THE TRUE TALE OF THE THREE BILLY-GOATS GRUFF

Reported by Loggi the Troll

and recorded by Grandpa Carl

 

“Once upon a time there were three Billy-Goats Gruff...”

By Odin, can you imagine how tired I get of hearing that phrase time and time, over and over again?  It’s as bad as a drunken sailor singing the same off key sea shanty repeatedly in a bellow that would make dogs howl.  It just gets on your nerves.  Then you couple that with some famous meaninglessly trite endings like ‘They lived happily ever after” or “Snip, Snap, this tale is over” and the entire story sounds as appealing as a squeaky metal gate on a windy night.  If I had my way these phrases would be banned from every language in the world especially that stupid ‘Snip Snap’ bit because when it comes to the Gruff Brothers the story is far from over!

But let me start at the beginning.  My name is Loggi, my friends some times tease me calling me Loki after some Norse God and I guess I should be flattered considering who he is but when one has an honorable name like mine, why would I want to be called anything else?  Besides, I am the champion ‘Hurler’ in my neighborhood and I even won the NLS (Norwegian Loggi Spewing) Contest when I was younger, talk about proud parents.  Imagine their first born child living up to his name at such a tender age.  They still have the ‘Fish head’ plaque I won stored somewhere in their cave.  So you see I was, even at an early age a Troll of no small reputation among my peers and this carried on into my life.  I became a very successful stone polisher and eventually moved out on my own at the callow age of 126 years old.  I remember how excited I was when I got my first place, a nice cozy cave located about 10 meters above a rushing stream under a rickety looking but very solidly built wooden bridge.

My problems started about 9 or 10 months after I moved into my quaint little cave under the bridge.  It had just enough room inside for my cooking pot, my blankets and my clothes and after all that there was just enough additional room in which I could stretch out, hide from the sun or sleep away those long Norse days.  Below me, as I said, about 9 or 10 meters was a stream.  Some stories (I have heard about) call it a creek or even a burn but most of the year the water rushes by creating some very nice deep pools and a crystal clear waterfall in which I could hide, catch fish, and ply my trade as much as I wanted. 

All in all I was quite contented and for the first time in my life I felt that I had found a niche that would fulfill my every need.  Most of those who crossed were, of course, animals from whom I would extract a modest tribute or toll, if you will.  I was never strong armed in my approach, I simply pointed out the toll was preferable to being eaten and that the benefits to  them once they reached the other side were worth the cost of crossing.

I guess I should explain that on the west side of my bridge was a pretty barren and rocky area spotted here and there with a few thickets and grassy patches.  The rocks pretty much came up to the gorge cut by the stream and what little grazing and food there was seemed difficult to get to and hardly worth the effort when across the bridge, about 20 or 30 meters (about 23 paces by my reckoning) was a lush meadow where one could eat their fill and drink from one of the streamlets that flowed to the water which flowed under the bridge.  It was ideal and peaceful except for the occasional human or other hunter that crossed over.  From these, the humans and larger carnivore/omnivore types I expected more and usually got it.  Oh I occasionally had to eat a hunter because the stupid human would not listen to me and started firing his gun or his bow before I could even say ‘hi’.   Those who did listen happily gave me part of their kill, a fowl or other small animal some would even leave me their entire kill and run away which is something I never really understood about humans.  They did not seem to realize that business was business and I was not being greedy.  If they crossed my bridge they could possibly shoot other paying creatures so I had to make certain the scales balanced for me.  Those who left their entire holdings would have been given a free passage back and forth a couple of times but like I said most of them ran away.   Animals, on the other hand were far more sensible and paid and that was that.  I think they got the better end of the deal because once they were across I could care less what they ate or did.  They didn’t even have to cross back if they wanted to go on into the wilderness of rock and sparseness beyond.  Most traveled back and there were many who paused and thanked me on their return trip.

I don’t recall exactly how many years passed, perhaps 30 or 40, with me running this business and all went smoothly until one early summer day.  I was resting, as usual, in the shade of the bridge when on the far edge of the bridge I hear a disturbance.  I listened and it was distinctly the rough grinding of goats.  I could make out 3 maybe 4 separate voices and they seemed to be arguing about who would go over the bridge first.  Finally after several minutes I heard a kind of ‘trip trap, trip trap’ coming across the bridge.  I guessed correctly that it was the youngest or smallest of the goats.  The clicking of the hooves stopped about midway into the bridge.

“Who’s that tripping over my bridge.”  I shouted up good naturedly.

I hear this kind of timid voice bleat.  “It is just me, a little goat.”

