Day 1

    Perhaps the choice of movie wasn't so great, but Morty loves the action-adventure stuff.  This one was rated Piggy-13, so I should have been wary.  Penelope wasn't so hot on it from the beginning, but eventually we yielded to Morty's enthusiasm.  And the problem was, little Prudence was afraid of the Wolves.
    "Why are the Wolves so mean?" she sniffed.
    "May as well ask why the sky is blue," I said.  "It's the nature of their species.  They're born killers.  They don't think like we do, if they think at all."
    "Mort, you're scaring her," warned Penelope.  "Honey, it was just a movie.  They were all actors."
    "That's true," I said.  "That stuff doesn't happen in real life.  The Wolves huff and puff a lot, but it's mostly hot air.  Anyway, we're safe here in the Wood Houses."
    "Yeah, but did you see how Hambo blew away those Wolf terrorists?" offered Morty.  "Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat!"
    He followed his expert modeling of a machinegunner with a sequence of Swine Fu moves.  He likes the bare hoof action best.  I said I thought he should take the scenes of a Pig beating up Wolves with a kernel of corn.
    Prudence seemed comforted, but I sat by her bed until she fell asleep.

Day 2

    When I got home from work, Prudence still had Wolves on her mind.
    "I heard there are real Wolf terrorists," she said.  "Why do they want to hurt us?"
    "Wolves and Pigs have been enemies since the Pigs first moved into the Straw Houses," I said.  "We're a peace-loving species, so you know we didn't start it.  They're just ugly, ignorant, stupid, and contrary.  They attacked the Straw House settlers for no reason and started blowing over their houses.  Fortunately, we're smarter than they are and know how to use a bulldozer to good effect."
    "Has anyone ever tried talking to the Wolves?" asked Prudence.
    "It's pointless," I explained.  "Violence is the only language they understand.  That's why our leaders long ago adopted the policy of massive retaliation.  Whenever they hit us, we strike back twice as hard."
    "So, that's a 'no'?"
    "No, no, of course not," I replied.  "We've tried talking to them, but it's no use.  Why, just the other day, the President said we recognize the right of Wolves to exist, but if they don't keep their paws off the Straw Houses, we'd fry their butts.  You can't get more reasonable than that."
    "So, this mass.. what is it?" Prudence continued.
    "Massive retaliation," I said.
    "Does that work?" she asked.
    "Of course it does," I assured her.
    "Then why do the Wolves keep attacking the Straw Houses?" she persisted.
    "Because they're Wolves," I explained.  "Between you and me, I think anyone who lives in the Straw Houses must be a little crazy.  Too close to the Wolves.  But the Wood Houses are perfectly safe."

Day 3

    It's good to be home with the sow and piglets tonight.  What a day!  The Wolves struck the Wood Houses just as folks were settling in at work.  Such a huffing and puffing has never before been seen in the civilized world.  We had all been assured that all wooden houses were secure against huffing and puffing, but that is obviously not the case.  Thousands of Pigs are dead or missing.  The brutes even attacked the Stone House, but the President escaped.
    Penelope called me at work.  She was scared, but we don't live in a high-profile area of the Wood Houses.  All the huffing and puffing is going on at the political and financial centers.  Anyway, I think the brutes are about huffed out.  We decided the piglets would be as safe at school as anywhere.  So, we all just stayed put.
    The world is in shock and disbelief.  The television screens are scarred with images of wooden houses collapsing.  Expressions of condolence are coming in from everywhere:  the Sheep, the Cows, the Chickens.  Even the Wolves!  They're saying they didn't do it, that it was just a bunch of renegades.  Hah!  They're just trying to wriggle out of the consequences, because someone is by God going to pay for this.

Day 4

    For the second straight day, little was accomplished at work.  Instead, everyone was talking about the Wolf terrorists and what we were going to do about them.  My coworker Beulah had a slightly surprising twist on the events.
    "I'm just furious at those Sheep and Cows!" she fumed.
    "The Sheep and Cows?  What did they do?" I hadn't a clue what she was on about.
    "Those smug jerks and their stupid pity," she continued.  "How dare they feel sorry for us!"
    "Um, I don't think that's it," I ventured.  "They're showing support.  They know it could just as easily happen to them."
    "We are Pigs!" continued Beulah, undeterred.  "We are the smartest, the best, the most powerful.  We're Number 1!  We'll show them all, and kick some Wolf butt while we're doing it!"
    There was no point in sticking around for more of that.  But I was surprised to see that not everyone thought she was full of slop.  Someone has to pay, but getting mad at our friends is just strange.
    At home, the piglets are frightened.  Penelope, too.  Morty is putting up a brave front.  "I'm going to go fight those wolves when I get bigger," he says.  I pray that he never has to make good on that promise.
    Meanwhile, the President is demanding that the Wolves turn the terrorists over to us, if they want to avoid a thorough firebombing.  And maybe they'll get one even if they do turn over the terrorists.  The Wolves are playing dumb.
    And now the tube is full of talking head cheeses analyzing the events of the past two days.
    "It's a failure of security," says one.  "Clearly, it's the wooden houses.  If Congress had appropriated funds to build brick houses, we wouldn't be in this mess!"
    There are reports of pigs beating up dogs.

