Growing up, my grandmother had a chicken yard that provided children with pulley bones, chicken scratchers and feathers for Indian headbands.

My granddaddy had a commercial chicken house back when the baby chicks had to be fed and watered by hand and curtains that had to be pulled down or let up, depending on the weather.

And, we had a chicken yard with meat hens and laying hens

So, we were not chicken “poor.”

Every Sunday that rolled around, we had chicken in some shape or fashion for dinner. My grandmother would go out, pick out the meat chicken, ring its neck, cut it up, flour it, and fry it or drop it in the dumplin’s.

The ol’ laying hens were very prolific. They had to be. My grandmother used hen eggs every way possible every day.

She fried them, scrambled them, boiled them or deviled them in vinegar with spices that would turn your mouth inside out.

She put eggs in everything she cooked except butter beans and banana puddin’.

And, the hens could lay eggs faster than you could say “Jack Rabbit!”

Evidently, the laying hens are now on strike.  Not an egg will they lay. They just sit on the nest an “Cluck! Cluck! Cluck!”

Meat chickens are on strike, too. They absolutely will not stick their necks out.

Striking egg chickens are causing the price of eggs to soar. Striking meat chickens are causing the price of souse and such to soar

And, what do chickens have to say about it? “Cluck! Cluck! Cluck!”