(The Three Little Pigs’ Building Inspector Speaks)

I didn’t arrive until after the wolf was long gone. By then, the paperwork had become considerably more interestin’.

Now, before we proceed, I’d like it noted that I’m a Certified County Building Inspector with twenty-three years of experience, a clean record, and a blood pressure condition directly attributable to residential construction.

I have inspected:

• barns
• sheds
• smokehouses
• churches, and
• one moonshine operation disguised as a chicken coop

And never, not one time did I ever encounter a permit application that listed the primary construction material as: “Whatever’s handy.”

Until the pigs, that is.

The First House

The straw house was technically not even a house. It was little more than a suggestion. A temporary understandin’ between gravity and vegetation.

I stood there lookin’ at it and asked the owner: “How long do you expect this structure to remain upright?”

He shrugged. “Depends on the weather, I reckon.”

Now that ain’t an answer you want from a homeowner. That’s an answer you get from a man rentin’ a lawn chair.

The Second House

The stick house represented what we in the profession call: “Confidence unsupported by evidence.” Now, I admire optimism as much as the next feller. But optimism ain’t generally recognized as a load-bearing material.

The owner assured me the design had been thoroughly considered. I asked whether any nails had been used. He looked genuinely surprised by the question.

The Third Pig

Then I met the third brother. The moment I stepped onto his property, I knew. Nice, even foundation. Proper chimney. Solid masonry. The man owned a measuring tape and a spirit level.

That alone put him in the top ten percent of builders.

The Incident

Now everybody remembers the wolf. Nobody remembers the inspection report. Let me summarize.

The wolf arrived. The wind increased. And suddenly, two structures performed exactly as their construction methods suggested they would.

It shouldn’t have shocked anybody. Yet somehow it did.

A Matter of Liability

Now, after the event, there was tremendous pressure to assign blame.

Folks pointed at the wolf. The newspapers pointed at the wolf. The surviving pigs pointed at the wolf. And yes, the wolf certainly contributed. Ain’t no question about that.

But I would like to ask a reasonable question: If a building collapses because somebody exhales forcefully nearby… Was the breathing truly the problem?

The Public Hearing

A town meeting was called. These things will make matters worse every time.

One citizen stood up and declared: “The wolf destroyed them homes!” I stood and replied:

“No, sir. The wolf merely accelerated a pre-existin’ condition.”

That statement, as you can just imagine, weren’t well received.

The Wolf’s Position

Now I later reviewed the wolf’s testimony.

He was a surprisingly articulate feller. Strong lungs. Questionable manners. But he did make one valid observation.

He said, “I expected resistance.”

And frankly, so did I.

Professional Frustration

What truly bothered me was this: After all the excitement, after all the headlines, after all the finger-pointin’… People learned the wrong lesson entirely.

They told their children: “Beware of wolves.”

Perfectly sensible advice. But they should also have taught: “Use proper buildin’ materials.”

One lesson prevents predation. The other prevents embarrassment.

Closing Statement

So, was the wolf responsible? Partly.

Was he dangerous? Oh, without a doubt.

But if you ask me what really happened that day, I’ll tell you the truth. Two houses failed inspection long before a wolf ever showed up. He was merely the first one rude enough to test them.

And that, as near as I can figure it from the official records, is how a building code violation became a fairy tale.