Once upon a whimsy, in a village far and wide, lived three little piggly wigglies, bursting with pride. They danced in the meadows, squealed with delight, under a sun so warm, so bright!

The eldest pig was Pinn, quite wise and sharp. Second was Puff, who loved to play the harp. The youngest was Piff, full of giggles and glee, under their hats, they beamed with bright energy!

They dreamt of homes, sturdy and sound. Pinn chose bricks, strong and profound. Puff loved sticks from the forest around, while Piff picked straw he found on the ground.

Suddenly, came a huff and a puff! There stood a wolf, looking all gruff. ‘Little pigs! Little pigs! Let me come in,’ he roared with a grin full of chagrin.

‘Not by the hairs of our chinny chin chins!’ they cried in the homes, from their tails to their fins. So the wolf huffed and puffed and blew with all his might. The straw house tumbled, Piff squealed in fright.

Piff ran to Puff’s house made of sticks. ‘Quick! Let us hide, before he plays his tricks!’ The Wolf howled, ‘Little pigs, let me come! Or I will blow, blow, until you succumb!’

They refused, so he huffed and puffed again. The sticks shattered, like a wild hurricane. Puff and Piff scampered to Pinn’s brick haven, trusting that strong bricks were their best haven.

The Wolf arrived and shouted, ‘This is no joke! I’ll huff and I’ll puff and blow down your cloak!’ But he huffed, and he puffed, till his blow was outspent. The bricks stood tall, firm, and unbent.

‘Looks like you’re out of breath. Time for us to make a stealth!’ Pinn smiled brightly, with a shrewd dew, confined the wolf in the chimney flue!

The pigs cheered, the wolf sighed, ‘Never more will I forage or hide!’ They invited the wolf to their fest with glee, as with every adventure, friends forever they’d be!

From that day on, with dances and rhymes, the village echoed with stories and mimes. And every year thereafter, in fairy-tale skins, they partied together, our three piggly wigglies and their friend, the big bad grin!

So remember, little ones, no matter the fleeting sillies, friendship can bloom, even with the woollies. Endings are beginnings, as you can see, in every piggly wiggly-tastic story!