The Three Billy Goats Gruff

The Three Billy Goats Gruff

Once, in a green Norwegian valley, lived three billy goats. All three shared the family name Gruff.

The smallest Billy Goat Gruff was light and quick. The middle one was stronger and bolder. The eldest was large, powerful, and calm.

One spring morning they looked toward a hill on the other side of a stream. The grass there was thick, fresh, and wonderfully green.

“Let us go there to graze,” said the smallest.

“Let us,” agreed the middle brother.

“A fine idea,” said the eldest.

There was one problem.

An old wooden bridge crossed the stream, and beneath the bridge lived a troll.

The troll was terribly grumpy. He considered the bridge his own and disliked anyone walking across it.

The smallest Billy Goat Gruff went first.

Trip-trap, trip-trap went his little hooves.

A roar came from beneath the bridge.

“WHO IS WALKING ON MY BRIDGE?”

The little goat was frightened but answered politely:

“It is I, the smallest Billy Goat Gruff. I am going to the hill to eat green grass.”

The troll stuck his head out.

“I will not let you pass!”

The goat thought quickly.

“I am very small. My brother is coming after me, and he is much bigger. Perhaps you would rather speak to him?”

The troll considered this.

“Very well. Go.”

The smallest goat hurried across.

Soon the middle Billy Goat Gruff arrived.

TRIP-TRAP! TRIP-TRAP!

“WHO IS WALKING ON MY BRIDGE?” roared the troll.

“It is I, the middle Billy Goat Gruff. I am going to the green grass.”

“I will not let you pass!”

“My elder brother is coming behind me. He is the biggest of us. If you insist on stopping someone, wait for him.”

The troll scratched his long nose.

“Very well. Go.”

The middle goat crossed too.

Then the eldest Billy Goat Gruff stepped onto the bridge.

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!

The boards creaked.

The troll jumped out.

“WHO IS STOMPING ON MY BRIDGE?”

“It is I, the eldest Gruff. I am going to join my brothers.”

“No one crosses without my permission!” shouted the troll, blocking the way.

The eldest goat looked at him calmly.

“The bridge stands over the stream, not inside your pocket. Everyone who needs to cross should be able to use it.”

“I will not let you pass!”

“Then please step aside.”

“I will not!”

The troll leaned forward, trying to frighten him.

The eldest Gruff lowered his head too. He did not want a fight, but he was not going to retreat.

The troll took another step.

The goat planted his hooves and gave him one firm but careful push with his horns.

“Oh-oh-oh!”

The troll lost his balance and splashed into the shallow stream.

Splash!

The water was cold but safe. The troll scrambled onto the bank, soaked and furious.

“I will... I...”

Then he saw all three goats standing together on the bridge and changed his mind.

“Fine! Use your bridge!” he grumbled and went into the forest to find somewhere quieter to live.

The three goats climbed the hill.

There was so much green grass that they ate and ate without seeming to make it smaller.

The youngest jumped among the flowers. The middle goat rolled on the warm slope. The eldest looked down at the bridge and was glad the road was open for everyone.

They say the troll learned something too. He found a cozy cave away from the road and stopped bothering travelers.

Sometimes, when someone passed nearby, a grumpy voice could still be heard from the forest:

“All right, all right, go on through...”

And the bridge answered cheerfully:

Trip-trap! Thump-thump! Trip-trap!

May this story leave a little light in your heart ✨