Day 5

    Penelope and the piglets were out shopping when the fireball hit.  The President had just appeared on the tube to announce the bombing of the Wolves.
    "The perpetrators of this heinous crime shall pay dearly for their cowardly actions," he swore.  "This day they will feel the righteous wrath of united Pigdom!  Let the word go forth that no one shall attack this great nation with impunity!"
    That was about the point when an agitated aide hustled up to the President's elbow.  He intended to speak only to the Chief, but the microphones were on, and I heard this much:  "wind shifted."  The inferno we  had just visited on Wolf land was rolling back to engulf us all.
    I barely had time to get out the door before it hit.  For some reason, I grabbed this stupid journal as I left.  The smoke was already thick.  I called bootlessly for Penelope and the piglets.  There was fire everywhere.  I tripped and fell in the confusion.  A strong arm pulled me up just before flaming wreckage descended on the spot where I had been.
    "Penelope?" I asked hopefully.
    "B.B.," replied an unfamiliar male voice.  "Sorry."
    "Thanks," I said to the stranger.  I could feel him heading off in the direction of what I knew was a cul de sac.  "No, wait!" I said.  "This way!"
    The smoke was so thick that we had to link arms to avoid losing track of each other.  I don't know how long we ran in that awkward way.  We stumbled over rubble and charred carcasses. Gradually,. the air became more breathable.  Then there was a creek, which we staggered through.  Then, it was up a gentle hill to a place of temporary safety.  I say 'temporary' because I will never again be able to use the word 'safety' without qualification.  It was just as we dropped exhausted to the earth that I realized that B.B. was a Wolf.
    "Cur!" I screamed.  "How dare you set foot among the Wooden Houses!  I should flay you alive!"
    "Swine!" he roared.  "I should swallow you whole!  And, um, I might do just that, if I didn't owe you my life."
    "Yeah, me too," I mumbled.  "Say, you know those bodies we passed on the way out of the fire?"
    He nodded.
    "What do you think:  Pigs or Wolves?"
    "It's impossible to say," he said.  "They looked the same."
    But my anger had not been appeased.  "But why did you murder all those innocent Pigs?" I cried.  "What did we ever do to you?  We've never been anything but peaceful and helpful!"
    "But I didn't ..." he sputtered.  "What did you ever...?  What didn't you ever do to us?  You Pigs cut down our forest to make room for your bloody straw houses.  Where do you think the wood for the wooden houses came from?  You took our land and killed or ran off our game.  We never meant you any harm.  We just wanted you off our land, just wanted to be able to make a living the way we always had.  And whenever we protested, you guys came in with your bulldozers and flamethrowers."
    "Your land?  What nonsen...  Really?  It was yours?  But our government would have bought it or given you another place to live..."
    "Nope," he said.  "Not a thing."
    "That's terrible!" I said.  "Why didn't you talk to someone about this?"
    "We tried," he said.  "It's pointless.  Violence is the only language you understand."
    "That's just ridiculous," I protested.  "Why, you sound like ... you sound like ... you sound like me."
    "Um, you didn't happen to notice any other Wolves before we ran into each other?" B.B. asked somewhat timidly.
    I asked him why he asked.
    "Well, I was visiting the Wooden Houses with my family when all ... this began.  Then, when the firestorm started, we got separated.  I was looking for Blanche and the cubs when I saw you go down.  In fact, at first, I thought maybe ... You know, it was so smoky..."
    He began to cry, long piteous howls that scared the bejeebers out of me for more reasons than one.  I thought of Penelope and the piglets, and I began to cry, too.  Had anyone come upon us at that moment, what could they possibly have thought?  A Wolf and a Pig, wrapped in each other's arms, sobbing their souls out.
    "Look," I sniffed finally.  "I have to do something about this."
    "It's too late," he said.
    "Maybe," I said.
    "The fire's too big," he said.  "What did you have in mind?"
    "There's a creek right there."
    "It's been going on too long," he protested.  "We're going to need buckets, at least."
    "I know where to find some."
    "Then you'd better get up off that pork butt," he said.
    The Big, Bad Wolf extended a hairy forepaw.  I took it.