It being dusk and all I swing up on the bridge.  “Good day young Master Goat!” I said with a smile.  “You must be new to this area so let me tell you a little bit about what is happening.   This is my bridge and it has a modest fee to cross.  I am not an unreasonable toll master and to be honest I prefer food but I will accept gold or other valuable baubles.  I just ask something in return for allowing you into such a choice area.”  I then jokingly added, “And if you don’t pay I may have to eat you.”

I suppose this concerned him as he took a step backward.  I watched his cohorts who were watching intently and held my tongue.

“My name is Willy Gruff and my brothers and I have a proposition for you.  About a fifteen kilometer walk from here is a fenced in farm where there are over 500 goats pastured.    It is the owner’s goal to double that number.”

I listened politely.  It turned out that he and his brothers were heading up some sort of plan to create a little monopoly on breeding rights for themselves.  They were certain that this effort would be in the best interest of the herd.  I really did not know much about goats and breeding but I figured if they were clever enough to create such a plan then they were pretty smart and could really help the herd. 

After some time the other three joined us and the eldest of the Gruffs said simply.  “We will happily pay your toll.  The first goat to cross the bridge will be that tribute.  He will usually be one of our rivals and so getting rid of them will help us and allow us to use your facilities to enhance ourselves and those we choose.” 

The next brother, Spike,  spoke. “You cannot imagine how bad it is to graze in an enclosed pasture with 500 others.  They have to bring in stuff to eat and it does fill you up but it is not like the real thing you have across your bridge.  Our eating there would help us be that much more fit to be the chief breeders.”

At this point I curiously asked them how they knew what I had on the other side of the bridge.

“I cornered young wolf who had jumped over the fence.  He knew I would kill him so he offered me some information which was about you and your bridge. Killing him made me a hero with the owner.”

The other three snorted and stamped in what passes in goats as good humor.

“And how do you get out?”  I asked.  “Goats do not jump that high do they?”

“There is a ditch and a tunnel on the farthest side of the pasture away from the house.  There is a gap, a kind of depression, located in that ditch that allows us to slip into a tunnel  under the rock barrier that lines that one end of the field..” answered the littlest goat a bit to anxiously judging from what I saw in the oldest brother’s eyes.

To me it sounded like a fair proposition.  I really did not care how the Gruff brother’s did business so long as I got my toll and it promised to be a hefty one and although I was not overly fond of goat the change would do me good.  If the Gruff’s wanted to use me to take care of their rivals and their rivals were dumb enough to get trapped by this foursome I would not argue. 

So we sealed the deal and I let them cross over for a free meal on me and when they left an hour later I could tell they had eaten well because of how the bridge creaked a little more with each ‘trip trap’ of their hardened hooves.           

Well the Gruffs were true to their word for just over two weeks later I heard the goats coming and by and by one of the group, a young buck, starts across.   At first his ‘trip traps’ are a bit hesitant as if he thinks my bridge will not hold him.  After a few paces, however, and at the urging of the Gruffs he starts to cross faster. 

Just as he reaches midway the youngest shouts out “Tribute coming across Mr. Troll.” 

They all start to laugh but the goat stops above me and I dutifully reached  up and grabbed him and well a few minutes later my supper was cooking on the fire.  The three brothers, who were there, crossed over after a few moments joking about the look on the tribute’s face and other such slurs but they paused briefly to express thanks as they went on to eat.  An hour and a half later they crossed back probably having made up some woeful tale for the rest of the flock.

I probably helped them a dozen or so times over the next nine months.  I wondered how they would or could explain going out that many times with one of the herd and returning each and every time without him.  I did not ask and to be honest I did not care but I have to admit that I started getting tired of goat and the ‘trip trap, trip trap’ sound was almost maddening.

Looking back I should have started to get suspicious when one day the second to youngest brother, Darius as I recall, came up on his own and comes across the bridge as if he owns it.  It was just after noon so I stayed in the shade and when he called me he asked me a favor.  I told him I would listen and he proceeded to tell me that the oldest brother was losing touch with reality and the family goals.  He was taking the most females and was becoming a dictator rather then a good and sharing older brother.  He had even head butted the next eldest so roughly that he was down with an injury and unable to do anything.  Reluctantly I agreed mostly because he promised to get a deer or elk over for me.  Besides, I knew a little bit about sibling rivalry but that is a different story.  Suffice it to say that I felt I was doing their family business a real ‘favor’ while getting a bit of revenge on ‘big brothers all over’ who teased and picked on their younger siblings. 

