Graham, Gotcha and Gimmee were three brothers. They were also three wolves. Gimmee was the baby brother of the three and he caused the most trouble. Like lots of brothers, they didn’t get along very well, especially at meal time. That’s when Gimmee was at his worst. Whenever Mama Wolf put food on the table, Gimmee would dig in, pig out (can wolves do that?) or wolf down anything and everything he could; his, theirs, all of today’s and tomorrow’s food, too.

The brothers fought with and hollered at their little brother, “I want some, Gimmee!”

“That’s mine!” Graham snarled.

Gotcha growled, “Give me some!”

“Hey you guys! Share!” Mama or Papa Wolf would snap.

Gimmee didn’t pay any attention. While they did their thing, yelping and howling, he did his - eating. When he did say something, it went like this, “I’m gonna eat what I can eat, take what I can take. And, I’m gonna get what’s coming to me.” And that’s about all he said, too. It was his motto, his mantra, the creed he lived by, especially at dinner time.

Mama scolded him. She tried paddling him, but Gimmee knew how to use his tail to keep it from hurting. Papa did his best to explain the rules. Papa got real close to Gimmee

when he did this. One time Papa even bit a piece of Gimmee’s ear off. Graham and Gotcha couldn’t stop him either. Why, they once duct taped Gimmee to a tree to keep him away at dinner time. But just as soon as Gimmee got a whiff of Mama’s stew, he started slobbering, got the duct tape all wet and then slid right out. If it were food, Gimmee was gonna get his share and then some.

Gimmee loved his Papa. Papa had learned to speak sheep and how to hide out among the mindless creatures. Beaudridge, Beau for short, a famous sheep and goat herder in those parts, lost a sheep once. Papa found that sheep. Papa was always able to provide for the family. For Gimmee, that meant there was always enough to eat.

Graham and Gotcha made plans to get out of the house as soon as they could – anything to get away from Gimmee. Gimmee’s parents threw up their paws as well. Day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year, every meal after every meal, “I’m gonna eat what I can eat, take what I can take. And, I’m gonna get what’s coming to me.”

Graham went off to acting school where he majored in grandmas. He played some minor roles in short stories and got a couple of leads in novels written by a guy from Oak Land. He eventually landed a gig on a reality show with a foxy chick named Redd and a drop dead good looking prince dude, Woody the Cutter. Graham was really just happy to be away from Gimmee. Gimmee, meanwhile, gnawed on stones, even chewed up a lamp post once to sharpen his teeth. He sure liked to eat. Gimmee was happy Graham was gone, too. He could eat even more without Graham around.

Gotcha finally left home, too. He skipped college and got a job terrorizing neighborhoods, which as it turns out he was very good at… very sly. He ate little boys who couldn’t get any protection from loved ones or friends for whatever reason. Gotcha never went hungry again. He was happy, too, because he didn’t have to share with Gimmee anymore. He wrote a book on how to cook little boys, his most famous recipe being for boysenberry pie. You can get free samples at farmer’s markets in some small cities in California.

Gimmee stayed home and continued to do what he did best … eat and eat and eat and eat. Mama and Papa were at a loss. Even with Graham and Gotcha gone, every meal it was the same.

“Gimmee! You gotta learn to share. Gimmee! Stop taking everyone’s food.”

Gimmee’s response was the usual, though sometimes you couldn’t make it out because his mouth was full, “I’m gonna eat what I can eat, take what I can take. And, I’m gonna get what’s coming to me.”

Then one afternoon, actually it was every afternoon, but this one particular afternoon Gimmee got a special hankering for a snack. Mama, however, had nothing to offer for she hadn’t been to the market yet.

“Mama,” Gimmee said, “I heard we had some new neighbors move in. And Mama, I think I heard someone say them neighbors were pigs. And didn’t you say that you usually saw a little pig at the market? You know what, Mama? I think I’m gonna go get me that little pig and eat her. Cuz’, I’m hungry.”

“You’d better watch out,Gimmee. How many times do I need to tell you? You can’t just have whatever you want anytime you want.”

“Mama, ain’t you learned by now? I’m gonna eat what I can eat, take what I can take, and I’m gonna get what’s coming to me.” AGAIN!

Off Gimmee went. He’d grown up even more by now and was downright ferocious looking. His ears were tall and pointy like his brother Graham’s – the better to hear you with, Graham used to say. Gimmee’s eyes, one hazel and one sky blue turned glossy when he knew he was going to get something to eat. His snout was long enough to nibble on his hind legs without straining his neck. His nostrils doubled in size - he could almost triple the size if he tried - when the scent of food was in the air. And when he was really really hungry his dark red, almost maroon colored tongue hung down like a hangman’s noose and he drooled uncontrollably.

Gimmee came upon a house made from grass, that hadn’t dried out completely and was tied together with some tall weeds.

Gimmee knocked on the door. There was a SLAM around the back of the house. Gimmee’s nose jerked to the left and the rest of his body followed. He saw a little pig run out the back door crying,

“WE will die! WE will die! WE will die!”

But Gimmee could only make out the ‘WE” part clearly. Just as he was about to make chase he heard a little voice squeal from inside the house,

“You little coward!”

