An Error in Judgement

Now that Mrs. Urich and I are approaching our 50th wedding anniversary, I thought it was time to consider the past and any events in our relationship that I would like to do over. It's a shame there aren't do-overs in a marriage because there are about ten or so errors in judgment that I would like to do over. Mrs. Urich would also like me to do them over. One in particular still stands out. It all began innocently enough and required years to unfold, poorly for me.

It was early in my career, and I was a biologist with the Minnesota Department of Natural Resources. I applied for the first limited moose hunt in decades and was the only individual in the 3,000+ person agency to get a permit. My supervisor told me the agency's reputation was on my shoulders, and I shouldn't return to work until I got a moose. I didn't think this was a problem because I was a moose biologist and had spent the last three years studying moose, trapping moose and tracking them with radio collars in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area.

With this level of experience and knowledge of moose movements, I figured getting a moose would be easy. I finally got a moose, but it took 11 days of hunting from a canoe in the Boundary Waters, mostly in the rain. It was a miserable time. It was so wet and cold I had to cut down a dead aspen tree and split it open to get dry firewood. During the hunt, I broke a portion of my rifle's rear sight, accidentally banging it against a tree.

Several years later, when I moved to Missouri, I began deer hunting with this rifle without replacing the sight's rear portion. I just filed a new notch in the remaining metal and sighted it in. It was extremely accurate, but everyone I hunted with was appalled that I used a damaged gun. I was told repeatedly that I needed a scope. I was skeptical because I had never shot a deer more than 20 yards away in Missouri. But finally, I succumbed to the peer pressure and mounted a scope on the rifle.

I had built a shooting stand near the pond dam on our land in Moniteau County, where we live. When I pulled the trigger for my first test shot, the recoil drove the scope into my forehead right between my eyes, cutting the skin in a half-moon shape clear to the bone. The bleeding was profuse. By the time I walked back to the house, my face and white t-shirt were covered in blood. Mrs. Urich was out in the garden when she saw me. I could tell that she was very alarmed at my bloody appearance as she should be. At that point, my little voice popped up in my head and said, "Don't you dare think of doing that."

Ah yes, my little voice, a stoic subconscious do-gooder never interested in a bit of fun and consistently trying to warn me of impending disaster to save me from myself. During my adolescence, my little voice constantly screamed at me in disapproval of my decision processes and anything fun. But my little voice did keep me out of jail, unlike many of my friends.

This day was no different. I was overcome by foolishness and ignored my little voice, once again making a serious error in judgment. I dropped to my knees, put my hands over my chest, yelled out that I had been shot and then fell face down in the grass.

The last thing I remember my little voice saying to me on that day was, "You idiot. Now you've done it." Mrs. Urich's reaction was very predictable and was prefaced with lots of screaming. When she finally figured out that I was horsing around, she stormed into the house. Her body language indicated that I had better not follow even though I was wounded and could benefit from some first aid. Technically I was a victim of a gunshot wound.

I retired to the garage where I kept my favorite chair and maintained a small refuge away from the family's noise and chaos. It is here that I can atone for my actions and rethink my errors in judgment in solitude. This time my error in judgment resulted in a Level I lecture, a massive three days of atonement coupled with assurances of better decision making on my part. I promised not to fake my death again for the duration of our union.

The real problem with my head cut was going to work the next day. Most people in the office immediately recognized what caused the wound. I was the subject of the considerable redicule. It takes months for a cut on the forehead to heal, which meant the teasing at work continued at length, but more seriously Mrs. Urich was reminded daily of what I had done. Her mood soured every time she looked at me, and no amount of groveling on my part could change that until the wound was healed and gone.

I never did hunt deer in Missouri with that rifle and the new scope. I switched to a muzzleloader which seemed better suited to Missouri conditions. I eventually gave the gun to our oldest son for deer hunting on his land in Kansas. I told him to be careful if he decided to sight in the scope from a bench rest.

David Urich

I didn't need to remind him of this because all 3 of our sons were very familiar with our marriage events that would make great do-overs. Mrs. Urich had thoroughly briefed them on what not to do in their marriages so they could benefit and learn from my errors in judgment. She concluded these briefings by stating that no husband is a complete, insensitive blockhead because he can always be used as a bad example.

(Cover) David Urich with a Missouri deer harvested in Moniteau County several years following the error in judgement. (Photo: Courtesy of David Urich)

(Front right) David and Mrs. Urich at a happier time after the wounds and shock of the error in judgement had healed and the memories faded. (Photo: Courtesy of David Urich)

(Top) You decide if you want to use it. David Urich in 1974 with a moose harvested in the first modern Minnesota moose hunt taken in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area. (Photo: Courtesy of David Urich)

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