Once upon a time, in the Strange Lands north of Aht-Lann-Tah, Mother Wolf lived in a cozy den with her three rambunctious cubs. One morning, Mother Wolf was suffering from a headache, while the cubs were banging things around at the back of the den. “I can’t handle all the noise!” she moaned at last.

“But, Mom!” they protested. “We’re building a clubhouse!”

“Well, there’s more room outside for that. But leave the blankets.”

So the three little wolves gathered up their tools and went out to find a place to build their clubhouse. “What are we gonna use for walls?” one asked.

“Hey, what about the hay laying in that field?” the second little wolf suggested.

“Yeah!” said the third little wolf. So they gathered up hay, tied it into bundles, and got to work.

While they built, the Big Bad Pig came rolling around in his patrol car. He chirped the siren, making the wolves jump. “What are you doing?” he demanded.

“Nothing!” one little wolf yelled.

“Just building a clubhouse,” said the second wolf.

“You got a building permit?” the Big Bad Pig grunted.

“You only need a building permit if it’s more than a hundred square feet,” said the third little wolf, who got interested in building codes one day. “This one’s nine by ten. That’s only ninety square feet.”

“Looks too big to me,” said the Pig. “Knock it down.”

“Why?” asked one.

“What are you gonna do if we don’t?” sneered the second.

“Huff and puff and blow it down?” the third grinned. The Big Bad Pig was not fond of walking. He might chase them, but only for a few steps.

“Yeah.” The Big Bad Pig took out a leaf blower, confiscated from a landscaping worker who had forgotten his green card that morning, and fired it up. A minute later, the three little wolves were running away, yelping and covered in hay. The Big Bad Pig laughed and drove away.

“He likes to throw his weight around, doesn’t he?” the first little wolf observed, after they had gone a safe distance.

“Let’s go build our clubhouse in the woods,” said the second little wolf, brushing himself off.

“That works,” said the third. “We can use sticks. His leaf blower won’t hurt that.”

The three little wolves gathered sticks and started their new clubhouse, but the Big Bad Pig was not done yet. He took the station’s four-wheeler and went looking for them. By the time he found the path through the woods, he three little wolves were starting to put the roof up.

“What are you doing here?” the first little wolf whined.

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” the second little wolf complained.

“Go run a speed trap or something,” the third little wolf suggested.

“Got a call about some suspicious activity in the woods,” the Big Bad Pig lied. “And here you are. We gonna have to do this the hard way?”

The three little wolves ran inside their clubhouse and closed the door. “Blow all you want,” one taunted.

But the Big Bad Pig took out a flamethrower, that he always kept around in case he had to disrupt a Wolf Lives Matter march, and torched the clubhouse and the surrounding woods. Soon, the three little wolves ran howling through the forest with singed fur. The Big Bad Pig called the fire department, making sure to hide the flamethrower first, and blamed it on the wolves playing with matches.

Meanwhile, the wolves reached the abandoned rock quarry, and jumped into the pond at the bottom to put out their own fire.

“What’s his problem?” the first little wolf grumbled.

“Never mind that,” said the second little wolf, shaking water out of her fur. “We can build our clubhouse right here. Look at all the rocks.”

“I’ll bet there’s some mortar mix in that shed,” said the third, shivering as a gust of wind ruffled his wet fur. He opened the shed, found the expected mortar, and a barbecue. “Let’s get this, too,” he said. “We can keep warm while we’re building.”

So the three little wolves got to work. So intent were they, they forgot about putting a door in the clubhouse. By the time the Big Bad Pig found them, they had finished the roof, leaving only a hole at the top to let in some light.

“Jig’s up, little wolves,” said the Big Bad Pig, walking around the stone clubhouse, looking for an easy way in. “Come out with your hands up.”

“Not this time,” said the first little wolf.

“Don’t bother with your stupid leaf blower,” said the second.

“Your flamethrower won’t do nothing, either,” the third added.

“Fine. I’ll smash it down with my patrol car,” the Big Bad Pig threatened. “Is that what you want?”

“You’re bluffing,” said the third wolf. Indeed, he was right. The Big Bad Pig was already in hot water for wrecking his last patrol car.

“Come outta there, or I’m comin’ in!” the Pig shouted. When the wolves kept silent, he took hold of the stone walls and began climbing. The clubhouse was not huge, but he was seriously out of shape. Puffing and gasping, the Big Bad Pig went up, slid down, started up again, and finally found some good holds. He reached the top, had a heart attack, and fell through the hole and onto the barbecue. The whole contraption bounced, and the lid slammed shut.

“Oh no,” said the first little wolf. “Now what?”

“Let him cook,” said the second. “He was mean, and I’m hungry.”

“Yeah,” the third finished. “We’ve been building all day.”

After night fell, the three little wolves pushed the patrol car into the deep pond, then took their leftovers home. Mother Wolf worried over her cubs for weeks, but everyone decided the Big Bad Pig had drowned in the quarry and the department closed the investigation. Mother Wolf gave her cubs the back of the den as a permanent blanket fort, and they all lived… well enough. After all, “happily ever after” is a fable. Especially in the Strange Lands.