The appointed day arrived and the Eldest Gruff, Sid, came down to the bridge.  The others had told him, according to their plan,  that I wanted to talk about our deal. They said they would tell him that I was thinking of backing out and that this fact would make him angry.  They were right because when he saw me he all but charged toward me.   For a moment I was afraid for my safety and I got ready for action.  I do not know about you but being punctured by two long pointed goat horn lances does not rank high on my list of favorite things. 

In what I thought then might be an act of self preservation  I reached out and grabbed his long horns and well, to put it gently, in a moment I was working on making myself a new sheepskin blanket for the upcoming winter.  Inwardly I was glad that he had made it easy on me but I should have known then that I was in trouble but trusting soul that I am,  I did not suspect a thing,  I had done my job and that was the end of it. 

 I sniffed out later the fact that the youngest goat had followed his brother probably  more to watch me and make certain that I fulfilled my part of the bargain than to keep an eye on his brother.   He must have been satisfied because  a week later I found a deer carcass on my bridge with two neat holes in its throat from the horns of the now eldest Gruff.   With the payment I thought things would go back to a routine and for a while they did.  Twice during the next few months I took care of two rivals and life was pleasantly dreary. 

Spring came and I came out of my home one night to admire the colors and swelling life of my oasis.  Along about dusk, just after the sun went down when it was still light enough for most creatures to see I heard rustling in the distance and from the end of my bridge I spotted a human hiking near the swollen steam filled with run off from the nearby hills.  I would have investigated further because humans usually don’t come near my bridge but I heard a familiar noise to my left across the bridge.

Trip, trap.  Trip, trap.  Light footfalls.  The youngest Billy Goat Gruff.

“Whose that tripping on my bridge?”  I asked politely kidding the kid.

The little smart-alec goat looks up at me and grinning says, “Oh it is only I the tiniest Billy Goat Gruff and I’m going up the hill to make myself big and strong.”

I look around and I see the human watching and this bothers me but I decided I could get him later. 

“What about my tribute?” I asked then I added jokingly.  “Now I am going to eat you.”

Young Gruff reacted as if I had jabbed at him with a hot poker.  “Oh no!  Don’t take me, I’m too little!” he bleated.

He then tells me about his bigger, fatter brother who is a real slob and deserves to be eaten.  I laughed and said.  “Very well, be off with you.”

I think my stomach growled just as the second Billy Goat Gruff started to ‘trip, trap’ onto my bridge.   To my surprise he followed virtually the exact same routine ending up telling me that I should eat the elder brother because he was the fattest and most deserving.  I shook my head and let the brat pass.  By now I wanted to talk to the Elder Gruff.  I did not smell any tribute and that was a very bad breach in business etiquette.  Perhaps he had another plan so I waited occasionally glancing down at the human who by now stood openly watching my actions on the bridge.

“Who’s tramping on my bridge?”  I said turning to face the ‘new arrival’.

“It is I, the Big Billy Goat Gruff!” he baaahed and bleated.

I laughed at his brashness and said, “So where is my toll?”

To my surprise the old goat shifted his weight and lowered his head.  The ugly pronged lances were aimed right at my belly. 

“No toll.” he muttered.  “We have decided to alter our relationship.”

“Then,” I said, “I guess I will have to eat you.”

The goat snorted and took a menacing step.  I backed up and braced myself for the charge I hoped would not come.  The stupid creature came at me full speed.  I shifted my weight and to my shock my foot slipped on a pile of goat droppings.  I clutched at the bridge just as Gruff rammed his horns into my side.  I dropped like a rock and he was on me dancing and stamping like he could hurt me.  As I rolled to push him off I caught a glimpse of the white haired old man as I tried to slide out of his way.  When I stood he hit me again and this time I fell backward over the rail into the water.  I must have hit my head because I did not come up.  I do recall that as I was falling I heard the goats laugh.  I vowed revenge as I hit the water.

When I woke up the sun was filtering through the water and I was forced to stay under for fear that something might happen.  I watched as the three crossed back over the bridge looking like they had eaten half the greens over there.  Fat bellied would have been a compliment.  Bloated from celebrating my demise was more accurate. 

When I finally crawled out of the water I ached all over and even though I was starting to heal I knew it would be a few hours before the painful but non-life threatening wounds would be gone.  My belly was first mostly healed but it still hurt like nobodies business. 

Now those who are familiar with the story  know that this is where it ends in the folksy tales that usually start “Once upon a time.”    Well,  let me tell you it did not end there!   It was within a few days that I was told that an old story teller was spreading the account of the Three Billy-goats Gruff and how they defeated the evil troll.  Once upon a time?  Once upon a time?

