There once lived a troll under a bridge, and all was well until these three no-good ruffian goats came along and tried to take over the troll’s home, the bridge. Gunnar was the kindest, most loveable troll that ever took a breath. Every day, he awoke at sunrise and cleaned his bridge from top to bottom.
After breakfast, the troll would lounge under the bridge and read poetry until it was time for a dinner of sweet fruit pie. Life was a joy, and Gunnar was happy until they came. Those horrible, cruel beasts, the Three Billy Goats Gruff, came along.
The first one that came was the smallest, and Gunnar liked him until the goat told him that he would soon have to give up his bridge. “Why would you say such a thing? This is my home, and I love it here,” said the troll.
“Look, buddy, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll scram before my bigger bother gets here,” said the littlest goat. Then, he high-tailed it over the bridge to the other side.
The next goat came and started yelling at the troll straight away. “Hey, dirt boy, what are you doing on our bridge? Now beat before my biggest brother gets her, or you’ll be in big trouble,” said the middle goat. Then he, too, pranced across the bridge to the far side.
Well, poor Gunnar was fit to be tied. “What is the meaning of all this? Who do those impertinent goats think they are?” said the troll. Gunnar’s father had left him this bridge, as his father’s father had done the same. The troll tried to think of a way to make the goats understand that they could use the bridge, but it was his family’s.
Then, the largest goat tromped across the bridge, causing bits and pieces to fall on Gunnar’s head. “Excuse me, mister goat. Might you show some care when you cross my bridge? Your hooves are damaging it,” said the troll.
“Your bridge, that’s rich. My brothers warned you to leave. Too bad you didn’t listen because now it’s time to take out the trash,” said the giant goat. The biggest Billy Goat Gruff bent his head and ran full speed at the troll.
Ka-pow! Gunnar went over the edge, falling all the way down until he crashed into the river below. The swift water carried him away; no one has seen him since.
That left the goats in charge of the bridge, and when folks crossed it, they now had to pay the animals two pence and listen to how they defeated the cruel, evil troll that once lived under the bridge and tried to eat them.
So they say, to the victor goes the history, but you now know the true story about the Three Billy Goats Gruff.
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