Summer is a busy time a year around the Wesson place, what with all the irrigating and cutting hay for the winter and all, and sometimes it seems that the only time I get to think is on a Sunday afternoon, out riding my buckskin mare to check on the cows.  That’s what I was doing last Sunday when I happened to notice quite a ruckus down under a stand a sage.  I pulled up old Ginger and hopped off to see what the fuss was about, and seen one a them ‘Wild Kingdom’ moments.  What there was down under that bush was a weasel chomped down on the head of a field mouse, and there was a tug-o-war for life going on.  I don’t much care for weasels or field mice either one, so I stomped ‘em both with my boot, but it did get me to thinking.

What I figure happened under that sagebrush was that there was this mouse, and he’s just going about his business being a mouse and all, doing little mouse chores around the place, pretty much the same as you and me, only there’s too damn many mice.  And the weasel, he’s out in the world looking for a soul to steal, because that’s how he makes a living, eating other critters, pretty much the same way as old Satan.  Soon as I seen that comparison, I could feel the spirit pretty strong, and I knew I was stumbling upon an eternal truth.

Now that little mouse, he’s been taught since he was a pup, or whatever you call a baby mouse, that the world is a dark and dangerous place, not to mention dreary, and that he best be sticking close to home.  His mama no doubt told him there’s weasels out there, but just like you and me, he don’t always listen to them what knows what’s good for him.  So next thing you know, he gets to venturing out from his safe hole in the ground, and CHOMP, there’s the weasel.  And this particular time, there was also a WHOMP from old Rulon’s size 12 riding boot, too.  Shoulda listened to his ma, know what I’m saying?

See, as Mormons, we hear all the time about standing in Holy Places and not being spotted by the world.  The world’s a dark and dangerous place for Mormons, same as with field mice, so we’re best off when we stick close to our safe little nest, that is the Church.  You stray out there too far, and you’ll get chomped by a spiritual weasel sure as shooting.  Now, I’m not saying you can’t go in to town to buy your groceries or your boots from a non-member if there ain’t no other choice.  But I am saying you got to always watch your step, and if you even think you see a spiritual weasel, high-tail it outa there.  If that ain’t feasible, you raise your arm to the square and tell that bugger to get the hell out a your way cause you’re a disciple a the Lord and you ain’t got no time for weasels.

That’s all well and good and all, but you got to know how to spot a weasel.  It ain’t like the ruckus I seen under the sagebrush, ‘cause you don’t care much about a weasel what’s already caught another mouse.  When was the last time you passed the Sheriff on the side a the road writing some other fella out a speeding ticket and felt all sorry for him?  That’s what old Rulon thought… never.  You figure he got what he had coming to him, same as when some idiot lets Satan get a hold a him.  No, you got to watch for the weasels what don’t have a varmint in their jaws already, ‘cause they’re the ones looking for the likes a you and me.

I don’t have to tell you to watch for weasels what’s smoking cigarettes or crack or nothing, since I figure any Mormon what really IS a Mormon knows enough about that.  You got to watch for the more sneaky buggers, like Diet Coke, putting a few dollars down on the Power Ball, or the Jehovah’s Witnesses.  They all seem harmless enough, but it’s like stepping in a fresh meadow muffin in your irrigating boots; slippery as all get out.  Before you know it, you’re stealing cars, getting in bar fights with the Mexicans and going to Wendover on the Sabbath, and then CHOMP!  Those old weasels gotcha by the nose and are dragging you out a your nice, cozy home and off to outer darkness.  Should a listened to old Rulon.

Stay close to your spiritual home, that is to say, your brothers and sisters in the gospel, and you and me, we won’t be found to be weasel food in the last days.  Here’s hoping you don’t get chomped!