb.
Sweet dreams, little dreamer. Tomorrow night, we find out exactly what a clever little pig does when a wolf decides to come down the chimney instead.