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Saturday, I wandered into the Costco on Nevada Avenue, surrounded by the bright-eyed hope of children dreaming of Easter egg hunts and vibrant dye-stained fingers. My own kids, now grown, never doubted the availability of eggs for coloring, deviled eggs, or the egg salad we’d make from those gloriously garish purple, pink, and seeping green shells. But as I reached the refrigeration aisle, that hope shattered. A sign glared:
“We are out of eggs.”
The day before Easter. And just feet away, a smug stack of pre-fabricated chicken coops stood like a cruel punchline. I nearly lost it. Thanks, Governor Jared Polis, for turning a cherished tradition into a heart-wrenching scavenger hunt and setting the stage for wolves to finish the job.
One little girl nearby was having a complete meltdown, her tiny fists clenched, nearly hyperventilating as her mom tried to explain why there’d be no eggs to dye. The raw frustration in her sobs mirrored my own. I cornered a manager, my tone dripping with sarcasm.
“No eggs, but you’ve got chicken coops? Where’s the starter flock so I can get cracking?” He mumbled about supply issues, gesturing to the cage-free mandate plastered on every egg carton in Colorado.
That’s when it hit me: this isn’t a fluke. It’s Polis’ House Bill 20-1343, the cage-free egg law, strangling our stores and crushing the joy of kids across Colorado Springs. And Republicans around here are convinced his wolf reintroduction is the next jab, meant to ensure any backyard coops we build become a buffet for predators.
In 2020, Polis signed the cage-free bill with a sanctimonious smirk, posing with clucking hens for the cameras. The law demands all eggs sold in Colorado come from cage-free facilities by January 1, 2025, a nod to animal rights groups like World Animal Protection and their deep-pocketed donors. Sounds noble, but it’s bankrupted farmers, jacked up prices, and—coupled with avian flu killing 6 million chickens—left shelves bare. Colorado’s rules are so rigid we can’t import cheaper eggs from states with practical policies. Desperate, I drove to King Soopers, where I found a few remaining cartons—$7 for a dozen, the cheapest available, and vanishing fast as frantic parents grabbed them. Seven bucks for eggs! My kids never faced this growing up; eggs were as certain as sunrise. Now, they’re a luxury.
This is Polis’ Colorado: where children’s Easter dreams of pink and green eggs, deviled eggs, and egg salad sandwiches are crushed because the governor’s too busy pandering to Boulder elites and his animal activist partner, Marlon Reis. The cage-free mandate was a catastrophe, ignoring warnings from rural lawmakers like Rep. Richard Holtorf, who branded it “an assault on Colorado.” Producers spent hundreds of millions—$30 per hen for 6 million birds—only to be slammed by flu and inflation. Who pays? Not Polis, sipping kombucha in Denver. It’s us, watching kids like that hyperventilating girl at Costco lose a piece of their childhood.
Those chicken coops at Costco? A sick joke. It’s like Polis is sneering, “No eggs? Become a farmer!” As if I’ve got the cash or space to play Old MacDonald. Worse, local Republicans see a darker motive. They’re convinced Polis’ wolf reintroduction, forced through in 2023 by urban voters and his green cronies, is designed to sabotage any backyard coops we might build. Wolves are already killing livestock; now, folks fear our chickens will be next. “It’s a setup,” an El Paso County GOP buddy told me. “They strip us of eggs, push us to raise our own, then let wolves wipe us out. Classic Polis.” The coops aren’t a solution—they’re wolf bait.
I overheard another parent at King Soopers, clutching a $7 carton, muttering, “How do I tell my kids Easter’s eggless because the governor loves chickens and wolves more than us?” She’s dead right. This mandate’s elitism stinks. Low-income families can’t afford $7 eggs, let alone $10 specialty ones, and now they’re fighting over scraps. Choice? Obliterated. Easter magic? Stolen. All for a law that makes vegan activists cheer while kids weep.
Conservatives tried to stop this. Sen. Cleave Simpson pushed to repeal the cage-free law in January, but Democrats killed it, calling the crisis “temporary.” Temporary? Tell that to the girl gasping through tears at Costco. Polis’ allies blame avian flu, but that’s a dodge. The mandate’s timing—pushed during a pandemic, enforced amidst disease and inflation—was lunacy. It’s Polis prioritizing predators and poultry over people, a tired refrain.
As I left King Soopers, clutching my overpriced eggs, I thought of those kids at Costco, their hopes of ugly green eggs and creamy egg salad dashed. It’s not just about eggs; it’s about a governor so detached he’s turned a staple into a treasure hunt and a tradition into a privilege. Polis’ cage-free fantasy and wolf obsession have left us with a nightmare: bare shelves, sky-high prices, and coops doomed to be wolf snacks. Maybe next Easter, I’ll tell kids to hunt for sanity in Denver. Good luck finding that.
Charity McPike (@TruthSleuth1776) is a Colorado Springs Native Desperate for the Red State Revival of Her Youth
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