A hungry wolf alertly lay in wait outside a farmhouse where he’d seen all sorts of toothsome prey: plump calves, and luscious lambs, and turkeys by the dozen, succulent and soft as ripened plums . . .
The would-be thief was starting to become impatient when he heard inside the house a squalling child.
“Be quiet,” cried the mother, “or I’ll feed you to the wolves!”
The wolf’s mouth watered, and he thanked the gods for their munificence.
But then the mother, desperate, tried instead to soothe the child (who wailed now louder than before): “Don’t fret about those wolves, my sweet; if any wolf comes near, we’ll eat him up!”
The wolf, astonished and offended by this inconsistency, felt much abused. “I hope that kid comes hunting filberts in my woods some day; we’ll see who eats up whom!”
The farmer and some friends, who overheard these words, emerged, and brandishing their spears and pitchforks at the wolf, demanded, “What’s your business hereabouts?”
“I’ve come,” replied the wolf with dignity, “to eat your child.”
The mother, horrified, cried, “Eat my son! I didn’t give him life and raise him just to satisfy your appetite, you brute!”
They killed the wolf, and cut his head off. Then the mayor nailed it to the town-hall door, along with this brief note:
“Attention beasts and bugbears: When her children shout and keen, a mother says some things she doesn’t mean.”