We can never get enough “funny” in our lives. Take, for instance, a family I flew over recently who came to a wedding here in our little part of Alabama. I landed in the branches of a nearby pine tree and overheard this story. Mom and dad said they took their 6-year-old son and 10-year-old daughter to see an arts and crafts fair. The little boy, who I’ll call “Augie,” said the traditional kid comment at such events, “Can you get me something, mommy?” She responded with the time-honored, “We’ll see.”

So, time went by, and Augie was finally allowed to visit a booth. He came back with a painted rock, which cost mom a dollar. Mom and dad didn’t pay much attention as the kids ran around, until Augie came back with a dollar, another rock and a roll of animal stickers.

“Where did you get that,” Mom and dad cried in unison. “I sold the rock for 3 dollars. Then I got a roll of stickers, and another rock!” Humiliated, mom and dad sprinted over to take the money back to a man in his nearby booth. “We’re so sorry,” they lamented. “Not at all,” said the kindly man, “The kid shows imagination!”

Meanwhile, Augie ran off and came back with 2 more dollars. “Where on earth did you get that money?!” “I stuck a sticker on people and said, ‘That looks good on you. That’s a dollar please.’” The little operator was making money like Midas, and mom and dad couldn’t run around fast enough to give the money back and offer humble apologies. They confiscated artful Augie’s stickers, painted rocks and his money. Time at the fair passed. Augie came back with more loot. When mom found out about it, she was aghast. The little gangster had found a dead bird in the nearby woods, plucked his wings and sold the feathers one by one. Dad didn’t know whether to laugh, get concerned or seek legal counsel. Eventually, the day’s haul for the little hustler was a nice collection of painted rocks, more stickers and $13. A friend, when he heard me tell Augie’s parent’s story exclaimed, “Oh no! Their son’s going to be a politician!”

So who sells us dead bird feathers and makes us think we have something of value? Our local political season is well under way. Everybody is screaming for my vote. They must be screaming, since they’ve put up ‘Vote-for-me’ signs the size of aircraft carriers. You can’t watch television without one telling you how bad, foul and mean the other one is. They do so without telling you just what they’d do if in office instead. No matter. They charge ahead.

Rest assured, they tell you they are “conservative.” They can’t all be conservative. Conservative once meant seeking the common good. You do this by preserving the best from the past and being open to new avenues when shown what works better. Conservatives were once for fair play under the law for all and high community standards in education, health and security. Alabama is dead last in the nation in almost every one of these measurable categories.

No fear! We continue to vote for our same politicians, over and over again. Why? Because they sing us a song they think we want to hear. They hum “conservative,” and everyone hums along, despite no plan at all, which might move our state up a notch to a rocketing No. 49 among these, our 50 United States. We demand nothing concrete, and in response, our politicians provide us meaningless slogans. Or, should I say, nice feathers? That feather looks pretty when we buy it, especially when they describe it. After all, they tell us the feather they’re selling is so much better than the other guy’s.

I’m only an Owl, but even I can see this is a dead bird’s feather.