You know, Mildred, here in the barnyard I’m so glad we decided to protest the war in Ukraine by laying fewer eggs.
I agree, Sybil. There’s nothing chicken about us. It doesn’t hurt to teach these humans a jolly good lesson by knocking the price of eggs through the roof at the supermarket.
The only disadvantage I see with our protest is that the unavailability of eggs has so rocketed I could afford to hatch out only seven chickens this year. I usually hatch out twelve.
The other thing is Sybil, despite the rooster strutting around like he owns the place, the Western world’s sperm count has plummeted. I’m not sure the rooster could manage twelve.
It was only the other day that I overheard the farmer’s daughter complain about the high cost these days of producing an omelette. I never knew humans laid omelettes. And why they need our eggs to lay one I have no idea. You’d think they’d be more hard-boiled than that.
The more omelettes we stop being made the sooner this war in Ukraine will be over.
Have you heard of Bridie’s protest? I couldn’t agree more. She’s running a petition to change the term egg white to egg gunk. I like it; gunk rhymes with funk and punk. Egg white is so racist. Gunk is so New Orleans.
That’s not all Sybil. I lay only white eggs and I have to soak my eggs in tea to make them look brown before they sell. It doesn’t help the price.
All in all, Mildred, it’s not that much fun these days being a chicken. Here comes the rooster now.
Go away you horrible creature, we’re protesting.