“Weeee…..!”

“You can’t always run home when you are afraid!”

“Weeee….!”

“Come back!”

“Weeee….!” The little pig cried …all the way home.

Gimmee smirked and his nostrils grew real big. He knew then that there was still one more pig inside; the fat one that mama always saw at the market. Gimmee started slobbering all over himself.

Knock, knock!

“Nobody’s home!”

“Then who said that?”

……. (silence)

There was more pounding. Shuffling about inside was the response. One thing led to another and soon Gimmee discovered he could not only chow down, he was also pretty full of hot air. The two bantered back and forth through the door for some time. This little pig that went to the market could hold her own, too when it came to talking.

“Let me in!”

“Nope. Can’t. I’m shavin’ now.”

Gimmee rolled his hazel eye to the left and his sky blue eye to the right (wolves can do that…) and wondered hard about the shaving. He wiggled his left ear. The right ear was up against the door.

“Let me in!” Gimmee huffed. The door rattled and it startled Gimmee just a little.

“Can’t let you in. Sorry.”

About this time Gimmee got tired of talking. Now he was in an eating mood. So, Gimmee thought for a moment. It hurt his head a little because he wasn’t used to thinking. He scratched his over sized head and thought a little harder. That hurt, too. Then that slimy red tongue came flopping out, he licked his wolf lips, and stuck a claw between one of his fangs. PING! He sucked that ugly snake for a tongue back in, but it came out again only this time with a puff that rattled the front door more than his huff had. This made the little pig inside shriek with horror. Gimmee chuckled to himself and thought maybe, just maybe. He took a not so deep breath and then he blew real hard - next thing you know, grass went flying everywhere. He even blew the rubber ducky out of the pig’s pen. The pig stood there motionless, frozen in place. This tickled Gimmee’s funny bone and if he hadn’t been so hungry he would have laughed out loud. Instead he ate that little pig. He called it a pigsickle. And, he was happy.

Gimmee took his time eating that little pig, which as it turned out wasn’t so little after all. For the first time in his life he didn’t have to share. Not only could Gimmee pig out, he discovered he could pig in, too. Later, he wobbled home with his belly so bloated it nearly rubbed the ground. The grass tickled his belly but he hardly noticed. He was so miserably full he could think of nothing more than to take a nap, which is what he did when he got home. He fell fast asleep and stayed that way for about two weeks.

It was the most peaceful time that Mama and Papa had had since Gimmee’s teeth came in three days after he was born. Mama said Gimmee was born mouth first - to eat. Suddenly there was a loud GRROOWWLLLINNGG!! The sound shook the

walls and Papa dropped his coffee mug. It was so loud it woke Gimmee up. It was his stomach. Hunger pangs woke Gimmee up.

“Mama, I’m hungry.”

“I’ll get you something. Hang on!”

“Wait. Mama, wasn’t there three pigs that moved in to the neighborhood?”

“Uh… yeah.”

“Mama. That first pig tasted real good. Mama, I hear that second little pig is a real homebody. Never leaves the house, stays home all the time. I think I’m gonna go get acquainted with that second pig. I think I want…”

Mama interrupted him, “you’d better watch out, Gimmee. You can’t just have whatever you want any time you want. You just gotta learn to think of others.” Mamas don’t give up easily, either, you know.

“Mama, I want what I ….well, never mind. You know.”

Gimmee strutted his stuff towards the forest. He was feeling lean and mean. And, his belly let everyone know he was on the prowl. Squirrels scampered up trees and rabbits went down holes. But, Gimmee wasn’t interested in fast food. He had his heart and belly set on that little pig.

Before long he came upon a house made of twigs and branches and logs strategically placed here and there. The front yard needed mowing and the hedges were unkempt. Gimmee thought to himself, this little pig really doesn’t get out very often. He must be either thin and sickly or nice and plump from lack of activity.

It was the latter.

Knock, knock!

“No, no!”

Knock, knock!!

“I’m shaving!”

“What’s with these pigs and hair and chin and shaving?” Gimmee mumbled to himself. Then his belly reminded him of why he was there. It was pretty much the same as with the first little big except that Gimmee was much hungrier this time and he knew what he could do.

There was huffing and puffing again. Sticks and wood went flying. Plates flew like Frisbees. Gimmee blew so hard glasses stacked themselves up in the corner. Gimmee was quite pleased with this gift he had and he was quite good at it. He even gloated a little while the little pig, which really wasn’t little at all, looked on. In fact, that little pig was as big around as he was tall. If he didn’t hold out his arms when he walked it couldn’t be told if he was walking or rolling. The little pig’s snout drooped just a little and he sniffled. Gimmee snorted in reply. And there might have been a tear in the little pig’s eye. Gimmee’s eyes turned glossy. The little pig saw the end coming and Gimmee didn’t care. He was heartless. And, of course, by now, very very hungry.

Gimmee ate up that fat little pig who was much bigger than his sister; bigger than her and the little one who ran out the back door put together. Gimmee barbequed parts, roasted parts, had eggs with parts and created a new sandwich by putting some parts on bread with lettuce and tomato. It took Gimmee two days of non-stop eating to finish off the whole pig. In the end, Gimmee was not only deliriously happy….he was miserably stuffed, too.