I’ll give your “ONCE UPON A TIME!”   What you never hear about is the 2 weeks I lay starving inside my cave while I healed completely.  Do you know how much goat horns hurt when the are stuck into your belly.  The story should include how I had to seek out counseling from a Troll Psychologist because my faith in animal kind was shattered and I couldn’t even say the Norwegian word for ‘goat cheese’.  It was the most traumatic two months of my life while all the while the Gruff brothers were living it up with their harem of she goats that I helped them create!

“Once upon a time!” my Great Aunt’s kicksled!

Okay, okay, I’m calm.  I feel better having taken the time to express my feelings.  My Troll doctor said I would and he also said that I would feel much better once I got my revenge.  A revenge that would have to wait until Spring.  It was also during the Winter that one of my friends came by with the full tale of the Goats and the Troll and the Bridge.  Funny, I don’t recall my eyes being as large as saucer as they were poked out by the ‘noble’ goat..  I guess humans only believe what they want even if the evidence is directly in front of their eyes   But I digress.  I will add that it took almost the entire winter to re-establish my  ‘toll bridge’ rules while all the time I was plotting my revenge on the ‘Brothers Gruff!’

It was early Spring when the run off was just starting to get heavy that I heard the familiar ‘trip trap’ on my bridge.  This time I waited, saying nothing.  It was of course the younger Gruff and with him was this little she goat I had never smelled before.  Gruff of course was bigger and stronger and looked a lot like his next elder brother when I had first seen them.  I wondered as he walked over the bridge if he was busy plotting against his elder brothers.

 As I expected they stayed for three or four hours and I guessed from the noise I heard that they had come there do to more than eat.  I waited until they left then I silently followed them home.   You may wonder how I traveled during the day but if I let you in on that secret I would not be doing anyone any favors but it is not as hard as you might guess if you are motivated enough and careful enough.  Let me just say that I was highly motivated and the few problems I did have were worth the effort.

 The pasture was about a 1 hour walk for the goat and it was hard for me to walk so slowly.  When I got to the top of a small almost foothill type ridge I was able to look down into the spread and assess what I was up against.  The grazing land itself was over a kilometer in length and maybe slightly less than that wide.  Most of it was fenced but the side nearest me was bordered by a rocky outcropping that ran the entire length of the meadow.  It was not very wide and it was just shear enough and tall enough that a goat could not leap over it nor could one climb it.  I watched as the Gruff moved carefully along the out side of the wall until he got about 100 steps from where the rock met the fence.  There he seemed to vanish as if he leaped in to a hole.  She followed moments later and I watched until I could see them walking in the pasture toward a large barn on the far side of the area.  I realized then just how clever these goats had been.  The hole was made for drainage and to allow a small stream to flow under the rock into the grazing area.  Because of the slope of the land it was just down and out of site of the home and all a goat had to do was crawl through the hole and they were off the farm.  When I looked closer I realized that the goats with the larger horns had to keep them pointed straight forward and so could not see where they were going.  I chuckled all the way back to my cave as my plans for revenge began to take shape.

My first task was to go through all the old skulls I had collected until I had selected all the old goat skulls.  I paid special attention to the one which had belonged to the former leader of the Gruff clan and took special delight in polishing it up so that it easily caught the reflection of the sun.  I took delight in the fact that the late billy-goat Gruff would somehow approve of using part of him to extract a measure of vengeance on those ‘who had killed him’.  I also marked on each skull the name of the former owner which I had learned from the brothers usually by accident as they crossed my bridge laughing and commenting on this and that about the victims demise.

With my carefully bundled bag of skulls and a pair of goat skin blankets I started for the farm.  En route I gathered several long branches and saplings taking time to clean off all the smaller branches and leaves so I had a pole for each of the skulls.  I also sharpened several smaller sticks and put them in the bag with the skulls. 

When I got there it was dusk and the pasture was almost empty except for a few kids who were frolicking near by.  A quick impersonation of a wolf sent most of them scurrying home.  Without fear of discovery I got to work and set up a greeting for the next ones to leave the pasture.  I then found a place safe from the sun and settled back to watch.

Now I want you to know that Trolls are very patient and when nothing happened the next day and the next night I was disappointed but I have more patience then most.  In fact I once fooled my mother by standing steel for three days making her think I had turned to stone.  I would have gone longer but I started to laugh and after the hiding I got I was grounded for six months!

The third night just an hour or two before dawn I heard noises in the tunnel and after a few short moments a she goat emerged from the hidden exit.  She took one look at my work and started bleating so loudly I almost gave myself away snorting back a laugh.  She was so frightened that she bolted back to the hole and barely avoided impaling her head on his horns. The crack of skull on skull resonated into the rocks and again I almost split my gut holding back laughter as I heard them retreat into the safety of the compound.

