A few nights ago, I told Hannah the story of the boy who cried wolf. She has been claiming that her tummy hurts right when we ask her to finish eating her dinner. She realized she can get out of eating what's on her plate that way. So we've started to doubt her.
I used the standard telling of the fable. I told her about a bored shepherd boy who entertained himself by calling out "Wolf!" Nearby villagers who came to his rescue found that the alarms were false and that they had wasted their time. When the boy was actually confronted by a wolf, the villagers did not believe his cries for help and the wolf ate the boy. I don't know why, but in my telling of the story, the wolf ignored the sheep, but that's how I told it to her.
After I told Hannah the story, she looked at me with wide eyes and asked, "The wolf ate Jesus?"
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