The Wolf, His Tummy, and the Seven Little Kids – A Clever Retelling

Far beyond the towering trees, where leaves shimmered in colours too vivid to name, there lay a peculiar village—a village notorious not for its beauty, but for its roguish ways. Every corner bustled with thieves, tricksters, and cheats. To live here was to learn quickly that kindness had no currency and honesty was rarer than gold.

The children of this town knew the rules: stay home, stay hidden, and stay out of trouble. The streets, after all, were no playground but a den of danger.

Among these cautious souls lived a young wolf. He, too, was bound by strict orders—his father’s voice ever stern: “No need for play, son. Out there, it’s teeth and trickery.”

But you can’t cage curiosity. One night, as the wind howled like a chorus of ghosts, the little wolf made a vow: “I’ll see this village for myself!” And off he crept, his eyes shining with excitement.

The night air bit his nose, and the wind tugged at his fur, but still he ventured on. The streets were littered with shadows—shivering youths and sneering faces. But none alarmed him quite like the fox he soon met.

The fox was a scrawny thing with eyes like needles and a grin full of mischief. Before him stood barefoot children, sobbing as the fox snatched their worn, smelly socks.

Outraged, the wolf stepped forward. “Give them back!” he demanded. “And I’ll bring you a feast—food and a hot drink.”

The fox chuckled. “A deal, then. But don’t forget the drink!”

The wolf agreed, racing off to gather his promise. But soon he hit a snag: nothing in the world came free. He had no coins, no gems—only the rusty key to his house.

He sighed. But the thought of those cold, blistered feet pushed him on. Back home, he discovered a small mercy: a coin on the floor, a loaf of bread, and a glass of tea. He bundled them up and returned with a hopeful heart.

Yet when he found the fox, his hope crumbled.

The fox snatched the meal, slurped the tea, and with a cackle, dashed away—still clutching the socks.

Defeated but determined, the little wolf made a new vow: “I’ll leave this wretched place and find a better village.”

The little wolf travelled far—across rivers, over hills, and through forests thick with whispers. Eventually, he stumbled upon a serene village, where the air smelled sweet and the children laughed freely.

But there, too, lurked danger. Foxes with jagged claws skulked in shadows.

Then, through a thicket, the wolf spied a brown-painted cottage. Peeking through the window, he counted seven little goats and their loving mother.

But when Mother Goat spotted him, she yelped: “A wolf! Stay inside, my darlings! A wolf means no good!”

The wolf ducked behind some boxes, confused. “Why leave your kids alone in a place like this, crawling with foxes?” he wondered.

Another vow formed in his mind: “I’ll protect these seven little goats from harm!”

So he approached the cottage, masked his voice in kindness, and knocked gently.
“Open up! I’ve come back with treats for each of you,” he called.

But the kids inside replied, “Our mother’s voice is sweet and soft. Yours is rough and loud! You must be the wolf!”

Embarrassed, the wolf had an idea—chalk! It was said to smooth even the roughest voice. He raced to town, bought some with his lone coin, and swallowed the chalk in gulps.

Returning to the cottage, his voice now soft, he knocked again.
“Open up! I’ve got goodies for everyone!”

But the kids peered under the door and squealed, “Our mother has white feet. Yours are black and dirty. You’re still the wolf!”

Not to be outwitted, the wolf went to the baker and got a mound of dough. He smeared it over his paws. Then to the miller he went, who sprinkled white meal over the doughy mess until his paws gleamed pale as snow.

Feeling clever, the wolf returned a third time.
“Open up, little ones! I’ve something special for each of you.”

This time, the kids opened the door.

But what they saw wasn’t a treat—it was a wolf!

Panicked, the kids scattered like dandelion seeds. But the wolf, remembering his promise to protect them, thought of a plan: “If I swallow them whole, they’ll be safe in my belly—from foxes, at least!”

One by one, he gently gulped them down, careful not to bite. Six goats wiggled inside his tummy, and though full, he smiled.

“I’ll keep them safe until their mother returns. Then I’ll let them out, good as new.”

Satisfied, he waddled to a tree, his belly sloshing like a water balloon, and drifted into a deep, swaying sleep.

But when he awoke, something was wrong.

His belly felt heavy—too heavy. It was not the soft shuffle of goats he felt, but hard, unyielding weight.

Panicking, he stumbled to the well, only to find he could barely move. Stones! His belly was packed with stones!

He howled in despair, his poor bones aching under the weight. As he leaned over the well, thirst clawing at his throat, the stones dragged him down—tumbling, tumbling, until he was swallowed by the dark water.

And what of the goats? Their clever mother had returned, found her babies snatched away, and followed the wolf’s heavy snores. With careful hands, she’d sliced open his belly, freed her little ones, and—just for good measure—stuffed him with stones before stitching him back up.

The wolf learned a hard lesson that day: even the best intentions need better plans—and trust is not won with tricks.

Moral of the Story

Kindness must be coupled with honesty, and protection isn’t about control or deception. Good intentions alone can lead to misfortune if not paired with wisdom and respect for others’ trust.