I did not have to wait very long for the brothers all to return.  As I hoped several of the other goats also gathered on the other side of the wall.  The oldest brother was the first to emerge from the hole.  He sniffed the air disdainfully but then his eyes grew wide as he recognized the skull of his brother.  If I goat could pale I am sure he went several shades lighter.  The color of the goat hair blanket I had draped around the skull was close enough that by the time the second brother shuffled out he had to turn sharply to avoid poking his brother’s rump which was now close to the exit site. 

The pair gained courage as the third brother came out.  Together they must have felt that nothing could stand against them.  I watched as the three looked around sniffing and trying to catch a scent of who had done this but I had been very careful masking my scent with goat grease and musk so they were very confused. 

Finally one of them bleated out “Whoever did this is going to pay a very high price. 

In response I lobbed a skull from my hiding place that landed near the youngest brother that caused him to jump and bleat in surprise.

Spike, the now oldest brother, angrily head butted the display causing it to crash then he proceeded to stomp and smash it to bits. The blanket he gored with his horns and then trampled it into the dust. 

The three brothers Gruff then searched the area but no one can find a troll who does not want to be found so even though two of them came within smashing distance I held my peace and watched hoping I would not laugh. 

Finally they went back into the hole being very careful to knock the spikes out I had placed to intimidate them.  The moment they were gone I quickly placed the spikes facing inward then as I listened to them trying to explain what they had found I began to hurl the remaining skulls in my possession over the wall. 

“The Gruff’s killed me!”  I shouted in a fair imitation of a goat’s bleat as each skull cleared the stone barrier.

“They fed me to a Troll near a bridge as payment for safe passage to the pasture.”

I bleated as another left my hand.

Inside I could hear chaos as the skulls landed and the crowd of goats gasped and bolted.

“Spike lead his brothers to kill me!” I screamed as I through the remaining skull bits and hide pieces over next followed by another two skulls. 

I heard noise in the tunnel followed by a sharp cry of pain as the lead goat ran into the spikes.  The shout was followed by a banging and clanking of horn against stone as he attempted to dislodge the carefully placed spikes. 

I guffawed and threw another, older, skull into the mix and retreated to my sanctuary bellowing accusations about the Gruffs including the fact that they wanted all the she goats to themselves and had killed to accomplish this gruesome goal.

I could hear the one brother trying to explain as the other two finally got out of the hole.  Not caring, now, if I was seen by them I started throwing stones and sharp sticks toward them until they were forced back into hole.  All the while I was now roaring and calling and telling how each victim had died.  Inside the noise among the flock grew and must have caught the human’s attention across the pasture.  I knew this because even when masked and mingled as it was with the dust, smell of death and sweaty goats, crowded into a small area, the human stench is  very distinct.  Plus there was the sound of the barking dogs, which so often accompany herders, pierces the sky above even the loudest goat.  In my mind I could follow their progress toward the clustered and terrified and by now angry animals.  The Gruff brothers must have finally caught a whiff of them too or the inside brother might have called because the two Gruffs dashed into the tunnel.  But it was too late!

Laughing I hid and watched as one of the humans crawled out and look around.  He shook his head as if amazed and in moments I heard the sound of rocks being tossed into the hole.  I heard him tell the others that he now knew why so many goats had vanished. 

I remained hidden through the day and that night I climbed up on the wall and let myself in.  Quietly I worked my way passed the scattered and now broken skulls and moved until I could hear the herd talking.  I searched and did not see any of the Gruff’s until I looked into the corner on the far side of the grazing area.  The older brother was tied to the fence and the other two were keeping him company.   I stole passed the other goats until I was almost upon the brothers then began to throw dung and dirt at them.  Angrily they turned and then I watched with grim satisfaction as realization set in. 

“Get him.” cried the Elder Brother.

The two younger goats, Darius and Willy,  lowered their heads and charged.  I raced around ahead of them making all kinds of commotion until the other goats noticed me and began to bolt in panic in a dozen directions.  I quickly sprinted to the nearest point on the rock barrier and all but vaulted over it.  When the humans came running out all they saw were the two Gruff Brothers chasing frightened goats so with several sharp words of command they released the dogs to ‘settle things down’.

I laughed until I rolled on the ground then headed for home.

Problem solved?  Revenge extracted?  Not quite but it was enough for me and I hummed a happy tune as I walked as far as I was concerned, that was that.  Or so I thought until several days later I heard from a friend of mine that the stupid and very untrue story of how three billy-goats defeated an evil troll. He told me the story as best he could remember then laughed and said he wouldn’t want to be the Troll about whom the story was about.

And so it goes.  ‘Once upon a time..,’   ‘Once upon a bleeding time!”