The other morning my friend Peter took me to a barnyard where we attempted to shoot pigeons. We did kill one, but mostly our morning was spent being in the wrong end of the farm at the wrong time, and/or bumbling in a variety of other ways. We have all been on hunts like this one. The plan was to put out two spinners on the spot where the birds were landing last time we were here. I hid behind a burn barrel, Peter set up in an Ameristep Ringer blind. We lurked in wait.