
Once upon a time there was an old mother goat who had seven little goats. They lived in a cozy little house at the edge of the forest. Their mother loved them the way every mother loves her children. One day she wanted to go into the forest to fetch some food. She called out, “Be on your guard against the wolf! Don’t open the door to anyone. You will know him by his rough voice and his black feet.” “We’ll be careful, dear Mother!” promised the little goats.

It wasn’t long before someone knocked at the door. Knock, knock, knock! “Open the door, dear children, your mother is here!” But the voice was rough and growly. The little goats looked at one another. Then they all called out together, “We will not open the door! You are not our mother! Our mother has a soft, sweet voice. You are the wolf!”
Together: Shout it out loud together: “We will not open the door! You are not our mother!”

The Wolf crept away. He bought himself a big lump of chalk and ate it all up. Crunch, crunch, yuck! It made his voice soft and gentle. Again he knocked. “Open the door, dear children, your mother is here!” he sang sweetly. But as he spoke, he laid his black paw on the windowsill. The little goats saw it at once. “We will not open the door! You are not our mother! Our mother doesn’t have black feet.”
Together: Say it in a very soft, sweet wolf voice: “Open the door, dear children!”

So the Wolf ran to the baker. “Rub some dough on my paw!” The baker did. Then he ran to the miller. “Sprinkle white flour on it!” The miller grumbled, but he dusted the paw snow-white. For the third time, the Wolf knocked. His voice was soft, and his paw was white. This time the little goats didn’t shout. “It’s our mother!” they cheered. And they opened the door.

In came the Wolf! The little goats ran to hide. One under the table, one into the bed, one into the cold stove. One into the kitchen, one into the cupboard, one under the washbowl. The youngest slipped into the case of the big clock. The Wolf found six of them and put them in his big sack. Only the youngest he could not find. Then he trotted off to the meadow, lay down under a tree, and snored. Snorrr, snorrr!
Together: Count along on your fingers: Where are the seven little goats hiding?

Soon Mother Goat came home. The door stood wide open. The chairs were knocked over. She called her children, one after another. Only one small voice answered: “Dear Mother, I am in the clock case!” Together they ran to the meadow. There lay the Wolf, snoring. Beside him, the sack was wriggling. Snip, snip! Mother Goat cut the sack open with her scissors. Out hopped all six, safe and sound.

“Now fetch some big stones!” whispered Mother Goat. The little goats dragged heavy stones into the sack. Mother sewed it up quickly. The Wolf woke up and swung the heavy sack onto his back. He grumbled, “What rumbles and tumbles against my poor bones? I thought it was six kids, but it’s nothing but stones!” At the brook, he bent down to drink. The heavy sack tipped him over. Splash! Dripping wet, he ran off into the forest and never came back.

The seven little goats danced across the meadow with their mother. “The wolf is gone! The wolf is gone!” That evening, everyone lay in bed. Mother Goat counted softly: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven. All of them were safe and warm at home. She gave each one a kiss on the nose. Outside, the forest rustled. Inside, the big clock ticked very softly. Tick, tock, tick, tock.





