A Foul Tale of Hens and High Egg Prices

Now, I ain’t no economist—I tried figurin’ interest once and broke into a cold sweat—but even a Nevada gambler with one eye and half-a-wit can see somethin’ ain’t right when a dozen eggs cost more’n a haircut, a cigar, and a seat at the county fair.

This past month, the price of the humble breakfast bullets jumped up again like a frog on a skillet, landin’ square at $6.23 a dozen. That’s a fresh record, though not the kind a man writes home about.

Now, you might ask—and rightly so—how in the name of common sense can eggs be costin’ more when the birds that make‘em ain’t dyin’ of bird flu no more? That’s the conundrum.

Experts with spectacles and titles say it’s to do with wholesale prices fallin’ too late in the month, chickens bein’ too young, grocery stores bein’ slow, or some such fiddle-faddle. But to me, it sounds like tryin’ to blame the barn burnin’ on the rooster crowin’ at sunrise.

Them poultry folks say it takes a chicken six months to get up to egg-layin’ strength again, and since bird flu had its way with over 168 million birds–Lord rest their feathery souls–it’s takin’ time to rebuild the army. That makes sense, I suppose.

But what doesn’t make sense–is how egg prices keep flyin’ higher than the birds themselves, peculiarly when the USDA imported 4 million dozen eggs, only to see 7.6 million dozen exported outta the country faster than a gambler leavin’ church.

Miss Jada Thompson down in Arkansas—who I suspect is one of them honest sorts that don’t feather her nest with lobbyist money—says folks are tryin’ to call this a win.

“But it ain’t,” she said, probably while peerin’ solemnly over a pair of wire spectacles and drinkin’ unsweet tea. “It’s a loss for everybody.”

Meanwhile, back in the material world, Cal-Maine Foods, the big henhouse on the hill that supplies one in every five eggs in this fair republic, is makin’ money like it discovered oil in the yolk. Their profits tripled—tripled—this quarter.

That kind of number don’t hatch outta nowhere, and now the Justice Department is sniffin’ around like a fox at the henhouse. While I don’t know much about legal proceedings, I do know when a thing smells rotten–and it ain’t always sulfur–but money.

So here we are. Chickens cheap. Eggs dear. Experts puzzled. Politicians smilin’. And somewhere, some poor soul just paid seven bucks to scramble two hopes and a dream.

So please excuse me as I’m off to see if my hen will consider unionizin’ or at least layin’ gold.