While he lay there moaning and groaning and wishing he had some ice cream to top it off with even though he knew he didn’t have any more room, he thought to himself he might write a book, too, like his brother, Gotcha. But he decided writing was too much work and so he quickly abandoned the idea. Instead, he dragged that fat belly, so fat that his belly button started pointing out…disgustingly so. Gimmee wobbled into the front door of his home and flopped over next to the fire place and began to snore. Mama and Papa looked on in bewilderment.

Mama and Papa felt bad for the little pigs but this time it was three blissful weeks later before Gimmee woke up.

Hungry again!

“Mama, there’s one more pig. And those first two were delicious.” He smacked his lips.

“Gimmee, blah blah blah control yourself. Blah blah can’t blah blah selfish………..” was what Gimmee heard.

And Gimmee shot back, “Blah blah eat, blah take….blah blah get blah blah,” was what went into Mama’s ears.

They’d both heard it before - too many times.

Gimmee’s belly nearly hung down to the ground. But nothing was inside, just stretched out skin. And he was seriously hungry. GRRROOOOOOWWLL!!! GRRRRUUUMBBLLEE!!! RROOOOOAARRR!!! Even Gimmee was startled by what he heard his belly say. He stopped for just a moment, smiled understandingly and rubbed his paw on this deflated balloon and spoke to it, “My dear, Belly, don’t mind. I’ll get you something before the day is over.”

Before long Gimmee came upon a house, different from the other two. This one was made of bricks. Gimmee smiled. Same drill, he thought to himself. Then he started to drool.

Knock, knock.

The third pig had a full beard and his voice was a little muffled when he spoke and while they talked back and forth through the door, he referred to it often.

This continued to puzzle Gimmee to no end but finally gave up trying. He didn’t care about this pig or his beard or his two siblings and their shaving fetish or the little one he saw running home. He just wanted to eat.

Gimmee decided to dispense with the small talk and go straight to the blowing. And, blow he did. He huffed a big huff and puffed a big puff, not his best effort by any means and to his surprise nothing happened. Gimmee thought that was interesting, neat in a way. He didn’t like doing much but he did like a challenge especially if he knew he could eat when all was said and done. So, he huffed and puffed and blew again, harder this time. Nothing. This raised the hair on the back of his neck. He wasn’t just hungry now, he was angry, too. When he got like this he called himself “Hangry.” More huffs and puffs and references to facial hair followed and still nothing. The house stood firm. Gimmee’s big ears picked up some giggling inside. There were two pigs in there!

“This ain’t no fun no more. I’m hungry.” Gimmee said loud enough for the two pigs inside to hear. Silence was the little pigs’ reply.

Gimmee decided he would climb the bricks; after all, the house really wasn’t that tall. He might have just jumped up on the roof but that would be too much like work, he thought, and besides he was already tired from just breathing in and out real hard. He thought if he got upon the roof he might surprise that third little pig and his friend by doing the Santa thing and come down through the chimney.

Gimmee got up on the roof and headed for the smoke, his big empty belly dragging along the tiles. Well the little pigs inside could hear things, too. Their ears weren’t as big as Gimmee’s but they had four to his two. They figured out right quick what Gimmee was up to.

That third little pig was the only one of the five kids in his family to go to college. And it was a good thing, too, because he learned all sorts of things; like prudence, diligence, persistence and other words that ended in –ence. He also got far enough in his studies that he went to summer school and took a cooking class. The third little pig put a big pot in the fireplace under the chimney and boiled some water. He threw in some onions and green peppers and a few cubed sweet potatoes, which everyone knows tastes better in a stew than plain old regular potatoes, even if you are from Idaho. Then, while licking his snout he added a generous pinch of beef bouillon. With that, his curly little tail pointed straight out for just a moment and then returned to its normal shape.

Gimmee’s nose puckered up when he smelled the vegetables cooking, and he started slobbering; all the better for him to slide down the chimney, he thought. He paused for a moment and whispered barely audibly. “I’m gonna get what’s coming to me. This is going to be the best meal yet.”

Gimmee climbed up on the lip of the chimney and looked down with a glare. He looked right into the eyes of the third little pig who was peeking up from down below. Gimmee could hardly control himself. The third little pig calmly adjusted the pot just a wolf hair or so, so it would be right where he wanted.

Down the chimney came Gimmee. He slid right into the pot of boiling water. Screams and thrashing followed and Gimmee nearly jumped out. The third little pig’s sister let a go a prolonged and terrifying squeal and started running around in circles. But the third little pig was prepared and sent Gimmee back into the pot with a poker that stood watch by the fireplace. Some gulps, a few gurgles later and a WHACK on the head with the ash shovel for good measure and the third little pig had the makings of wolf gumbo… with a taint of beef flavor.

The third pig looked at his sister and spoke smugly, “Too bad you don’t do meat. This wolf is gonna taste like roast beef.”

And Gimmee? Well, Gimmee did indeed finally get what was coming to him.

—

Illustrations by Benjamin Sakaguchi Belew