Once upon a time, and a very good time it was, there was a moocow coming down along the road. She was stately and plump, with a tan hide the color of a doe and big splotches of white, as if someone had spilled paint across her ample back.
Flecks of pizza and marinara sauce clung to her thick cow lips. She loved Sinatra and Springsteen, and she didn’t know how to pump her own gas.
She was a Jersey cow.
The cow was feeling hungry after so much meandering, so she strolled into a butcher shop and asked for 16 ounces of flank steak.
“That will be $12.99,” said the butcher.
“Say wha’?” mooed the cow.
The butcher was patient. He’d had experience with other cows asking for a pound of flesh.
“The cost of beef has been skyrocketing. It’s jumped over the moon,” he said. “No offense.”
“None taken.”
The butcher, who was originally from Brooklyn and holds a degree in East Asian Studies from New York University, thoughtfully placed a plug of chewing tobacco in his cheek for effect.
“Yep,” he said with an unexpected drawl, “the price has been shootin’ up for the last few years now. Everyone has ideas why. I have a few of my own. The folks down at R-CALF USA have a few notions, too. Of course, they would.”
“R-CALF USA?”
“It stands for Ranchers-Cattlemen Action Legal Fund United Stockgrowers of America. Do you hate overly forced acronyms as much as I do?”
The cow mooed affirmatively and enthusiastically.
“Well, they represent independent producers of cattle and sheep. Family farms, and the like. Incidentally, their CEO looks like the love child of Sam Elliott and Wilford Brimley.
Bill Bullard
Bill Bullard is the CEO of R-CALF USA. Photo by R-CALF USA.
“Anyway,” he continued, “they say it’s all the fault of the big meatpacking companies. They say these corporations have grown so large that they have the leverage to pay farmers less money for their animals while simultaneously jacking up the price to consumers,” the butcher said.
“That could be true, or it could be self-serving,” said the cow, pronouncing the word “could” uncomfortably like the word “cud.” “Does anyone else agree with them?”
“Last December, 16 state attorneys general wrote a letter to the Secretary of Agriculture. The letter claimed that consolidation in the meatpacking industry has limited competition. It said that in 1977, the four largest beef packers accounted for 25% of the market, but by 2018 they controlled 85 percent of the market. That’s essentially a monopoly.”
“I like to play Monopoly,” said the cow. “I like the little dog.”
“Did you know they have a Tyrannosaurus Rex now, and a penguin and a rubber duck?”
“Of course.”
The butcher tried to picture the cow holding a tiny game piece in her hoof, and quickly gave up.
“I suppose the pandemic has had an effect, too,” said the cow. “The meatpackers were hit especially hard with COVID, and a lot of folks don’t want to work there anymore. Some plants had to shut down, so the national capacity for processing meat is lower — all while consumer demand is actually rising. And trucking costs have gone through the roof.”
“That’s what the meatpackers want you to think,” said the butcher, his voice rising in a conspiratorial spiral. “But the White House disagrees. In December, it issued a statement pointing out that the four biggest meatpacking companies’ net profit margins have tripled, actually tripled, since the pandemic began.”
“Net profit margin. That is the amount of money they make over above all of their costs, right?”
“You’re pretty smart for a cow.”
The cow blushed demurely and said nothing.
The butcher wrapped up the meat and handed it to the cow.
“It’s been a real pleasure chatting with you,” he said. “Remember what I said. It’s all true. No bull.”
