Even the kindliest of wolves is synonymous in our culture with the raider, the primeval foe or the tightening circle of fear forming around a late night traveler.
Your door may seem a welcome entry to a stone-safe edifice. Friends or colleagues may knock with hopes to escape the wolf, the flow of capital, the threat of illness or other ancillary devastations.
‘Little pig, little pig, let me come in.’ is not always a neighborly engagement.
‘No, no. Not by the hair of my chiny chin chin.’ may be the only stopgap to being blown away like a dime cigar.
the Porcine Oracle
But beware which talking animals you converse with and let in – hot breath at the keyhole, bloodshot eyes, dripping jaws… You can never be too paranoid, and poor little sheep with no place to sleep are just as dangerous now as once upon a time when pigs spoke rhyme.