The scent of something warm and delicious still lingered in the air, leading me deeper into the woods. Soon, I spotted another house—this one made of sticks. An improvement, but not by much. At least it looked like an actual house, with a door and a little window.
I walked up to the front door and knocked, making sure to keep my voice friendly.
"Little pig, little pig, can I come in?"
Silence. Then, a nervous voice called out from inside:
"Not by the hair on my chinny-chin-chin!"
I groaned. Here we go again. I could already picture the little pig cowering inside, probably shaking in his tiny hooves, thinking I was some big, bad monster out to eat him.
I sighed and tried again.
"Look, I don’t want any trouble. I just need some sugar for my pie. That’s all!"
No response. Just the faint sound of whispering. Was the first pig inside too?
Oh no.
See, what no one ever talks about is that I have terrible allergies. First straw, now sticks—dry wood dust is just as bad. My nose started to itch. My breath hitched. I tried to hold it in, I really did, but—
Achoo!
It was even worse than the last time. A gust of air shot out of me like a storm wind, rattling the flimsy house. I heard a loud crack, then a snap—and suddenly the whole thing collapsed like a house of cards.
For a moment, there was nothing but dust and silence.
Then—"AHHHHHH!"
Two pigs popped out from the wreckage, eyes wide with fear. The first pig—the one from the straw house—pointed a hoof at me, squealing at the top of his lungs.
"I told you he was coming for us!"
Before I could even say a word, the two of them bolted, little legs scrambling as they ran off toward the trees.
"Wait! It was just a sneeze! It was an accident!" I called after them. But they weren’t listening.
I groaned, rubbing my forehead. Great. Another misunderstanding.
Now I had two pigs who thought I was out to get them. And worse, I still didn’t have my sugar.
I glanced around at the pile of broken sticks.
"Well," I muttered to myself, "that house wasn’t much better than the first one. Maybe I’m actually doing them a favor."
I sighed and sniffed the air again. The scent of pie was still there, stronger now.
I took a deep breath and followed it.
One last house. One last chance to clear this up.
And this time, I was going to be extra careful.
No sneezing.
I stood there for a moment, watching the two pigs disappear into the trees. My stomach growled, reminding me why I was even here in the first place.
This is getting ridiculous.
I hadn’t done anything wrong. I knocked politely. I asked nicely. And both times, all I got in return was panic and destruction—all because of my stupid allergies!
I sighed and looked down at the wreckage of the stick house. Twigs and broken branches were scattered everywhere. The walls had completely caved in, leaving nothing but a sad little pile of wood.
"I barely sneezed that time," I muttered.
What were these pigs thinking, building houses out of weak materials? A strong wind, a heavy rainstorm, even a clumsy squirrel could’ve knocked this place down. I had just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
I kicked at a stray stick and shook my head. They’re probably heading to their last brother’s house now.
Maybe the third pig—the one who built the brick house—would be different. Maybe he was the smart one in the family. Maybe he would actually listen.
I sniffed the air again, following the scent of something warm and sweet. The pie. It had to be coming from there.
"I barely sneezed that time," I muttered.
I took one last look at the ruined stick house, then turned and followed the pigs' trail through the woods.
No sneezing this time. No accidents.
Just a simple conversation, and hopefully—finally—a little sugar for my pie.
